*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73379 ***






  IN THE BRUSH;

  OR,

  OLD-TIME SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND RELIGIOUS LIFE
  IN THE SOUTHWEST.


  BY

  REV. HAMILTON W. PIERSON, D.D.,
  EX-PRESIDENT OF CUMBERLAND COLLEGE, KENTUCKY; AUTHOR OF "JEFFERSON
  AT MONTICELLO"; CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE NEW
  YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY, ETC.

  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W.L. SHEPPARD._


  NEW YORK:
  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
  1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
  1881.




  COPYRIGHT BY
  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
  1881.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                        PAGE

  I.--Why I relate my experiences in the Southwest. Introductory   1

  II.--My outfit for my life in the Brush                         12

  III.--The itinerant pioneer preacher's faithful horse           35

  IV.--Old-time hospitality in the Southwest                      47

  V.--Old-time basket-meetings in the Brush                       60

  VI.--The baptism of a Scotch baby in the wilds of
  the Southwest                                                   82

  VII.--Barbecues, and a barbecue wedding-feast in
  the Southwest                                                   90

  VIII.--The old, old book, and its story in the wilds
  of the Southwest                                               103

  IX.--Candidating; or, old-time methods and humors
  of office-seeking in the Southwest                             130

  X.--Some strange experiences with a candidate in
  the Brush                                                      156

  XI.--Experiences with old-time Methodist circuit-riders
  in the Southwest                                               171

  XII.--Heroic Christian workers in the Southwest                193

  XIII.--Strange people I have met in the Southwest              204

  XIV.--Old-time illiterate preachers in the Brush               238

  XV.--"Ortonville"; or, the universal power of sacred
  song                                                           278

  XVI.--Work accomplished in the Southwest                       294




IN THE BRUSH.




CHAPTER I.

WHY I RELATE MY EXPERIENCES IN THE SOUTHWEST.--INTRODUCTORY.


On a visit to New York, many years ago, after the first few months
of my ministerial labors in the wilds of the Southwest, I met a warm
personal friend, a genial, generous, noble Christian woman, who at once
said to me:

"And so you are a Western missionary. Well, do tell me if anything
_strange_ or _funny_ ever _did_ happen to a missionary. Mother has
taken the home-missionary papers ever since I was a child, and I always
read them; and I often wonder if anything _strange_ or _funny_ did
_ever_ happen to a Western missionary."

I had recently spent three happy years in the Union Theological
Seminary in that city, and had come back to attend the heart-stirring
anniversaries, held in those days in the old Broadway Tabernacle, and
to meet again the many friends who had followed me in my labors with
their kind wishes and their prayers. Though nearly thirty years have
passed since I received that greeting, I have never forgotten, and
have very often recalled it. And I have as often thought that it was
most natural that the churches and people at large who send forth and
sustain the heroic laborers who are toiling in the varied departments
of Christian effort in our newer States and Territories, should desire
a much fuller account of their daily lives and labors. As many of them
travel extensively, and see pioneer border-life in all its aspects
and phases, I have thought it most natural and reasonable that the
people should desire to know more of their adventures; more of their
contact with the rough, whole-souled people with whom they so often
meet and mingle; more of that strange compound of energy, recklessness,
and daring, the hardy hosts who erect their log-cabins and fell the
forests in the van of our American civilization, in its triumphant
westward march. Only one day in seven is set apart as sacred time,
and only a few hours of that day are devoted to what are generally
regarded as spiritual duties. A description of these duties alone,
whether performed on Sabbath-days or week-days, is a very inadequate
description of missionary life as a whole. In order to perform these
duties, a man must eat and drink, take care of his body, mingle with
the world, and meet all his responsibilities as a man and a citizen.

In the pages that follow it will be my purpose to present a portraiture
of ministerial life in the wilds of the Southwest, in all its aspects
and phases, exactly as I found it. I shall attempt to portray week-day
life as well as Sunday life. I shall describe scenes of wonderful
and thrilling religious interest, and the most common and homely
incidents of every-day life, and, as far as possible, give an idea
of my life as a whole. I shall attempt to describe the politicians,
preachers, and people; the country in which they live, their manners
and customs, their barbecues, basket-meetings, and weddings, and all
the peculiarities of their open, free, and genial _home-life_ in its
social, political, and religious aspects and relations. In this I shall
be successful only so far as I succeed in perfectly describing their
life and my own during the many years that I mingled with them.

My lady friend and questioner, to whom I have referred, was slightly
mistaken in calling me a "missionary." I was not one in name. At the
time of my graduation from the Theological Seminary, I was under
appointment as a missionary of the American Board of Commissioners
for Foreign Missions to West Africa; but hæmorrhages from my lungs
prevented my entrance upon that work.

After extended travels by sea and land for nearly five years, I had so
far recovered my voice as to be able to preach, and was very anxious
to be about my chosen life-work. But my physicians--Dr. Gurdon Buck,
Dr. Alfred C. Post, and Dr. John H. Swett, of the University Medical
College--as kind as they were distinguished and skillful, told me
that I would never be able to perform the duties of a settled pastor;
that the study, labor, and care of such a life would completely break
down my health in a very few months. They told me that I must engage
in some labor that would give me a large amount of exercise in the
open air; and that if it involved horseback-riding it would be all
the better for my health, and probably give me more years in which
to labor. I accordingly accepted an agency from the American Bible
Society, which involved the exploration on horseback of the wild
regions in the Southwest described in this volume. In addition to
very extended travels by steamboat up and down many of the larger and
smaller Southwestern and Southern rivers, I have ridden a great many
thousand miles on horseback--I have no means of telling how many. For
a long time I rode my horse several thousands of miles yearly. Bishop
Kavenaugh, of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, in introducing me,
as an agent of the American Bible Society, to a Southwestern conference
over which he was presiding, told them that, "although a Presbyterian,"
I had "out-itinerated the Itineracy itself."

I spent a night with the Governor of a Southwestern State, at the house
of his sister, who was the wife of an Episcopal clergyman. We lodged
in the same room, occupying separate beds, as was very common in that
region. The Governor was genial and social, and we conversed until long
after midnight. We talked of the hills, valleys, and mountains, of
families and communities, of the customs, manners, and peculiarities of
different classes of people, over a very wide portion of the State. As
I was about to leave in the morning, the Governor said to me:

"Sir, you know _more about this State_, and _more people in it_, than
any man I ever saw."

I replied: "I am surprised, Governor, to hear you make that statement.
I know that politicians canvass the State most thoroughly; that you are
expected to make speeches in every county, and in as many neighborhoods
as possible; and that you try to shake hands with as many as you can
of those that you expect and wish to vote for you. As you were born
and educated in the State, and have canvassed it so thoroughly and
successfully, I supposed that you knew a great deal more about it, and
a great many more people in it, than I do."

"I do not," he replied, very positively, "and I never saw a man in my
life who did."

I state these facts as my reason and justification for writing this
book; that my readers may understand that I am not a novice in regard
to the things whereof I write; that I know whereof I affirm. Indeed, I
will tell them confidentially that I have obtained a "degree," one not
so easily acquired as some others, and more honored in the wilds of the
country. It is "B.B.," and means Brush-Breaker. The exposition of the
full meaning of this "degree" will explain the origin and meaning of my
title to this book.

In attending a conference, presbytery, association, or other
ecclesiastical meeting in the wilds of the country, as the old veteran
and other preachers were pointed out to me by some friend, he would say:

"That is Father A----. He is an old _Brush-Breaker_"--and all the
younger men would press forward to shake his hand and do him honor;
or, "That is Brother B----. He has broken a right smart chance of
brush"; or, "That is young Brother C----, wonderfully self-satisfied
and conceited, as you see. The sisters have flattered him so much that
he has got the '_big head_' badly. He will be sent to Brush College, to
break brush a year or two, and will come back humbled, and will make a
laborious and useful man"; or, "That is our devoted and beloved young
Brother D----. His soul is all on fire with love for his Master, and
he will thank God for the privilege of going anywhere in the Brush to
preach and sing of Jesus and his salvation."

This use of the word _Brush_ enters largely into the figures of speech
of the people of the Southwest. On one occasion I heard a Methodist
bishop preach on a Sabbath morning to a very large congregation,
composed of the Conference, the people of the village, and the
visitors in attendance. During the first half of his sermon, which
was extemporaneous, he did not preach with his accustomed clearness
and power. His thoughts were evidently very much confused, and it
was rather painful than otherwise to witness his struggle to get the
mastery of his mind and subject. But he accomplished this at length,
and closed his sermon with great power and effect. In returning from
church, a young circuit-rider said to me:

"Didn't you think the Bishop got badly _brushed_ in the first part of
his sermon? I sometimes get so brushed in my sermons that I think I
will never try to preach again. It's a comfort to a beginner to know
that an old preacher sometimes gets brushed."

Figurative language of this kind abounded among the people of the
Southwest, and was very expressive. These provincialisms had usually
grown out of the peculiar life and habits of the people. Many of
them seem to have originated in the perils of early flat-boat
navigation--when they were accustomed to float down-stream by daylight,
and tie up to some stump or tree for the night! Woe betide the cargo,
boat, and crew, if that to which they had "made fast" failed them in
the darkness of the night! Hence, as I suppose, this provincialism.

If I made inquiries in regard to the character of a man who had been
recommended to me for a Bible distributor, I was not told that he was a
reliable or an unreliable man, but, "He'll do to tie to," or "He won't
do to tie to"; and if the case was particularly bad, "He won't do to
tie to in a calm, let alone a storm." As there were so many perils in
this kind of navigation, those were regarded as extremely fortunate who
reached their destination in safety, and could send back word that they
had made the trip; hence, "to make the trip" was a universal synonym
for success. And so, when a novice attempted to make a speech, preach a
sermon, address a jury, or engage in any kind of business, the people
predicted his success or failure by saying, "He'll make the trip," or
"He won't make the trip." They never said of a young man, or an old
widower, that he was addressing or courting a lady, but, "He is setting
to her," a figure of speech derived from bird-hunting with setter-dogs,
as I suppose. When such a suit had been unsuccessful, they did not say
the lady rejected or "mittened" her suitor, but, "She kicked him." The
first time I ever heard that figure used was at a social gathering
in Richmond, Virginia, in 1843, where the belle of the evening was a
Miss Burfoot. After being introduced to her by a friend, he told me
confidentially that she had recently "kicked" Mr. H----, a gentleman
present, to whom he had already introduced me. To be "kicked" by a
Burfoot seemed to me a more than usually striking figure. When many
persons were striving for the same object, or where there were rival
aspirants for the heart and hand of the same lady, they said of the
successful one, "The tallest pole takes the persimmon."

I was once present at an ecclesiastical meeting in the Brush, where
motions of different kinds were piled upon each other, until the
greatest confusion prevailed as to the state of the question before
the body, and the moderator was appealed to to give his decision in
the matter. I did not fully comprehend his decision, but it was clear
and satisfactory to the body over which he was presiding, all of whom,
like himself, were old and experienced hunters. Arising to his feet, as
became a presiding officer thus appealed to, and lifting his tall, lank
form until his head was among the rafters of the low log school-house,
he hesitated a moment, and then said, "Brethren, my decision is that
you are all ahead of the hounds."

These are but specimens of the figurative language--the
provincialisms--that abound among the people of the Southwest.

I do not, therefore, in the pages that follow, speak of my travels
in the "wilderness" or "forests" or "hills" or "mountains" of the
Southwest, but adopt a more comprehensive term, universally prevalent
in the regions explored, and describe some of my experiences in the
Brush.

Though I commenced my labors in the South as a general agent
and superintendent of the colporteur operations of the American
Tract Society in 1843--ten years before my first visit to the
Southwest--though I became acquainted with its _home-life_, as that
life could only be learned, by such extended horseback travels, and
such religious labors, prosecuted with all the energy and all the
enthusiasm of early vigorous manhood, I shall devote this volume to
descriptions of _home-life_ in the Southwest. My reasons for this will
be obvious and approved at a glance. Very little that would be new can
now be written of the old-time home-life in the South. The fascinating
and beautiful descriptions of Southern social life given us in the
letters of Hon. William Wirt, the distinguished Attorney-General of the
United States, in his "British Spy"; the full and minute biographies
of Washington, Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and others, so exhaustive of
every feature of this life; with the matchless descriptions of the
inimitable Thackeray, and other later writers, leave very little to be
said in illustration of this theme. But the true, the real old-time
social, political, and religious home-life of the people of the
Southwest is almost unknown to the great mass of the American people.
Comparatively little has been written which is the result of extended
personal contact with, and intimate personal knowledge of, the people.
They have been largely the subjects of exaggeration and caricature.

In this field I have garnered many rich and golden sheaves, where
no other reaper had ever thrust in the sickle. Here I have drawn
word-pictures of many scenes in the social life of a generation, and
a state of civilization, rapidly passing away, never to reappear,
that otherwise would have had no memorial only as perpetuated in
the traditions of the people. I will only add that I am indebted to
no library, to no book, not even to a newspaper, for a single fact
presented in this volume. They were all gathered incidentally while
laboriously engaged in the duties of my profession, as a general agent
of the American Bible Society, and while traveling for years in the
interests of the college over which I was called to preside. They all
relate to the _ante-bellum_ period in the history of our country.




CHAPTER II.

MY OUTFIT FOR MY LIFE IN THE BRUSH.


Having received my commission as an agent for the American Bible
Society, and completed my preparations for entering upon my work as far
as I could do so in New York, I left that city for one of the important
cities of the Southwest, which was to be my headquarters. I knew at
the outset that I could not reach the wild regions I was to explore by
railroad, steamboat, stage, or even with my own private conveyance; I
knew that I could climb hills and mountains, follow blind bridle-paths,
ford rivers and swollen streams, only on horseback. I had several years
before had some two years' experience in constant horseback travel in
labors similar to those I was now entering upon, as superintendent of
the colporteur operations of the American Tract Society in Virginia.
There I had floundered in the marshes and swamps of "Tidewater," and
been lost amid the rugged rocks and dense forests high up the sides
and in the loftiest summits of the Blue Ridge and other mountains.
I knew that I must have a horse. This was indispensable. More than
that, I wanted a good horse, a horse broken expressly for the saddle.
To be churned for years--bump, bump, bump--upon a hard-trotting horse,
that was out of the question with me. I had but a small stock of
health and physical strength at best, and none to spare in that way.
My old friend Rev. Dr. Sprole, then of Washington, D.C., afterward
of West Point, New York, and now of Detroit, Michigan, used to tell
me, in Washington, that "Brother Leete," one of my co-workers in the
circulation of the publications of the American Tract Society, "was one
of the most self-denying Christians he had ever seen--in that he had
patience to drive such a miserable old horse in transporting his books
over the hills and mountains of Pennsylvania," where he had known him.
But I was not anxious to illustrate that particular type of piety. I
did not care to let my "light _so_ shine." I wanted not only a good
saddle-horse, but a faithful, reliable animal. I wanted one that I
could hitch to the limb of a tree, in the midst of scores or hundreds
of other horses, and leave there without any concern, while I preached
in a log meeting-house, or at a "stand" erected in a grove at some
cross-roads, or at a camp-meeting, or wherever else I should be able to
meet and address the people. I wanted a hardy horse, that could live on
the coarsest food, and stand during the coldest nights in log stables
that afforded but a little more protection from the wind and cold than
a rail fence. I wanted an easy-going, fleet horse, that would take me,
without great personal fatigue or needless waste of time, over a wide
extent of country. I wanted a horse that would scare at nothing--that,
as I had opportunity, I could lead up a plank or two, on board a noisy
stern-wheel or other Western steamer, along the banks of the rivers,
across wharf-boats, or wherever I might wish to embark for a hundred
miles or more to save a few days of horseback travel.

The "qualities" that I looked for in a horse were numerous and rare.
I was so fortunate as to find one that possessed all that I have
enumerated and many more. Was I not fortunate? Was I wrong in regarding
my good fortune as a special providence? But I did not easily find this
treasure. It was after a long search and many failures. Unable to find
such a horse as I was willing to purchase at once, I determined to
enter upon my work and get along for a time as best I could.

I therefore took stage for a point about fifty miles from headquarters,
where, after a conference with the officers of the County Bible
Society, I procured a horse for several days in order to plunge into
the Brush, make a circuit of the county, and preach at a number of
places in accordance with a programme that their familiarity with the
country enabled them to make out for me. They arranged to send my
appointments ahead to all these points but one, where I was to preach
the next day, which was the Sabbath.

I will here state that the great object of my mission to the Brush was
to effect a thorough exploration of the field assigned to me, and,
either by sale or gift, supply every family with a copy of the Bible,
except such as positively declined to receive it. To accomplish this,
I wished to gain personal knowledge of each county, to preach at as
many points as possible, in order to give information in regard to the
character and operations of the American Bible Society and the work
to be done, collect as much money as possible to meet the expenses of
this work, find and employ suitable men to canvass the counties and
visit without fail every family, and then order a supply of Bibles
and Testaments from the Society's house in New York, give them their
instructions, and set them at work. Such was my mission.

Saturday, after dinner, I mounted my horse for a ride of thirteen miles
to a small county-seat village where I was to spend the Sabbath. The
country was rough and broken, with light, sandy soil, sparsely covered
with small, scrubby oak-trees, called "black-jacks," and the region of
country was known as the "Barrens." It was barren enough. The houses
were mostly poor and comfortless, the barns small log structures, with
no stables, sheds, or covering of any kind for the cattle. They were
poor and scrawny, and their backs described a section of a semicircle
as they drew themselves into as much of a heap as possible--their only
protection against the bleak February winds. The swine were of the
original "root-hog-or-die" variety, their long, well-developed snouts
being their most prominent feature. Occasionally black, dirty, ragged
slaves--"uncles," "aunties," and their children--revealed the whites
of their eyes and their shining ivory as they stared earnestly at the
rare sight of a passing stranger. No one, with the kindest heart and
the most amiable disposition, would be able to pronounce the country
attractive or the ride a pleasant one. On arriving at the village, I
rode to a very plain house to which I had been directed, and received a
most warm and cordial welcome. Large pine-knots were soon blazing and
roaring in the ample fireplace to relieve me of the most wretchedly
disagreeable of all sensations of cold--those of a damp, clammy,
chilly winter day in the Southwest. As soon as it could possibly be
prepared, I was seated with the family at a bountiful supper. The
aroma of the richest coffee was afloat in the air, and the rarest of
fried chicken and hot corn-bread were smoking before me, flanked with
a superabundance of other dishes, that showed the perfect country
housekeeper.

My host and hostess were Presbyterians, and this was the reception they
gladly gave to any minister who visited them in their seclusion, and
preached for their little church. The bell was rung, and I preached
that (Saturday) night to a very small audience who assembled at this
brief notice. The church stood within a very few rods of the spot where
Abraham Lincoln was born.

On Sabbath morning a somewhat larger congregation assembled from the
village and country around, including some from the homes I had passed
the day before, and I made a full exposition of the character and
operations of the American Bible Society, explained the work about to
be undertaken in their own county, and made as urgent and eloquent an
appeal as I was able to, for funds to supply their own poor with the
Bible, and meet the expenses of this benevolent and Christian work.
To adopt the language universal in all this region, they "lifted a
collection" for me which amounted to six dollars and eighty-five cents.
At 3 P.M. I heard a sermon preached by the clergyman, my kind friend
and host at the other county-seat, who, according to arrangement, came
over to spend the Sabbath with me, and fill a regular appointment.
At night I preached for them again. Altogether it was to me a very
pleasant day.

Monday morning I rode back to the county-seat. There was a hard
rain-storm, and I got very wet. Tuesday morning I started on a
preaching tour of several days, to fulfill the appointments that had
been made for me. I traveled several miles to see an old man who had
been recommended for a colporteur to canvass the county; was pleased
with him, and he was afterward employed. After dinner he piloted me
through rough, broken barrens, such as I have already described, to
the place where I was to preach that night. We reached there, but my
"appointment" had not. I did not wonder it had lost its way. I lost
mine a good many times that week. However, we learned that the next day
was the regular appointment for the Methodist preacher who rode that
circuit, and I would then have an opportunity to address the people.
We spent the night very comfortably with Brother H----, to whom I had
been directed, who belonged to the class of farmers or planters known
among these people as "not rich, but good livers." In other portions
of the country he would have been spoken of as a man "in comfortable
circumstances." Wednesday morning we rode to a small Methodist chapel
bearing the name of my host. His house had for years been the home
where laborious and self-denying itinerant preachers, often hungry,
wet, and weary, had found most welcome and needed refreshment and
rest. A kind Providence has dotted the wilds of the country with many
such hospitable homes--I have often found them and enjoyed their
cheer--whose owners, more rich in generous, noble impulses than in
worldly goods, have thus laid up treasures in heaven, the exceeding
riches and abundance of which they will only fully comprehend and enjoy
when they hear the approving--"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of
the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." On arriving
at the chapel, which was a small, unplastered frame building, I was
introduced by my host to Brother M----, the "preacher in charge," and
received from him an old itinerant's cordial shake of the hand and
welcome to his circuit. After a few moments' conversation he thrust
his arm into mine, as though we had been acquainted for years, and
we strolled off among the black-jacks to await the arrival of the
congregation.

"What church do you belong to, Brother P----?" said he.

"I am a Presbyterian, sir," I responded.

"I am glad to hear it, glad to hear it," said he. "Brother Y----,
the last agent of the Bible Society, was a Methodist, and we've had
Methodist agents a good while. I am glad there is a change. I heard
there would be, at Conference. All our brethren will be glad to see and
welcome you."

As Brother M---- was the first real itinerant that I met on his
circuit deep in the Brush, I will present him a little more fully to
my readers. He wore on his head, drawn well down over his ears and
eyes, a cheap cloth cap, badly soiled and faded. I do not now recall
the color of his coat. I remember that it was of coarse material and
ragged, with a particularly large rent under one of the armholes. His
pantaloons were genuine butternut-colored jeans. I have no doubt that
the cloth was the gift of some good sister, woven in her own loom,
and all that she was able to give in making up his scanty salary. The
most of the audience, both men and women, were clothed in the same
home-made material. For myself, I was dressed in all respects as I
had been the last time I had preached in New York. I did not like the
contrast between myself and the congregation; and on my return to the
city I laid aside my entire black suit, and procured a second-hand
snuff-colored overcoat, costing eight dollars, jean pantaloons, and a
soft hat, in which I felt much more at ease on my next return to the
Brush. To anticipate a little, I will say that in my desire to carry
out the Pauline example in becoming all things to all men, I went a
little too far; for I wore my Brush suit to Conference, where I met
this same preacher, and scores of his brethren with whom I had become
acquainted, dressed in black, and presenting a contrast quite to my
disadvantage. I had, however, gone there on horseback, traveling and
preaching through the wildest brush country, with only such changes
of clothing as I could carry in my saddle-bags. If I was a little
mortified at my personal appearance when the presiding elder introduced
me to the venerable bishop, and he introduced me to the Conference,
and they all arose to their feet to do me honor, and welcome me as
the representative of the American Bible Society, I had at least this
satisfaction, that with the large audience present my dress would do
something to correct the popular impression, very widely prevalent in
the Brush, that "Presbyterian ministers preach for good clothes."

One by one the small congregation arrived at the chapel--men, women,
and children--on horseback. When they had all assembled, we went in,
and I preached, and they "lifted a collection" amounting to three
dollars and twenty-five cents. After dining with Brother M----, at
a house near by, I mounted my horse for a long ride, to reach my
appointment for the night. My kind friends gave me a great many
directions, and I started out. There was nothing worthy of the name
of a public road. There were wagon-tracks and paths running in all
directions among the black-jacks, and crossing each other at all
angles. Whenever, for a short distance, there was a fence on both sides
of a road, _that_ was called a "lane." One track would lead me to the
back side of a tobacco-patch, where it ended; another led me where some
rails had been "mauled" and recently hauled away. The roads leading to
plantations were more worn, and looked more like the "main traveled
road," than those that were intended for public highways. I inquired my
way at each plantation that I passed, and every other opportunity; and
these were far too rare for my wants. Once I saw, from an elevation, a
peach-tree in bloom in the distance. It was like the human footprint
in the sand to Robinson Crusoe on his lonely island. I said, "There
is a sign of humanity," and started for it. But when I reached it the
log-cabin near which it was planted was empty, and I started out again
into the labyrinths of paths. Often that afternoon, and oftener in the
years that followed, when I have been lost in the Brush, I exclaimed,
"Blessed be the man that devised our national system of 'sectional
surveys'!" I do not know what man or men devised it, but I do know that
the country owes him or them a debt of gratitude it can never pay.
Where section-lines are established, there roads are located, roads
running at right angles, and school-districts, townships, and larger
communities have definite boundaries; and every neighborhood and farm
may have the benefit of established and good roads. These barrens,
like vast regions of country over which I have traveled, never had
the benefit of such a survey. The original settlers had found places
where the land, timber, water, etc., suited them, and had measured
off, perhaps with a pole or grape-vine, hundreds or thousands of acres
in any shape their fancy directed--their surveys often overlapping
each other at various points. Hence interminable lawsuits in regard
to boundaries, and the greater calamity of having no established
lines for a uniform system of roads. A learned author has said, "You
may judge the civilization of a country by its roads." If this is a
true criterion, there is a vast extent of country over which I have
traveled, in the Southwest and South, that will take a very low rank
in the scale of civilization. I remember one man in the Brush who told
me he had raised that year three hogsheads of tobacco, but the roads
were so bad that the transportation of his crop, sixty miles to market,
had cost him one hogshead of tobacco--one third of the proceeds of his
summer's work! One of the most prominent causes of the development and
growth of our Western States is the manner in which they were surveyed,
and their system of roads; one of the greatest hindrances to the
prosperity of other and large sections of our country is that they have
had no such survey, and are not likely to have any such roads.

I reached the house of Mr. R----, to whom I was directed, soon after
sundown, and learned that my appointment had reached him, and he
was expecting me. He at once gave orders to his boys to get the
shellbark-hickory torches that they had provided to light us home,
and without dismounting he led my way, on foot, about a mile, to an
unpainted, unplastered, barnlike-looking building, known as "Blue
Knobs Church." A few tallow-candles shed their glimmering rays
upon the upturned faces of the not large audience that listened
to my description of the Bible House, its numerous presses, and
vast facilities for publishing the Bible; and, in response to my
appeal for funds for the noble cause I represented, they "lifted a
collection" amounting to ninety-four cents. In the light of the torches
thoughtfully provided for me, I climbed up the sides of the knob--the
higher elevations of land in this region are called "knobs"--to the
home of my host. Supper was now prepared for the family and myself; and
I learned that it was the custom of the people to defer supper until
this hour, whenever they had meetings at night.

Fairly seated in the house, I saw such a group of little children as I
had never seen before, belonging to one family. We had not talked long
before the father volunteered an explanation. He told me his wife had
died, leaving nine children, one but a few days old. Not many months
after, he had married a young widow with three children, as young as
his three youngest, and one had been born since their marriage. Of the
thirteen present, the majority were under five years old. Subsequently,
in my travels, I spent a night with a family where there was a large
number of young children, and I asked the mother the age of the eldest
and the youngest. The eldest would be six years old the next June; the
youngest was six weeks old. She had six healthy children, that had been
born in less than six years, and none of them were twins.

On Thursday I started early in the morning and rode through a country
that differed but little from that through which I had passed the
day before, to the place of my appointment. On going to the hall of
the secret society, where I was to preach, I learned that it was the
night of their regular weekly meeting, and they could not yield their
room to me. Such collisions are not unfrequent in the Brush, and the
people describe them by a very striking figure of speech, which gives
some idea of their sports and tastes. They say of them that "the
appointments locked horns." I did not care to test the strength of my
neck, and therefore, as was altogether proper in the circumstances,
did not preach. That night I slept in the loft of a log-cabin. It was
entirely unceiled, and the roof was so low that I had to stoop to make
my way to my bed; and when in it I could easily place my hands upon
the roof-boards and rafters. The openings between the logs afforded
abundant ventilation. In the morning, I found such conveniences as were
afforded for washing, not in my room, but out-of-doors, at the side of
the well. Afterward, I slept in hundreds of such cabin-lofts--slept
in them until the sight of smoky, dingy roof-boards and rafters was
wellnigh as familiar a sight on opening my eyes in the morning, as the
sky overhead when I went to the well to wash, sometimes in a basin
or dish, but often by having the water poured upon my hands from a
gourd. I remember one occasion when, after traveling for weeks in the
Brush, I arrived at a small county-seat village, and spent the night
in a new building that had recently been erected for a young ladies'
seminary. In the morning, as I opened my eyes, they were greeted with
the sight of new white-plastered walls above and around me. The sight
was so rare that it thrilled me with joy. The smooth, clean plaster
seemed absolutely beautiful. I have never since experienced more
delightful sensations in gazing upon the most magnificent paintings. I
can see now the new, cheap bedstead, the clean sheets, the blue-calico
window-curtains, the white walls, and recall the sensations of intense
pleasure that they inspired. It was as if I had slept for weeks in a
dungeon, and awoke in the most delightful home.

On Friday morning I started early again, and by a most difficult and
crooked route through the "barrens," made my way to the residence of
"Uncle Billy H----," to whose hospitality I had been commended. Here I
found a brick house on a turnpike-road, and "Uncle Billy" was a "good
liver." He went with me at night to a small church, located upon a
stream, near a grist-mill, and I preached, and "lifted a collection"
amounting to four dollars and five cents.

On Saturday morning, my appointments for the week being all fulfilled,
I took the turnpike and started for the county-seat. I was never so
grateful for a good road, and never so willing and glad to pay toll.

At various points along the "pike," as it was universally called, I saw
tracks leading off into the woods, and was told that they were known as
"shunpikes," and that some people in traveling would take these and go
through the woods around the toll-gates, in order to avoid paying toll.
I had not the slightest disposition to perpetrate that immorality and
meanness. I stuck to the pike as one would to an old friend and guide,
after having been bewildered and lost in the most perilous ways. It was
comfortable not to be asking and getting "directions" that were a good
deal more incomprehensible and past finding out than the blind roads
and paths I was trying to follow. I was most happy to be freed from the
disagreeable feelings of uncertainty and anxiety as to whether or not
I was in the right road or path, and was making progress in the right
direction, or I should be obliged to retrace my steps. As I rode on
thus, dark clouds rolled up the sky and it began to rain. I unstrapped
my umbrella from my saddle, and, as I spread it, my horse, that had
seemed as gentle as any horse could be, shot from under me with a
movement so sudden and swift, that I struck but once on his rump,
rolled off behind him, and he went tearing into the woods at the side
of the "pike." I never could understand how my feet were disentangled
from the stirrups, and how I fell upon the hard turnpike-road without
being hurt at all. But I know that that kind Protector was with me who
has preserved me through so many years of travel upon oceans, lakes,
rivers, and during unnumbered thousands of miles of travel by railroad,
stage, and on horseback, over the roughest and wildest portions of
the land, without ever suffering a more serious accident than this. I
followed my horse into the woods, but could not find him, and walked
about four miles to the village in the rain.

After dinner, my kind clerical friend and host rode with me several
miles to find my horse, and my saddle-bags that he had carried into the
woods with him, but our search was in vain. At night, after our return,
a black boy--a slave--who had found my horse in the woods, brought him
to me, and received his reward. The saddle-bags I never found. More
than all else I regretted the loss of my small Bible, that had been my
constant companion during all my school-days, and in all my travels by
sea and by land for many years before.

Sunday was a cold, rainy, cheerless day. I preached to a very small
congregation that assembled in the morning, and "lifted a collection"
amounting to nine dollars and five cents. In the afternoon and at night
it rained so hard that there were no public services.

Monday, I spent the forenoon with the officers of the county Bible
Society, instructing them in their duties and aiding them in writing
their reports. In the afternoon I attended a funeral that was less
like a funeral than any I had ever witnessed, and seemed more strange
to me than anything I had yet seen. The clergyman invited me to go
with him to the graveyard, where he had engaged to be present at the
burial. The funeral party was from the country. The coffin was conveyed
in a large farm-wagon drawn by six mules. The mud was very deep and
very red. The family and neighbors followed on horseback, a straggling
company, attempting to maintain no semblance of a procession or any
kind of order. The women were dressed as I have since seen thousands
of Brush-women dressed. They had long riding-skirts made of coarse
cotton-factory cloth, dyed the inevitable butternut-color. Their
bonnets were of the simplest possible construction, made of any kind
of calico, stiffened and bent over the top of the head in such form as
to protect the neck, and project a long distance beyond the face, and
usually called "sun-bonnets." The company all rode as near the grave as
they conveniently could, and with the exception of those who officiated
in lowering the coffin into the grave, they all sat upon their horses
while the clergyman performed his brief religious services. There
were no sable mourning-weeds. The contrast in colors and dress from
those usually seen at a funeral, as well as in all the forms generally
observed on such an occasion, impressed me very strangely. On another
occasion I attended a funeral where the company followed after the
corpse in the same straggling manner, though the most of them were on
foot, and on their way to the graveyard they climbed the fences and
went across-lots by a shorter route, leaving the hearse to go around
the road, and they were at the grave to receive and bury the corpse
when the hearse arrived. This was not from any want of respect, for the
person buried was a college graduate and lawyer. It was simply their
way of doing things.

On Tuesday, having completed all my arrangements for the exploration
and supply of the county with Bibles, I took stage and returned
to headquarters. As from time to time I received the reports of
the Bible-distributor, and learned of the amount sold, and of the
large number of families destitute who gladly received as a gift
this inestimable treasure, I felt that in all my toils and personal
privations in thus exploring the Brush, I had not labored in vain nor
spent my strength for naught. In the great day, when all the good
results of these labors shall be revealed, I know that there will be no
cause for regret, but much for joy.

I was now better prepared than ever before to understand just what
I needed and all that I needed to complete my outfit for the Brush.
My experience in horseback-riding had been particularly instructive
on this subject. After somewhat extended but fruitless search and
inquiry for a horse, such as I needed in that vicinity, I took steamer
for a great horse-market a hundred and fifty miles distant. Here I
found great droves of horses, in vast stables, attended by scores of
jockeys, all wide awake and eager to show me the very article that I
wanted. I went from stable to stable, looked at a good many, heard
the most satisfactory statements from their voluble owners in regard
to the qualities of those that were brought out and submitted to my
special inspection, mounted some of them and rode a short distance to
test their qualities, but did not purchase. Indeed, I became entirely
satisfied that I was not as verdant in regard to horse-flesh as from my
pale looks and clerical appearance they generally took me to be. Though
a clergyman, and the son of a clergyman, my father had penetrated the
wilderness of Western New York, purchased a farm, and erected his
log-cabin west of the Genesee River in 1807, when there was but a
single log-house where Rochester now stands. Hence, from my childhood
I had enjoyed the invaluable advantages of farm-life and labors. I had
ridden colts, driven and worked horses, and learned what is hardly
worth less in the future battle of life than all that is acquired in
college and professional schools.

While looking through these large stables I heard of a horse that
had been sent to a stable to be sold on account of some changes in
the family of the owner. I went and looked at her, and was greatly
pleased. I mounted her, rode a few miles, and returned perfectly
satisfied and delighted. In a short time I paid the price asked, and
was her happy owner. It was love at first sight, love that never
failed, but grew stronger and stronger through all the years that
we journeyed together. I took her on board the steamer with me, and
returned to headquarters. Next I procured saddle, bridle, halter,
spurs, leggins, and saddle-bags. For leggins I bought a yard and a
half of butternut jean, which was cut into two equal parts, and the
buttons and button-holes so arranged that I could wrap them tightly
around my legs from a short distance above my knees, and button them
on. They were secured from slipping down by a pair of strings which
were wound about the legs both above and below the knees, in such a
manner as not to interfere with their free movement in either riding or
walking. A good deal of skill, as well as a good deal of awkwardness,
may be displayed in putting on and tying on a pair of leggins; and
when a man displays unusual facility and skill in this matter in
his travels through the Brush, he is at once taken to be either an
itinerant preacher--or a horse-thief. In long horseback journeys these
leggins are invaluable as a protection against mud, rain, and cold. I
have traveled over the muddiest roads, many days and weeks, when, on
arriving at the house of some hospitable friend, I was so completely
bespattered and covered with mud that I looked very much like the
roads through which I had been traveling; but, on taking off my leggins
and overcoat, I laid aside the most of the mud with them, and so
presented a very respectable appearance.

But the saddle-bags were indispensable. In them I carried all the
changes in my wardrobe, and all such articles for my personal comfort
as one can have whose home is on horseback; together with such reports,
documents, and papers, as were indispensable to me in the prosecution
of my labors. With a large blanket-shawl rolled compactly together, and
strapped with my umbrella behind my saddle upon a pad attached to it
for this purpose, I was prepared to travel without any regard to rain
or weather.

Behold me, then, with my new and complete outfit, mounted and
starting for the Brush, in a broad-brimmed white hat, snuff-colored
overcoat, butternut-dyed pantaloons, leggins, heavy boots, and spurs.
My saddle-bags were thrown across the saddle, and my blanket-shawl
and umbrella strapped behind it. As I rode out of the city into the
country, I met a countryman on his way to town, who greeted me with a
pleasant "How d'y, sir?" and, as he scanned with a pleasant face my
outfit, he added, "Traveling, sir?" A countryman, and to the "manner
born," that was his quick recognition and approval of the perfection
and completeness of my outfit for the Brush. Two negroes, who were
felling a huge tree in the dense forest at the roadside, paused in
their labor, and manifested their approval with a broad African grin,
and "Mighty nice hoss, dat, massa!"

In my next chapter I shall make good these comments.




CHAPTER III.

THE ITINERANT PIONEER PREACHER'S FAITHFUL HORSE.


I think a good horse is worthy of a niche in the temple of fame. I know
that many men have been immortalized in song and eloquence, and had
magnificent monuments erected to their memory, who have never done one
half as much for the good of the world as the faithful animal I rode so
many years, through the wilds of the Southwest, in the service of the
American Bible Society. But very few _men_ have done as much to promote
the circulation of the Word of God, "without note or comment," as she
did in those years of faithful labor.

If there be a paradise where there are purling streams, grateful shade,
and fat pastures for _horses_ that have been faithful and true, I am
sure that she has a high rank in "the noble army" of horses that in
sunshine and in storm, with unflagging devotion, have borne itinerant
pioneer preachers through mud and rain, and sleet and snow, as with
glowing, burning zeal they have prosecuted their heroic Christian
labors. All honor to the itinerant's faithful horse--my own among the
number! My very pen seems to catch new inspiration, and dance with
delight, as I attempt her eulogy.

In fact, she shrank from no toil in the prosecution of this good work.
She never kept me from fulfilling an appointment by refusing to ford
a river. She never hesitated to enter any canebrake it was necessary
for me to cross, and, though the canes were ever so thick and tangled,
and resisted her progress like so many ropes or cords around her
breast, yet she pressed carefully and firmly against them, until they
yielded to her power, and we emerged safely from the thicket. She never
flinched from climbing the steepest mountain-paths, where I had to hold
on to her mane with both hands to keep from sliding off behind her; and
then she would as kindly perform the more difficult feat of descending
such paths, stepping carefully and firmly so as not to stumble or
fall, while I kept my position in the saddle by holding on to the
crupper with one hand and guiding her with the other. In a word, she
never failed or disappointed me at any time, in any place, or in any
particular.

She was of medium size, light-sorrel color, white face, and in all
respects of admirable form and mold. She had been broken for the saddle
to either pace, trot, or gallop, and each gait was about as easy and
perfect as possible. In long journeys of weeks, and sometimes of
months, her movements were always free and fleet, and by alternating
from one gait to another she bore me about as easily and gently as one
could well wish to be carried on horseback. But her kind, affectionate
disposition was her crowning excellence. I never hitched her and went
into a house for a long or short stay, that she did not greet me as
soon as I opened the door on my return with her affectionate whinny.
She would recognize me among the congregation, as I came out of any
church where I had preached, or wherever she could see me in the
largest gatherings of people, and always with the same warm salutation.
Whenever I went to her stable in the morning, or wherever I approached
her after a brief separation, her demonstrations of affection were as
strong as they could well be without human powers.

On one occasion I rode up to the bank of a small river, very near its
mouth, and hailed the ferryman on the opposite side. While waiting for
him to cross, I led her down upon the planks which extended a short
distance into the river, that she might drink. Wading into the water,
she stepped beyond the planks and instantly sank to her breast in the
mud. It was the sediment that had been deposited there by numerous
freshets. As she went down the entire depth of her fore-legs in an
instant, she made one desperate effort to extricate herself, but in
vain. She seemed to comprehend her condition perfectly, turned to me
with a beseeching look and groan, and did not make another struggle.
I told her to lie still, and started on a run to get some teamsters,
whom I had met with their large six-horse teams as I rode up to the
river-bank, to help me in getting her out. They kindly came to my
aid, and by putting my saddle-girth under her breast, and tying ropes
to each end of it, they lifted her out of the mud by main strength.
When she was fairly on her feet, her demonstrations of gratitude were
most remarkable. She thanked me over and over again as plainly and
strongly as horse-language would possibly admit of, danced around me
with delight, persisted in rubbing her nose against me in the most
affectionate manner, and showed a joy that seemed wellnigh human. It
was warm summer weather, and on reaching the hotel on the opposite
shore I had her legs and her entire body from the tips of her ears to
the end of her tail thoroughly washed and rubbed dry. After dinner I
resumed my journey, and she was as well as ever.

Everywhere, during all the years that I traveled in the Brush, my
Jenny--for that was the name I gave her--made friends for herself and
me. If I rode up to a house upon a plantation, hailed it according to
the custom of the country, and was welcomed to its hospitalities by the
owner, he would call a negro servant:

"Ho! boy, carry this horse to the stable and take good care of her.
D'ye hear?"

When I dismounted, she understood that her long day's journey was
ended, and knew where she was going as well as the servant did. When
mounted, she would start with a fleet pace that was almost as gentle in
its movements as the rocking of a cradle; which would make the rider
roll the white of his eyes with the supremest African delight. Very
often I have seen them turn their faces, beaming with satisfaction,
and cast back furtive glances upon groups of young Africans that
were gazing after them with an admiration that was only equaled by
their envy of the rider's happy lot. Before reaching the stable a
friendship, if not affection, was established that insured the most
liberal allowance of "fodder" and corn, and the most thorough currying,
brushing, and care. I have no doubt that on many such occasions they
promised themselves a pleasant stolen night-ride, to visit friends
on some near or remote plantation, and that they did not forget or
fail to make good their promises. When I sometimes had occasion to
protract my stay for several days, it was amusing to listen to the
frequent applications from young Africa to ride her to the brook and
water her. They were intensely solicitous that she should not fail to
get water--or themselves rides! At all places, whether on cultivated
plantations or deep in the Brush, whether she was cared for by black
or white, she received the same kind attention. Hence she was always
in the best order and condition--always able and ready to take me the
longest journeys, through any amount of mud and mire, and over the
roughest roads, wherever it was necessary for me to go. I am sure that
the people were the more glad to see me on her account. My honored
instructor, the venerable President Nott, of Union College, in his
lectures on the "Beautiful," used to say:

"Young gentlemen, undoubtedly the two most beautiful objects in nature
are a beautiful horse and a beautiful lady. I hope you will not think
me ungallant in putting the horse before the lady." I gratified the
love of the beautiful in a fine horse, and so won their esteem and
love. But I was often as much surprised and gratified at her behavior
in her travels with me upon Western steamboats as upon land. On one
occasion I took her on board a large New Orleans steamer with a
deck-load of mules, horses, sheep, etc., and rode some two hundred
miles. I reached the place of my destination about midnight, and was
obliged to land at that hour. She was standing immediately back of the
wheel-house, and on the side of the boat toward the shore. But the boat
was so loaded that I was obliged to lead her a long distance around by
the stern, past the heels of braying mules and bellowing cattle, to
the point opposite the place from which I had started; then forward,
crossing the boat immediately in front of the roaring wood-fires, which
were on the same deck, and on to the bow, where I led her down the
plank on to a large wharf-boat. I then led her the entire length of
this boat, and down a long plank-way to the shore. And all this through
the indescribable din and confusion made by mates and deck-hands in
landing freight, passengers, and baggage, and the deafening screech of
the whistle in blowing off steam. When I took her by the bits and said,
"Come, Jenny," she placed her head against my shoulder and followed me
all this long, crooked, noisy route, with the confidence of a child. I
had led her on and off a great many noisy steamers, but that was the
most notable instance of all.

But my Jenny had some other qualities which I should never have
discovered had they not been made known to me by others. Elsewhere
in this volume I have spoken at length of my visit to a celebrated
watering-place, and of the numerous gamblers and other strange
characters that I met there. It was in the midst of a very wild region.
When I had arrived within a few hours' ride of the springs, I stopped
to dine at a house of private entertainment. A large four-horse stage,
loaded with passengers bound for the springs, soon drove up and stopped
at the same house, which was the regular place of dining for the
passengers. After dinner I rode on to the springs, keeping along the
most of the way in company with the stage. My Jenny attracted very
marked attention from the driver and passengers. The driver especially
was profuse in his expressions of admiration. As I rode up to the
hotel, the listless, lounging visitors, who were so deep in the
Brush that they had very little to attract or interest them, regarded
her gait and movements with general attention and delight. When I
dismounted, a black boy was soon in my saddle, and my Jenny moved off
to the stable with her usual fleetness and grace. I entered the hotel
and registered my name, without any prefix or suffix to indicate my
employment or profession. The weather was very hot, the roads very
dusty, and after the fashion of the country I was at once furnished
with water to wash. As I stood wiping myself, the stage-driver rushed
into the room and up to me in great excitement and said:

"Mr. Pierson, will you allow your horse to run? The money is up and
we'll have a race if you'll only allow her to run"--at the same time
holding up and shaking in my face a mass of bills that were drawn
through his fingers, after the fashion of gamblers in those parts. I
was startled to hear my name pronounced in a strange place, and by
a stranger, but in a moment bethought me that he had learned it by
looking on the hotel-register. I was more startled by the strangeness
of the proposition. As the servant stood with my saddle-bags on his
arm, waiting to show me to my room, I answered perhaps a little too
abruptly, "No, sir," and followed him to my room, to prepare for
supper. When the supper-bell rang, and I stepped out of my room upon
the piazza, a portly man of gentlemanly bearing, who had evidently
taken his position there to wait for me, approached me pleasantly and
said:

"I hope, sir, you will reconsider your decision and allow your mare
to run. As soon as you rode up I offered to bet two hundred and fifty
dollars that she would outrun anything here, and the money is up. Allow
me to say that I am an old Virginian, and a judge of horses, and if you
will let her run I am sure to win."

By this time I had entirely recovered my self-possession, and, bowing
politely, I looked directly into his eyes and said:

"Do you think, sir, it will do for a Presbyterian clergyman to commence
horse-racing _so soon_ after reaching the Springs?"

He was as much startled as I had been--in fact, so startled that he
could not say a word, and I left him without any reply, and went in to
supper. When I returned from the dining-room I found him at the door,
and he approached me in the most subdued and respectful manner and said:

"Allow me to speak to you again, sir. I wish to apologize, sir; I beg
your pardon, sir; I assure you, sir, that nothing would induce me
knowingly to insult a clergyman."

I responded, very pleasantly:

"I am certain, sir, that no insult was intended, and therefore there is
no pardon to be granted."

He thanked me very warmly for my kind construction of his motives,
and left me with a lighter step and brighter face. His companions were
all greatly pleased with my treatment of the matter; and, as I have
elsewhere said, there was a general turnout of all the gamblers--of
whom he was one of the most prominent--to hear me preach in the
ballroom the next Sabbath. But I need not say, to any one at all
familiar with life in the Southwest, that he had to "stand treat" all
around among his companions, for being thus, in the vernacular of the
country, "picked up" by the preacher.

In passing through another part of this county the following winter, I
rode up to a blacksmith-shop to get a shoe tightened. As soon as the
blacksmith came out he said:

"Wasn't you at the Springs last summer with this mare?"

I replied in the affirmative, and, on looking at him, recognized the
man that kept a little shop there, and had shod her in the summer.

"Well," said he, leaning upon her neck, patting her affectionately,
and looking into vacancy with a pleased expression, as if living over
some pleasant scene in the past, "they got her out, preacher, and run
her, any way." And then, as if to make the matter all right with me,
he looked up into my face and said, with the most satisfied smile and
emphatic nod: "And, preacher, she beat, she did. He won his money!"

During my vacation-trips to the East, for several summers, I left my
horse with some kind, warm friends upon a plantation, for the ladies
and children to ride as they might wish. At first it was difficult for
me to make satisfactory arrangements to leave her for several weeks.
I could not trust her at a livery-stable. There I felt sure she would
get a great many stolen rides. I found also that the temptation was
too great for the virtue of some professed friends with whom I left
her, for on my return I found she had been overridden, and looked worn
rather than rested from the vacation I had intended for her as well
as myself. But in my travels I found a lady from my native State, New
York, who had gone South as a teacher, and married a planter. There
was a slight disparity in their ages. I would not take oath as to the
exact difference, but I heard a good many times that, when married, she
was nineteen and he forty-nine. If that was so, the marriage furnished
confirmation of the popular talk and notions concerning "an old man's
darling." He was certainly as kind and indulgent as a husband could
well be. She was a Presbyterian and he a Baptist. He was kind and
genial, and full of vivacity and life, and loved to entertain me as
his "wife's preacher," and for her sake, as well as to gratify his own
warm social instincts. Here, at each return for years, I ever found
the warmest welcome and the kindest home. To her my visits were like
those of an old friend, for, when far away from the companions and
scenes of early life, the ties that unite those from the same State
become strong and endearing. But far stronger than this is the bond
that unites members of different churches to their own clergymen, and
especially when they but rarely enjoy their ministrations. Gifted,
intelligent, and full of energy, and also sympathizing deeply with
the object of my Christian toils and labors, she spared no pains to
make her house what it ever was to me, a delightful resting-place and
home. A large, fine chamber always awaited me, to which they gave my
name, and here I spent many delightful hours. I brought to them many
tales of my adventures in the Brush, for which my host had the keenest
appreciation, and I heard from him many accounts of preachers and
preaching he had known and heard that are hard to be surpassed, which I
intend to give my readers in another chapter. It was with these friends
that for years I left my horse during all my vacation-journeys. Here
she became a family pet. Here I was sure she would never be overridden,
and always receive the kindest care. Here she came to be regarded
with an attachment, if possible, greater than my own; for, when I
returned for her, the children would have a hearty cry as I rode her
away. When at length I closed my labors in the Southwest and left the
region, my kind Baptist friend was more than glad to procure her for
his Presbyterian wife, and I left her where I was sure she would have
the kindest treatment while serviceable, and enjoy a comfortable and
honored old age.




CHAPTER IV.

OLD-TIME HOSPITALITY IN THE SOUTHWEST.


The hospitality extended to ministers of the gospel by the people who
lived in the Brush was generous and large-hearted to a degree that
I have never known among any other class of people. They obeyed the
Scripture injunction, "Use hospitality without grudging." They were
"not forgetful to entertain strangers." I found their tables, their
beds, their stables, and indeed all the comforts of their rude homes,
always open for the rest and refreshment of myself and my indispensable
horse. We were as welcome to all these as to the water that bubbled
from their springs and "ran among the hills."

At the commencement of my itinerant life, on leaving the families where
I had spent a night or taken a meal, I used to propose to pay them, and
ask for my bill; but I found this gave offense. Many seemed to regard
it as a reflection on their generosity for me to intimate or suppose
that they would take pay for entertaining a preacher. I therefore
adopted a formula that saved me from all danger of wounding their
feelings, and relieved my character from all suspicion of a disposition
to avoid the payment of my bills. It was as follows: When about to
leave a family, I said to them, "I am indebted to you for a night's
entertainment," to which the general response was: "Not at all, sir.
Come and stay with us again, whenever you pass this way."

It was a very rare occurrence that I was permitted to cancel my
indebtedness by paying for what I had received.

In thanking them for their hospitality, as of course I always did on
leaving them, they made me feel that I had conferred a favor rather
than incurred an obligation by staying with them.

For years it was my custom to apply for entertainment at any house
wherever night overtook me, and I invariably received a cordial
welcome. This application for entertainment was always made according
to the custom of the people, and in their own vernacular, which I will
illustrate by an example.

In my horseback-journeyings I had reached the tall, dense, heavy
forests of the bottom-lands of the Mississippi River, about a dozen
miles from the Father of Waters. As the sun was about setting, I
came upon a large "dead'ning," where the underbrush had been cut out
and burned off, the large trees had been girdled and had died, and a
crop of corn had been raised among the dead forest-trees, before the
new-comer in this wilderness had been able to completely clear a field
around his newly-erected log-cabin. Turning off from the corduroy-road
upon which I had been traveling, I took a footpath, and, following
that, was soon as near the cabin as a high rail-fence would allow me to
approach on horseback. A short distance from this log-cabin was a still
smaller one occupied by a colored aunty and her family, and used for a
kitchen; and not far off still another log-building, used for a barn
and stable.

The most of my readers in the older sections of the country will
suppose that I had now only to dismount, hitch my horse, climb the
fence, rap at the door, and so gain admittance to my resting-place for
the night. Far otherwise. Only the most untraveled and inexperienced in
the Brush would undertake so rash an experiment.

Sitting upon my horse, I called out in a loud voice, "Hello there!"
That call was for the same purpose that the city pastor mounts the
stone steps and rings the bell at the door of his parishioner. It was
rather more effective.

A large pack of hounds and various other kinds of dogs responded with a
barking chorus, a group of black pickaninnies rushed from the adjacent
kitchen, followed to the door by their sable mother, with arms a-kimbo
and hands fresh from mixing the pone or corn-dodger for the family
supper; all, with distended eyes and mouth, and shining ivory, staring
at the stranger with excited and pleased curiosity. At almost the
same instant, the mistress of the incipient plantation approached the
door of her cabin, stockingless and shoeless, with a dress of woolsey
woven in her own loom by her own hands, and cut and made by her own
skill, with face not less pleased and excited than the others, and her
cordial greeting of "How d'y, stranger--how d'y, sir? 'Light, sir!
[alight]--'light, sir!"

Remaining upon my horse, I replied: "I am a stranger in these parts,
madam. I have ridden about fifty miles since morning and am very tired.
Can I get to stay with you to-night, madam?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, promptly, "if you can put up with our rough
fare. We never turn anybody away."

I told her I should be very glad to stay with her, and dismounted. The
dogs, who would otherwise have resisted my approach to the door by a
combined attack, obeyed their instructions not to harm me, and granted
me a safe entrance as a recognized friend.

Such was the universal training of the dogs, and such the uniform
method of approaching and gaining admittance to the houses of the
people in the Brush. My hostess informed me that her husband was at
work in the "dead'ning," but that he would soon be at home and take
care of my horse.

I told her that I could do that myself, and she sent her little son
along with me to the stable, where I bestowed that kind and, I may
say, affectionate care that one who journeys for years on horseback
learns to bestow upon his faithful horse. I then entered the cabin,
and received that warm welcome that awaits the traveler in our Western
wilds.

Shall I describe my home for the night? It was a new log-house, less
than twenty feet square, and advanced to a state of completeness beyond
many in which I had lodged, inasmuch as the large openings between the
logs had been filled with "chink and daubing." The chimney, built upon
the outside of the house, was made of split sticks, laid up in the
proper form, and thoroughly "daubed" with mud, so as to prevent them
from taking fire. A large opening cut through the logs communicated
with this chimney, and formed the ample fireplace. The roof was made
of "shakes"--pieces of timber rived out very much in the form of
staves, but not shaved at all. These were laid upon the roof like
shingles, except that they were not nailed on, but "weighted on"--kept
in their places by small timbers laid across each row of "shakes" over
the entire roof. These timbers were kept in their places by shorter
ones placed between them, transversely, up and down the roof. In this
manner the pioneer constructs a roof for his cabin, by his own labor,
without the expenditure of a dime for nails. With wooden hinges and
a wooden latch for his door, he needs to purchase little but glass
for his windows, to provide a comfortable home for his family. His
latch-string, made of hemp or flax that he has raised, or from the skin
of the deer which he has pursued and slain in the chase, which, as the
old song has it--

  "Hangs outside the door,"

symbolizes the cordial welcome and abounding hospitality to be found
within.

At the end of the room opposite the fireplace there was a bed in each
corner, under one of which there was a "trundle-bed" for the children.
There was no chamber-floor or chamber above to obstruct the view of the
roof. There was no division into apartments, not even by hanging up
blankets, a device I have seen resorted to in less primitive regions.
From floor to roof, from wall to wall, all was a single "family" room,
which was evidently to be occupied by the family and myself in common.
A rough board table, some plain chairs, and a very few other articles
completed the inventory of household furniture of the pioneer's home to
which I had been welcomed.

Such a home was the birthplace of Lincoln, and many other of the
greatest, wisest, and best men that have ever blessed our country. Such
homes have been crowned with abundance, and have been the scenes of as
much real comfort and joy as any others in our land.

I have found that curiosity is a trait that is not monopolized by
any one section of country or class of people. It belongs to all
localities, and to all grades and kinds of people. I therefore, in
accordance with what a pretty wide experience had taught me was the
best course to pursue, proceeded at once to gratify the curiosity of
my hostess as to who her guest was, and what business had brought him
to this wild region. I told her my name, and that I was a Presbyterian
preacher, and an agent of the American Bible Society. This not only
satisfied her curiosity, but was very gratifying information to her,
and I received a renewed and cordial welcome to her home as a minister
of the gospel.

In the course of the ordinary conversation and questions that attend
such a meeting of strangers in the Brush, I learned that she and her
husband had emigrated from a county some hundreds of miles east, which
I had several times visited in the prosecution of my mission, and I
was able to give her a great deal of information in regard to her old
neighbors and friends. We were in the midst of an earnest conversation
in regard to these people, when her husband came in from his labors.
On being introduced to me, and informed in regard to my mission, he
repeated the welcome his wife had already given me to the hospitality
of their cabin.

Our supper was such as is almost universally spread in the wilds of
the Southwest. It consisted of an abundance of hot corn-bread, fried
bacon, potatoes, and coffee. A hard day's labor and a long day's ride
prepared us to do it equal justice.

The evening wore rapidly away in conversation. Such pioneers are not
dull, stupid men. Their peculiar life gives activity to mind as well
as body. My host was anxious and glad to hear from the great outside
active world, with which I had more recently mingled, and had questions
to ask and views to give as to what was going on in the political and
religious world.

At length our wearied bodies made a plea for rest that could not be
refused, and I was invited to conduct their family worship. This
invitation was extended in the language and manner peculiar to the
Southern and Southwestern sections of the country. This is universally
as follows:

The Bible and hymn-book are brought forward by the host, and laid upon
the table or stand, when he turns to the preacher and says, "Will you
take the books, sir?"

That is the invitation to lead the devotions of the family in singing
and prayer. It has been my happy lot to receive and respond to that
invitation--as I did that night--in many hundreds of families and in
some of the wildest portions of our land.

The method of extending an invitation to "ask a blessing" before a
meal is quite as peculiar. Being seated at the table, the host, turning
to the preacher, says, "Will you make a beginning, sir?"--all at table
reverently bowing their heads as he extends the invitation, and while
the blessing is being asked.

So, too, I have "made a beginning" at many a hospitable board in
many different States. I did not that night make the mistake that is
reported of an inexperienced home-missionary explorer, in similar
circumstances, who, laboring under the impression that "to retire" and
"to go to bed" were synonymous terms, said, "Madam, I will retire, if
you please."

"Retire!" she rejoined; "we never retires, stranger. We just goes to
bed."

Sitting with the family before the large fireplace, I said, "Madam, I
have ridden a long distance to-day, and am very tired."

"You can go to bed at any time you wish, sir," said she. "Just take the
left-hand bed."

I withdrew behind their backs to "lay my garments by," took the
left-hand bed, turned my face to the left-hand wall, and slept soundly
for the night.

When I awoke in the morning, husband and wife had arisen and left the
room, he to feed his team, and she to attend to her household duties in
the kitchen. After an early breakfast, and again leading their family
devotions, I bade them good-by, with many thanks for their kindness,
and with repeated invitations on their part to be sure to spend the
night with them should I ever come that way again. But I have never
seen them since.

I have very often recalled a hospitable reception in the Brush, of a
very different character, the recollection of which has always been
exceedingly pleasant to me. Wishing to visit a rough, wild, remote
region, at a season of the year when the roads were almost impassable
on account of the spring rains and the mud, I concluded to go the
greater part of the distance by steamboats, down one river and up
another, and then ride about fifty miles in a stage or mail-wagon.
The roads would scarcely be called roads at all in most parts of the
country, and I shall not be able to give to many of my readers any true
idea of the exceeding roughness of that ride. A considerable part of
the way was through the bottom-lands of one of the smaller Southwestern
rivers that swell the volume of the Mississippi. A recent freshet had
left the high-water mark upon the trees several feet higher than the
backs of our horses; and as we jolted over the small stumps and great
roots of the trees, from which the earth had been washed away by the
freshet, I was wearied, exceedingly wearied, by the rough road and
comfortless vehicle in which I traveled.

At length we came upon a very pleasant plantation, with a comfortable
house and surroundings, where the driver, a boy about fifteen years
old, told me he would feed his team, and we would get our dinner.
It was not an hotel. Mail-contractors in this region often make such
arrangements to procure feed for their horses and meals for the few
passengers that they carry, at private houses. As I entered the house
I was greeted with one of those calm, mild, sweet faces that one never
forgets. I should think that my hostess was between thirty-five and
forty years old. I was too weary to engage in much conversation, and
she was quiet, and said very little to me. As I observed her movements
about the room in preparing the dinner, I thought I had never seen a
face that presented a more perfect picture of contentment and peace.
I felt perfectly sure that she was a Christian--that her face bespoke
"the peace of God that passeth all understanding." When she invited the
driver and myself to take seats at the table, I said, "Shall I ask a
blessing, madam?"

With a smile she bowed assent, and, as I concluded and looked up, her
face was all radiant with joy, and she said excitedly, "You are a
preacher, sir!"

I replied, "Yes, madam."

"Well," she responded, "I am glad to see you. I love to see preachers.
I love to cook for them, and take care of them. I love to have them in
my house."

I told her who I was, explained the character of my mission, and
expressed, I trust with becoming warmth, my gratification at the
cordiality of her welcome.

"Oh," said she, "if I was a man, I know what I would do. I would do
nothing but preach. I'd go, and go, and go; and preach, and preach, and
preach. I wouldn't have anything to pester me. I wouldn't marry nary
woman in the world. I'd go, and go, and go--and preach, and preach, and
preach, until I could preach no longer; and then I'd lie down--close my
eyes--and--go on."

Was there ever a more graphic and truthful description of an earnest,
apostolic life? Was there ever a more simple, beautiful description of
a peaceful Christian death? They recall the statement of Paul, "This
_one thing_ I do"; and the story of Stephen, "And when he had said
this, he fell asleep."

The people who have spent their lives deep in the Brush, as this good
woman had, have no other idea of a preacher of the gospel but one whose
duty and mission it is to "go" and "preach." They have been accustomed
to hearing but one message, or at most a few messages, from their lips,
and then hear their farewell words, listen to their farewell songs,
shake hands with them, and see them take their departure to "go" and
"preach" to others who, like them, dwell in lone and solitary wilds.
Meetings and partings like these have originated and given their
peculiar power to such refrains as--

  "Say, brothers, will you meet us--
  Say, brothers, will you meet us--
  Say, brothers, will you meet us
    On Canaan's happy shore?

  "By the grace of God we'll meet you--
  By the grace of God we'll meet you--
  By the grace of God we'll meet you
    On Canaan's happy shore."

This woman knew little of the great world--had little that it calls
culture; her language was that of the people among whom she lived, and
was such as she had always been accustomed to hear; but her thoughts
were deep and pure, her "peace flowed like a river," and her communion
with God lifted her to companionship with the noblest and best of
earth. Though I spent but little more than an hour in her presence,
and many years have passed since that transient meeting, her picture
still hangs in the chamber of my memory, calm, pure, and saintly, and
breathing upon my spirit a perpetual benediction.




CHAPTER V.

OLD-TIME BASKET-MEETINGS IN THE BRUSH.


Religious meetings, popularly denominated "basket-meetings," were
known and recognized as established institutions in the Brush. They
were among the assemblages that had resulted from the sparseness of
the population in those regions. Where the country was hilly and
mountainous, and the settlers were scattered along the streams in the
narrow valleys; or the land was so rough and poor that only occasional
patches would reward tillage; or for various other causes, the families
were but few, and far distant from each other, it was a very difficult
matter for the people to leave their homes day after day to attend a
continuous meeting. Hence, among other religious gatherings, they had
long been accustomed to hold what were called basket-meetings.

These meetings involved less labor and trouble than camp-meetings,
and could often be held where such a meeting would be impossible.
They were usually not as large, and did not continue as many days.
They were called "basket-meetings" from the fact that those from a
distance brought their provisions, already cooked, in large baskets,
and in quantities sufficient to last them during the continuance of
the meeting. They put up no tents or cabins on the ground. They did
not cook or sleep there. They most frequently commenced on Saturday,
and continued through the Sabbath. They generally had a prayer-meeting
and preaching on Saturday forenoon, and then adjourned for an hour or
two. During this intermission the greater part of the people dispersed
in groups among the trees, and took their dinner after the manner of a
picnic. Those living in the immediate vicinity returned to their homes
for dinner, taking with them as many of those in attendance as they
could possibly secure. Every stranger was sure of repeated invitations
to dine, both with these families and neighborhood groups among the
trees, and at the adjacent cabins. After dinner they reassembled and
had a repetition of the services of the morning.

Unlike a camp-meeting, they had no services at night. When the
afternoon meetings were concluded, the people dispersed and spent the
night at the cabins within two or three miles around. All the people
in these cabins usually kept open house upon such an occasion. They
were present, and, after the benediction was pronounced, they mounted
the stumps and logs and extended a general invitation to any present
to spend the night with them. Not satisfied with giving this general
invitation, they jumped down and went among the rapidly dispersing
crowd and followed it with private personal solicitations to accept
their proffered hospitality.

On the Sabbath, they reassembled with augmented numbers, and the
services of Saturday were reënacted, with such additions and variations
as the circumstances might demand.

The first basket-meeting that I ever attended was so new and strange
to me in all its incidents, that, though many years have intervened,
my recollections of it are as vivid as though it had occurred but
yesterday. It was in a very rough, wild region. The country had been
settled a long time, so that those in attendance were genuine backwoods
people "to the manner born." The place of meeting was in a tall, dense,
unbroken forest. The underbrush had been cut and cleared away, a few
trees had been so felled that rude planks, made by splitting logs,
could be placed across them for seats for the ladies, while the men
mostly sat upon the trunks of other fallen trees. The pulpit or "stand"
for the preacher was original and truly Gothic in its construction. It
was made by cutting horizontal notches immediately opposite to each
other, in the sides of two large oak-trees, standing about four feet
apart, and inserting into these notches a board about a foot wide,
that had been placed across a wagon and used for a seat by some of
those present in coming to the meeting. The preacher placed his Bible
and hymn-book upon this board, hung the indispensable saddle-bags in
which he had brought them across one end of it, and so was ready for
the services. I thought I had never seen in any cathedral a pulpit more
simple and grand. Those towering, grand old oaks, with their massive,
outstretching branches, spoke eloquently of the power and grandeur of
the God who made them. And yet, small and puny as the preacher appeared
in the contrast, it was a fitting place for him to stand and proclaim
his message to the people who worshiped beneath them. Comparatively
unlearned and ignorant as he was, he could tell them from that open
Bible what they would never learn in the contemplation of grand old
forests, or stars, or suns, or all the sublimest works of nature. All
these are mute and dumb in regard to the story of the cross. However
they may enkindle our rapture, or excite our reverence, they will never
tell us how sin may be forgiven--how the soul may be saved.

The indispensable matter in the selection of grounds for a
basket-meeting or a camp-meeting in the Southwest was a good spring of
clear, running water. This must be so large as to furnish an abundance
of water, not only for all the people who would be present, but for
all the horses necessary to transport themselves and their provisions
to the place of meeting. In hot weather the demands for water were
large, and there was need for a "clear spring" like that so beautifully
described by the poet Bryant:

  "... yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs,
  Wells softly forth, and wandering, steeps the roots
  Of half the mighty forest."

The sermon on this occasion was plain, sensible, and earnest. The
preacher was superior to the people, and yet in all respects one of
them. He had been born in the Brush, raised in the Brush, and had spent
many years in preaching to the people in the Brush. He dressed as they
dressed, talked as they talked, and, unconsciously to himself, used all
their provincialisms in his sermons. In his thoughts, feelings, and
manner of life he was in full sympathy with them. He had toiled among
them long, earnestly, and successfully. He had preached to a great many
congregations, scattered over a wide extent of Brush country. He had
been associated with his brethren of different denominations in holding
a great many union basket-meetings similar to the one now in progress.
He was widely known, beloved, and honored. Perhaps the most widely
known, honored, and successful pastorate in the country has been that
of the late Rev. Dr. Gardner Spring, in New York. But I do not think
that Dr. Spring, with all his talents, culture, and learning, could
possibly have been as useful, as successful, as honored among these
people, as was this preacher. He could not have eaten their coarse
food, slept in their wretched beds, mingled with them in their daily
life, or been in such complete sympathy with them in their poverty,
struggles, temptations, and modes of thought, as to have so won their
love and reverence, and led them in such numbers to the cross of
Christ. "There are diversity of gifts, but the same spirit," etc. I
honor these noble and heroic workers in the Master's vineyard, who thus
toil on in the Brush, through scores of years, all unknown to fame.
Many of them know nothing of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but they know
how to win souls to Christ, and the highest authority has said, "He
that winneth souls is wise."

That congregation, when assembled, seated, and engaged in their
devotions, presented a scene not to be forgotten. The preacher, small
in stature, stood upon a rude platform at the feet of the massive
columns of his pulpit. The people were seated among the standing trees,
upon seats arranged without any of the usual regularity and order,
but lying at all points of the compass just as they had been able to
fall, the smaller trees among the larger ones. The voice of prayer
and song ascended amid those massive, towering columns, crowned with
arches formed by their outstretching branches, and covered with dense
foliage. It was the worship of God in his own temple. It carried the
thoughts back to many scenes not unlike it, in the lives and labors of
Christ and his apostles, when they preached and taught upon the Mount
of Olives, by the shores of Gennesaret, and over the hills and valleys
of Palestine. It gave new force and beauty to the familiar words of
Bryant's grand and noble "Forest Hymn:"

  "The groves were God's first temples, ere man learned
  To hew the shaft and lay the architrave,
  And spread the roof above them--ere he framed
  The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
  The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
  Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down,
  And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
  And supplication....
  ... Be it ours to meditate,
  In these calm shades, thy milder majesty,
  And to the beautiful order of thy works
  Learn to conform the order of our lives."

At the conclusion of the morning sermon the greater part of the
congregation dispersed among the trees to take their dinner in the
manner I have already described. I was invited to go with the preacher
to a cabin about a mile distant, where we were to have our home during
the meeting. We mounted our horses and accompanied our host through the
woods to his residence. As I looked back, I saw that we were followed
by some forty or more other guests. On reaching his home I found three
buildings--a log-house, log-kitchen, and log-stable. Our horses were
put in the stable and bountifully fed with corn in the ear and fodder.
"Fodder" in these regions has a limited signification, and is applied
only to the leaves which are stripped from the corn-stalks, tied in
small bundles, and generally stacked for preservation. The stalks are
not cut, as in the North and East, but the leaves are stripped from
them while standing. This is the usual feed for horses in the place of
hay.

The house was similar to all log-houses, but, as our company was so
numerous, I had the curiosity to ask our host how large it was, and he
told me that he cut the logs just twenty feet long. Its single room
was, therefore, less than twenty feet square. We, however, received
a warm and cordial welcome, and host, hostess, and guests seemed
exceedingly happy. With a part of the company, I was soon invited into
the adjoining house to dinner. This was much smaller--not more than ten
or fifteen feet square. A loom in one corner filled a large part of
the room. This was a very important part of their household treasures,
as the greater portion of the clothing of the entire family was woven
upon it. A long, narrow table, of home construction, occupied the space
between the foot of the loom and the wall. There was a large fireplace
in front, before which the coffee was smoking. A chair at each end
and a bench on each side of the table furnished seats for ten guests.
Our bill of fare was cold barbecued shoat, sweet potatoes roasted
in the ashes, bread, honey, and coffee. Our honey was from a "bee
tree," and our bread was of the Graham variety, from the necessities
of the case. The wheat had been ground at a "horse mill" in the
neighborhood, where they had no arrangements for separating the bran
from the flour. Such a dinner was not to be despised by hungry men.
By the way, I have found that over a very wide extent of our country
the _men_, on such occasions, always eat first and alone, the women
meanwhile standing around the table and waiting upon them. After we
had finished our dinner, the table was rapidly reset by the aid of the
"sisters" present, and ten more guests took their seats and dined. The
same course was repeated until the table was set five times, and fifty
persons had dined bountifully in that little log-cabin.

Having all dined, we returned to the preaching "stand," and the
congregation reassembled. I preached to them at 4 P.M., and all the
services were conducted to the close in a manner not essentially
different from preaching services elsewhere.

The audience was dismissed for the night, and dispersed among the
nearest cabins. My clerical friend and myself were joined by a young
licentiate, and returned to spend the night at the house at which
we had dined. The company was not as large as that at dinner, but
to one inexperienced in such life, as I then was, it was beyond
my comprehension how they could be entertained for the night. My
experience and observation at dinner had shown me how we could get
through with our supper. A succession of tables I understood, but
how could that be applied to sleeping arrangements? A succession
of beds was a kind of "succession" I had never heard or read of in
ecclesiastical or any other history. But my perplexities were evidently
not felt by any one else in the company, and I dismissed them.

All seemed as happy as they could well be. Conversation was animated.
All tongues were loosed. There were stories of former basket and other
meetings, of wonderful revivals, and of remarkable conversions. There
were reminiscences of eccentric and favorite preachers who had labored
among them long years before. There was the greatest variety of _real_
Western and Southwestern religious melodies and songs. These were
interspersed with the conversation during the evening, and were the
source of great and unfailing interest and joy. So the hours rolled
on, and all were happy. It was the occasion to which they had looked
forward, and for which they had planned for months--the great occasion
of all the year, and it brought no disappointment. For myself, I must
say that if I ever drew upon my stores of anecdote, and whatever powers
of entertaining I may possess, it was upon this occasion. I was quite
in sympathy with the general joy and good feeling. During the evening
one and another had called for the singing of different religious songs
that were their favorites. On such occasions there was a general appeal
to a young lady, who was quite the best singer in the company, to know
if she knew the song called for; and if she did it was sung. At length
a hymn was called for, and in response to the usual appeal she said she
did not know it. I opened a book, found the hymn and tune, handed it to
her, and said, "Here is the hymn with the tune. Perhaps you can sing
it."

She declined to take the book, saying, with the utmost frankness, "Oh!
sir, I can't read."

I now learned to my amazement that all the hymns and tunes she had sung
that evening she had learned by rote--learned by hearing them sung by
others. She was a young lady, some eighteen or twenty years old, of
more than common beauty of face and form, and yet she had no hesitation
at all in revealing the fact that she could not read. I afterward
received a similar shock on remarking to a young lady that I met at a
county-seat, whose home I had previously visited, "I understand that a
number of the young ladies in your neighborhood can not read."

"Oh!" said she, "there are only two young ladies there that can read."

I afterward visited many neighborhoods where it was as proper to ask a
young lady if she could read as it was to ask for a drink of water,
the time of day, or any other question.

At length the evening passed, and the hour for rest and sleep came. One
of our number "took the books" and led our evening devotions. A chapter
was read, our final hymn was sung, and we all bowed in prayer around
that family altar. As we arose from our knees, the brethren present
all walked out of doors. The sisters remained within. Some "Martha"
among them had enumerated our company. There were three beds in the
cabin. These were divided, and a sufficient number of beds made up on
the bedsteads and over the cabin-floor to furnish a sleeping-place for
all our company. This accomplished, some signal--I know not what--was
given, and the brethren returned to the house. I followed them. The
sisters were all in bed, upon the bedsteads, with their heads covered
up by the blankets. We got into our beds as though these blankets had
been thick walls. Our numbers in this room included three young ladies,
a man and his wife and child, and six other men.

When we awoke in the morning some of the brethren engaged in
conversation for a time, until Mr. W----, the preacher, remarked, "I
suppose it is time to think about getting up."

At this signal the sisters covered their heads again with their
blankets, and we arose, dressed, and departed. My companion for the
night was the young licentiate; and as we walked toward the stable to
look after our horses--the first thing usually done in the morning by
persons journeying on horseback--I remarked to him, "Last night has
been something new in my experience. I never slept in that way before."

He looked at me with an expression of the profoundest astonishment, and
exclaimed, "You haven't!"

I said no more. I saw that I was the verdant one. I was the only one
in all the company to whom the experiences of the night suggested a
thought of anything unusual or strange. So trite and true it is that
"one half of the world does not know how the other half lives."

The Sabbath was the "great day of the feast." It brought together
some three or four hundred people--a very large congregation in such
a sparsely settled country. I made an address to them in the morning,
explaining the extended operations of the American Bible Society in our
own and other lands. I told them that the Society was then attempting
to place a copy of the Word of God in every family in our country; that
Mr. K----, a venerable and honored class-leader, had been appointed to
canvass their county; and that either by sale or gift he would supply
every family in the county with the Bible that would receive it. All
of these facts were new to the most of them, and were listened to with
the greatest interest. Large numbers of them had no Bibles in their
families; they were more than sixty miles from a book-store, which many
of them never visited, and they were glad to have the Bible brought to
their own doors, and furnished to them at so small a price. By making
these statements I gave the Bible-distributor an introduction to the
people scattered over a wide extent of country, which prepared them to
welcome him to their families and greatly facilitated his labors.

My brief address was followed by a sermon entirely different from those
of the preacher I have already described, and deserves notice as a type
of thousands that are preached to the people in the Brush. Scarcely a
sentence in the sermon was uttered in the usual method of speech. It
was drawled out in a sing-song tone from the beginning to the end. The
preacher ran his voice up, and sustained it at so high a pitch that
he could make but little variation of voice upward. The air in his
lungs would become exhausted, and at the conclusion of every sentence
he would "catch" his breath with an "ah." As he proceeded with his
sermon, and his vocal organs became wearied with this most unnatural
exertion, the "ah" was repeated more and more frequently, until, with
the most painful contortions of face and form, he would with difficulty
articulate, in his sing-song tone:

"Oh, my beloved brethren--ah, and sisters--ah, you have all got to
die--ah, and be buried--ah, and go to the judgment--ah, and stand
before the great white throne--ah, and receive your rewards--ah, for
the deeds--ah, done in the body--ah."

From the beginning to the end of his sermon, which occupied just
an hour and ten minutes by my watch, I could not see the slightest
evidence that he had any idea what he was going to say from one
sentence to another. While "catching his breath," and saying "ah," he
seemed to determine what he would say next. There was no more train of
thought or connection of ideas than in the harangue of a maniac. And
yet many hundreds of such sermons are preached in the Brush, and I am
sorry to add that thousands of the people had rather hear these sermons
than any others. This "holy tone" has charms for them not possessed by
any possible eloquence. As the preacher "warms up" and becomes more
animated in the progress of his discourse, the more impressible sisters
begin to move their heads and bodies, and soon all the devout brethren
and sisters sway their bodies back and forth in perfect unison, keeping
time, in some mysterious manner, to his sing-song tone.

It seemed sad to me that such a congregation, gathered from such long
distances, should have the morning hour occupied with such a sermon.
But it was a union meeting, the preacher was the representative
of his denomination, and they would have gone away worse than
disappointed--grievously outraged--if they could not have heard this
sermon with the "holy tone."

But our basket-meeting was to be signalized by an incident always
interesting in all countries, in all grades of society, among the most
rustic as well as among the most refined. After the benediction, a part
of the congregation who were in the secret remained upon their seats,
casting knowing and pleasant glances at each other. My friend W----,
who, like a good many other preachers, and some preachers' wives, had
faithfully kept a secret that a good many were "just dying to know,"
took his position in front of the "stand." A trembling, blushing, but
happy pair advanced from the crowd, and took their position before
him. The groom produced from his pocket the indispensable license.
The dispersing crowd, having by some electric influence been apprised
of what was going on, came rushing back, and mounted the surrounding
stumps and logs, forming a standing background to the sitting circle.
All looked on and listened in silence, while the preacher in a strong,
clear voice proceeded to solemnize the marriage and pronounce them
husband and wife. The scene was strange and strikingly impressive. It
seemed a wedding in Nature's own cathedral. The day was perfect. Some
rays from the sun penetrated the dense foliage above and fell upon the
scene, mingling golden hues with the shadows, as the poet, the recently
deceased A.B. Street, has so beautifully described:

  "Here showers the sun in golden dots,
  Here rests the shade in ebon spots,
  So blended that the very air
  Seems network as I enter here."

After the usual congratulations and kisses the groom withdrew, and
reappeared in a few moments mounted upon a large gray horse. The bride,
having gained the top of a stump, mounted his horse behind him, and the
two rode away, as happy and satisfied as they could well be.

The larger congregation of the Sabbath made larger demands upon their
hospitality; but these demands were fully met. The dinner, both under
the trees and at the cabins, was but a reënactment of the scenes of the
day before on an enlarged scale.

In the afternoon Mr. W---- preached a sensible and earnest sermon, like
that of the day before. In my pocket-diary, written at the time, I have
characterized it as a "thundering sermon." His voice was strong, and
capable of reaching the largest congregations that he addressed in the
open air. This sermon concluded the services of the basket-meeting. As
the benediction was pronounced, three gentlemen on horseback arrived
upon the ground. They were a presiding elder, a circuit-rider, and
a class-leader, on their way to conference. They had preached some
fifteen miles away in the morning, and continued their journey to reach
this meeting. I knew them all, and had preached with and for them at
their homes. As they were strangers to most, if not all, the people,
I introduced them to the clergymen and others present. They were some
twenty miles from any hotel or public-house, and of course must spend
the night with some of these people. My host, to whom I had introduced
them, said:

"I should be very glad to have you all stay with me, but I can't take
care of your horses. I have a plenty of houseroom, but my stable is
full."

From what I have already said of the numbers who dined and lodged with
him, it will be seen that he had very enlarged ideas of the capacity of
his house. An enthusiastic neighbor, who was about as rough a looking
specimen of a backwoodsman as I ever saw, stepped forward and said:

"I have room enough for your horses and you too. I should be glad to
have you all go with me."

The presiding elder went with him, but the preacher and the
class-leader were claimed by others.

Before leaving the grounds, it was arranged between us that we should
all meet at a designated place in the morning, and I would travel
with them to the conference, to which I was thus far on my way.
Though not an Arminian, but a Calvinist, though not a Methodist,
but a Presbyterian, I knew that a cordial welcome awaited me as a
representative of the American Bible Society. I knew that, in addition
to this official welcome, I should receive the warm greetings of
brethren beloved, with whom I had traveled many hundreds of miles
over their "circuits," and mingled in all the novel, interesting, and
eventful scenes in their wild itinerant life. When I met the elder the
next morning, I asked him the nature of the very ample accommodations
that were offered him. He said he slept upon the floor, but he did not
undertake to count the number who shared it with him.

So ended the various incidents of our basket-meeting; but the
recollection of it has been among the pleasant memories of my life in
the Brush.


SOME EXPLANATORY WORDS.

Perhaps some statement in explanation of this "rough" but abounding
hospitality of the people in the Brush is demanded in justice to
those persons and places whose hospitality would seem to suffer in
the contrast. I might enumerate many circumstances connected with
life in a wild, unsettled country that will occur to most readers as
the cause of this abounding hospitality; but it seems to me that the
_chief_ reason is the fact that meat, bread, and all their provisions,
excepting groceries, cost them so very little. They estimate what they
can use scarcely more than the water taken from their springs. Beef,
pork, and bread cost them almost nothing. Their cattle run at large,
and their free range includes thousands of acres of unoccupied lands.
They grow and increase in this manner with but little attention or
care. The hogs find their food in the woods the greater part of the
year, and in the fall they fatten upon the nuts or "mast." The oak,
hickory, beech, and other trees that abound in these extensive forests
afford vast quantities of these nuts, which these people claim for
their own hogs, whoever may own the land. I knew a man that owned
several thousand acres of these lands, who sold the nuts on the ground
to a "speculator," who drove his hogs upon the tract of land to eat
them. But the residents were incensed at this trespass upon their
immemorial privileges, and secretly shot and killed so many of these
hogs that their owner was glad to escape with any part of his drove,
and leave them possessors of the "mast." The method by which these
people retain and recognize their ownership in the hogs that run at
large and mingle together in the woods was quite new to me. The owner
looks carefully after the young pigs, calls them, and feeds them, for
some days or weeks, until they know his voice, and will come at his
call. Whatever kind of a hoot, scream, or yell it is, they learn to
associate it with their food, and run at the sound. Sometimes the owner
merely blows a horn. If a hundred hogs belonging to half a dozen men
are feeding together in the woods, and their owners sound their calls
from different hills, the hogs will separate and rush in the direction
of the sound to which they have been accustomed. In this manner these
people secure for their families, with but little trouble, the most
abundant supply of bacon. The corn, which furnishes the most of their
bread, is raised with but little labor. After it is planted it is
plowed or cultivated, and "laid by" without any hoeing at all. If they
have enough to feed their hogs a short time before killing them, they
do not gather this, but turn the hogs into the corn-fields, and let
them help themselves. The drought that caused the famine in Kansas,
in the early history of that State, extended over this region. As the
breadth of ground planted here was so much greater, the results were
not so sad. But there was a scarcity of corn such as the people had
never known before. The price advanced from twenty and twenty-five
cents a bushel to a dollar and upward, and many were unable to procure
enough to make bread for their families. But the "mast" was abundant
that fall, and there was no lack of bacon. I visited many families that
lived almost entirely on meat. During the winter I met a physician
who told me that in his ride among the hills he found whole families
afflicted with a disease that was entirely new in his experience. Upon
consulting his books, he found it was scurvy, the result of living upon
little besides bacon.

With this usually abundant supply of food, which on account of the bad
roads and the distance from market has but little pecuniary value;
with houses and accommodations such as I have described; with but few
books, newspapers, and other kinds of reading; with a dearth of the
excitements and amusements of the outside world, it is not so strange
or wonderful that they are eager for pleasures and enjoyments that
involve these displays of hospitality.

I know that my statements often appear incredible to many of my
readers. But I trust that, after these "explanatory words," I shall not
tax too largely either the faith of my readers or my own character for
veracity.




CHAPTER VI.

THE BAPTISM OF A SCOTCH BABY IN THE WILDS OF THE SOUTHWEST.


I wish to give my readers the details of a very pleasant incident
in my experiences, quite incidental to my special work. I visited a
small county-seat village in a very rough, wild region, where I had
been directed to call upon a Methodist gentleman, who would render me
efficient and cheerful aid in the prosecution of my labors. I met with
the reception that had been promised, and made arrangements to preach
"on the next day, which was the Sabbath." As the agents of the American
Bible Society are chosen from the different religious denominations,
they very naturally asked me with what church I was connected. When
told that I was a Presbyterian, the gentleman and his wife turned
at once to each other, a smile of unusual joy overspreading their
features, and the lady, who was the first to speak, said:

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Dinwiddie will be gratified at last."

The conversation that followed, and other visits and conversations in
the neighborhood, fully explained their joy at seeing me. The gentleman
and lady alluded to were Scotch Presbyterians, who had been in this
country but a few years, and they were very anxious to have their
first-born child baptized by a minister of their own church. They, and
a venerable man eighty-four years old, who had recently come from a
distant part of the State to spend his declining years in the family
of a widowed daughter, were the only persons in the county connected
with that church, and they knew not when they might be favored with
a visit from one of their own ministers. But, judging from the past
history of the county, their prospects were dark indeed. A venerated
father in this church, who was alive at the time of my visit, but has
since gone to his reward, had preached in this county more than thirty
years before on one of his missionary excursions through the State. I
met those who had heard him preach and remembered his sermons. As far
as could be ascertained, he was the last Presbyterian clergyman who had
visited and preached in the county, and they knew not when to expect
another. I subsequently saw this venerable preacher, and received from
his own lips most interesting details of his explorations of these wild
regions so many years before.

A week or two passed before I was able to visit this family, during
which time I preached in rude log school-houses, in a ballroom, a
court-house, from a "stand" erected for the purpose in the forest,
and also standing on _terra firma_ at the foot of an oak-tree, the
congregation being seated upon benches, or on the ground, under the
shade of surrounding oaks. In the different neighborhoods that I
visited, I found the same general interest in behalf of this family
and their child. According to a Scottish custom, they would not call
their child by the name that had been chosen for it until that name had
been given to it in the sacred rite of baptism. When asked by their
neighbors the name of their child, they would reply, "Oh, she has no
name. She has not been baptized yet. We call her 'Baby,' or some pet
name." This seemed very strange to the people, and the dear little
child that was growing up _without a name_ became the object of general
sympathy and interest throughout the county.

There is quite a celebrated watering-place (where my mare won the two
hundred and fifty dollars) some fifteen miles from their forest home,
and it was thought that there might be some Presbyterian clergyman
among the visitors during the summer season, and a large number of
persons had promised this family that they would let them know if any
such clergyman arrived at the Springs, that they might send for him to
baptize their child.

As soon as I was able to do so, I set out to visit this Scotch family,
in whose history I had become very deeply interested. A Christian
brother, residing at the county-seat and belonging to another
denomination, kindly consented to accompany me, and show me the way to
their residence. Our route was not over a road that had been laid out
by a compass, but was the most of the way through the woods, winding
its zigzag course over hill, and valley, and stream, among the tall
monarchs of the forest. It was a hot day in August, but the dense
foliage above us, as we rode through the "aisles of the dim woods,"
protected us from the heat of the sun, and our ride was altogether a
pleasant one. After traveling some twelve or fifteen miles, we reached
a "dead'ning," and soon were at the door of the log-cabin we were
seeking.

I will not attempt to describe the joy of that young mother when
my attendant introduced me to her as a Presbyterian clergyman, and
explained the object of our visit. "Hope deferred maketh the heart
sick, but when the desire cometh it is a tree of life." Years had
passed since, a young and blooming bride, she had left the heathery
hills of Scotland for a home in our Western wilds; but, until that
moment, she had not seen a minister of the church of her home and her
choice since the day that her loved pastor had solemnized that rite in
which she gave herself to another, and sent her forth with the warm
blessings of a pastor's heart. The loneliness of their forest home in a
land of strangers was at length cheered by the tiny echo of a new and
welcome voice in their rude dwelling. For many long months the "joyful
mother" had gazed upon the sweet face of her lovely child, and longed,
with unutterable longings, to dedicate her first-born to God in his
own appointed ordinance. As the months rolled on and swelled to years,
the many friends of her home in Scotland mingled their sympathies with
hers; and the pastor, who could not forget the lamb that had thus gone
forth from his flock, expressed his strong desire to stretch his arms
across the broad Atlantic, and baptize this child of the forest into
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. At the
time of our arrival the husband and father was absent from his house,
attending to his flocks. He was a shepherd, and had selected his home
here because for a small sum he could purchase a large tract of land
over which his flocks might range. As his wife did not know in what
direction he had gone, and he could not easily be found, we determined
to wait until he should return.

In the mean time we learned that the young mother we had found in the
wilds of the Southwest was born in the East Indies, and had been sent
to Scotland when eight years old to be educated among her relatives.
We listened to the story of the religious privileges they had enjoyed
at home; heard of the old pastor who, for more than fifty years, had
watched over the same flock, a volume of whose sermons and sacramental
addresses made a part of their library, and learned to love the
youthful colleague and subsequent pastor. We were shown what was at the
same time a certificate of marriage and church-membership, certifying
that "William D---- and Mary R---- were lawfully married on ----, and
that they immediately thereafter started for America. They were then
both in full communion with the Church of Scotland, and entitled to all
church privileges." We were also shown that most appropriate of bridal
gifts from a pastor--a beautiful Bible, presented as a parting gift to
"Mrs. William D----, with best wishes for the temporal and spiritual
welfare of herself and her husband. II Chronicles, xv, 2; Psalms,
cxxxix, 1-12." How strikingly appropriate these references!

At length the father returned, and added his warm welcome and greeting
to that we had already received from the mother. They had both
evidently received that thorough religious training so peculiar to
their nation, and here, far away from their native heath, in their wild
forest home, it was exerting its influence, not only upon them, but
upon many around them. That very morning a neighbor had sent them word
that a Presbyterian clergyman (the writer) had preached at the Springs
a few days before, and at once a younger brother was dispatched with
a large farm-wagon, their only conveyance, to bring the stranger to
their home, that he might baptize their child. Our route in going, and
his in coming for me, were the same, but we failed to meet each other
on account of the numerous tracks through the woods. On reaching the
county-seat from which we had started in the morning, he learned that,
to the joy of the neighborhood, we had already left for the purpose of
baptizing the child. He immediately turned back, hastened home, and
reached there soon after the arrival of his brother. A neighbor, an
old acquaintance from their home in Scotland, and a family domestic,
now made our number just that of those to whom Noah, that "preacher of
righteousness," undoubtedly ministered after they entered the ark.

The necessary preparations for the baptism were soon made. In the
center of that low-roofed cabin a cloth of snowy whiteness was
spread upon a table, upon which a bowl of water was placed. That
little company then arose, and reverently stood while, after a brief
address to the parents, the simple, solemn ordinance of baptism was
administered, and parents, child, and friends far away, were commended
in prayer to a "covenant-keeping" God. The sacred stillness of that
calm evening hour, the associations of a home far away, and the tender
memories of the instructions of other years that clustered around
these strangers, rendered the simple service most impressive, and
pervaded all with solemn awe. We could but feel that he who had said
to Abraham, "I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee, in
their generations, forever," had "bowed the heavens and come down"; and
that he would ratify in heaven what had now been done on earth in the
name of the Sacred Trinity. The happy mother pressed her fair-faced,
beautiful child to her bosom with unwonted joy, and never did the sweet
name Mary sound sweeter than when, with maternal fondness, she gazed
into its clear blue eyes, and again and again, with alternate kisses,
called her "Sweet Mary," "My Mary."

This was my first baptism; and the privilege of administering this
Heaven-ordained rite, in circumstances like these, was compensation for
months and years of such toils as they must endure who labor amid the
moral desolations of our Western wilds.




CHAPTER VII.

BARBECUES; AND A BARBECUE WEDDING-FEAST IN THE SOUTHWEST.


The barbecue was an established institution in the Southwest. It had in
no other part of the country so many devotees. There was a charm in the
name that would at any time call together a large concourse of people,
on the shortest notice, and for any occasion. And the savory smell
of roasted ox, sheep, shoats, turkeys, rabbits, or whatever else was
prepared to appease the appetite of a crowd, would keep them together
to hear the longest political speeches, listen to the most protracted
school examinations, give their attention to the most elaborate
expositions of the importance of some projected turnpike or railroad,
and secure a patient waiting and an unbroken audience on any occasion
when the _barbecue feast_ was to be the agreeable conclusion.

I have a most distinct and vivid recollection of my first view of the
process of barbecuing a whole ox. At the close of a long, hot day's
ride, I had stopped to spend the night at a small and very inferior
country tavern. On the opposite side of the road, immediately in
front of it, there was a large forest. As I took my accustomed walk
to the stable, to see that my horse was properly fed and cared for,
before retiring for the night, I was attracted by the glimmerings of
a fire among the tall, large forest-trees in the distance; and then
I saw through the darkness the dusky forms of negroes moving among
the trees, and hovering around some strangely concealed fire, only
the gleams of which I could see. Ordinarily such a light in the woods
or at the roadside would not have attracted my attention. The sight
was a matter of daily and nightly occurrence. But it was usually
wagoners, or movers, or travelers of some kind, camping for the night
and cooking their supper. A very large proportion of the people that
one met traveling with their own teams in the Southwest were entirely
independent of all hotels and houses of entertainment. They had a long,
narrow box attached to the hind end of their wagons, that served as a
manger in which to feed their horses. When night overtook them, they
hitched and fed their horses in the rear of their wagons. They then
lighted a fire, and needed little besides a frying-pan and coffee-pot
to prepare a supper of bacon, corn-dodgers, and coffee, to which hunger
and good digestion gave a relish such as pampered and sated epicures
never know. Almost invariably their wagons were covered with coarse
brown duck-cloth or canvas, which was stretched over hoops, and, if
not provided with tents, they made their beds under this covering.
Wagoners who transported goods, flour, and other commodities long
distances, as well as movers and others, usually traveled in company,
so that whenever they camped for the night, which they usually aimed
to do near some spring or brook, they presented a very picturesque and
animated scene. The view which attracted my attention had none of these
accessories and surroundings, and I strolled into the woods to see
what it might be. On arriving at the spot my curiosity was abundantly
gratified and rewarded. I saw for the first time an immense ox in the
process of being barbecued. And this was the process: A large trench
had been dug in the ground, about six or seven feet wide, eight or ten
feet long, and four or five feet deep. This trench had been filled
with the best quality of beech or maple wood from the body of the
trees. This had been set on fire and burned until there was left a bed
of burning coals, some two or three feet deep, that did not emit a
particle of smoke. The slaughtered ox had been laid completely open,
and two large spits, about eight feet long, had been thrust through
each fore and hind leg lengthwise, and four negroes or more, taking
hold of the ends of these spits, had laid the ox over this trench above
this bed of burning coals. There the bovine monarch lay, cooking as
beautifully as in my childhood I had seen many a turkey, suspended by
a long string, swinging before the large wood-fire that was burning
and blazing upon the ample hearth of our family kitchen. And it was
upon the same principle--the juices were all cooked in. The negroes
were gathered around the ox, with large swabs upon long sticks, with
which they incessantly "basted" it, with a liquid prepared for this
purpose and standing in large kettles on either side of the trench.
From time to time the large bed of coals was stirred, and occasionally
they performed the difficult feat of turning over the entire ox, so
that each side might be cooked at an equal rate of progress. This work
they greatly enjoyed. There was enough of the wild and strange about
it to gratify their excitable natures. For the time being they were
supremely happy. The stillness of the night, the surrounding darkness,
and the gleams of that large and brightly burning bed of coals in the
overhanging tree-tops, gave to the whole scene a weird character which
awoke all the enthusiasm of their untutored natures. Through the long
night they cheerfully plied their task, stirring up from the depths the
live burning coals, and "basting" and turning the ox as often as was
necessary. Frequently they sang those strange, wild African songs that
they are accustomed to improvise while at work and upon all kinds of
occasions, and as they echoed among the forest-trees and floated out
upon the night-air, the soft, sweet melody was most enchanting. As I
left to go to my room for the night, and turned to look back upon them
from the darkness, the strange scene seemed not unlike a company of
Druid priests offering a sacrificial victim in some grand old English
forest. In the morning I made them another visit. Many of the coals had
turned to ashes, and the bed was much reduced in depth. But when the
negroes put in their long poles, they stirred up an abundance of bright
coals from the bottom. The ox, which had been placed over the fire at
sundown the night before, was to be cooked until noon, when the grand
barbecue dinner was to be eaten. The smaller animals, such as sheep
and shoats and the various kinds of poultry, were to be placed over
the fire in time to be nicely cooked by this hour. At that time every
portion of the ox would be thoroughly done to the bone; not baked and
burned and dried, but made more juicy and tender and sweet than any one
has ever once dreamed that the best of beef could be who has not eaten
it cooked in this manner. I have never, at the most magnificent hotels,
or the most luxurious private tables, eaten any kind of meat, poultry,
or game that was so rich, tender, and agreeable to the taste as that
barbecued in the manner I have described.

This was a political barbecue, at which several distinguished speakers,
candidates for various offices, were to address the people. But my
engagements for preaching, and other duties connected with my mission
the next day, were such that I was compelled to leave immediately
after breakfast. I could not hear the speeches, see the long tables,
made of rough boards, spread under the forest-trees, participate with
the immense throng in their barbecue dinner, and witness and enjoy
all the strange and varied scenes and incidents inseparably connected
with such a gathering of all the "sovereigns" in the Brush. But what
I have said will suffice to give my readers the _modus operandi_ of
a barbecue. It will be seen that it is the simplest possible manner
of preparing a dinner for a large concourse of people. It requires
neither building, stove, oven, range, nor baking-pans. It involves
no house-cleaning after the feast. It soils and spoils no carpets or
furniture. And in the mild, bountiful region where the ox and all that
is eaten are raised with so little care, the cost of feeding hundreds,
or even thousands, in this manner is merely nominal. Hence barbecues
have been for a long time so common and popular in the Southwest. There
have been unnumbered political barbecues, where the eloquence peculiar
to that region has been developed, and where vast audiences have been
moved by its power, as the trees beneath which they were gathered
have been swayed by the winds. In the published life and speeches of
Henry Clay are several that were delivered at different barbecues,
where he addressed the people on state and national affairs, with an
eloquence and power equal to, if not greater than, that with which he
enchained the Senate. There have been barbecues in connection with
school-examinations, and Sabbath-school celebrations where educational
and religious topics have been discussed. There have been barbecues
in connection with meetings in favor of turn-pikes, railroads,
and all kinds of internal improvements. There have been uncounted
barbecue-dances, and barbecues for more occasions than I can name. But
of all these I will only describe a large wedding, that was succeeded
by a barbecue-supper, that I had the pleasure of attending.

I had spent the Sabbath at a small county-seat village, and on Monday
morning my kind friend and hostess said to me: "We are to have a large
wedding on Thursday night of this week, and, if possible, you must
stay in the county long enough to attend it. Mr. C----'s only daughter
is to be married to Mr. R----, our county clerk, and, as Mr. C---- is
a widower, I leave home this morning to go and assist them in their
preparations."

As I was obliged to visit several persons in different parts of the
county, on business connected with my Bible work, I planned my rides
so as to reach the neighborhood in which Mr. C---- resided on the day
appointed for the wedding. I received a cordial welcome from my lady
friend, who was installed as presiding mistress for the occasion, and
from the father of the bride, to whom she introduced me. He was an old
and highly esteemed citizen of the county, and a warm personal and
political friend of her husband. It was on account of these relations
between the families, and purely as an act of neighborly kindness,
that she had left her own home to take charge of his family, and
direct his servants during this, to them, eventful week. He belonged
to the dominant party, and had represented his fellow-citizens in the
Legislature of the State. Tall in stature, plainly dressed, mostly
in home-made jeans, of simple, unstudied manners, his kind face and
warm heart bespoke a man to be revered and loved by his neighbors and
by all to whom he was known. He was in comfortable but not affluent
circumstances--in the vernacular of the region, "a good liver." His
house was of the prevailing style of architecture for the better class
of plantation-houses in the Southwest and South. It was a two-story
frame, with a wide hall or "passage" through the middle of it, and
a chimney on each end, built outside of the house. In the rear, and
communicating with it, was a log building, which had probably been the
home of his early married life, in which the supper-table was to be
spread for this occasion. Early in the afternoon the guests began to
arrive. A few from adjoining counties, and from the greatest distance,
persons of wealth and high social position, came in carriages; but
by far the greatest number, both of ladies and gentlemen, arrived
on horseback. The ladies almost invariably had a carpet-bag or
sachel hung on the horn of their saddles, in which they brought the
dresses in which they were to grace the occasion. A horseback-ride
over such roads, and through such mud and clay as most of them had
come, would not leave the most becoming wedding attire in a very
presentable condition. Hence these arrangements to "dress" after their
arrival. As they rode up, many of them with calico sun-bonnets and
butternut-colored riding-dresses, such as I have elsewhere described,
and bespattered with mud, they looked more like bands of wandering
gypsies than wedding guests. But the best of colored waiting-maids,
from near and remote plantations, were in attendance, who took charge
of the sachels, and of their young misses, and conducted them to some
capacious dressing-room. Here each maid was anxious that her young
"missus" should eclipse all the others, and under the manipulations of
these ambitious servants they emerged from the room transformed, if not
to wood-nymphs and fairies, at least to a becomingly attired and very
bright and happy throng.

It was often very interesting to me to witness the solicitude and pride
of these family servants in the appearance made and the attentions
received by their young mistresses, and the art which they frequently
displayed in aiding or defeating matrimonial alliances that were
agreeable or otherwise to them. This was often a very important matter
to them, as it involved the question whether they were to have a kind
or an unkind master. If the suitor pleased them, they poured into his
ears the most extravagant praises of their young "missus," and waited
upon him with the most marked attention and delight. But if they knew
that his temper and habits were bad, and thought he would make an
unkind master, they did not fail to repeat, in ears where it would be
most effective, all that they knew to his discredit. In this manner
they have aided in making and defeating many matches.

As the sun declined, the arrivals increased until the numbers swelled
to scores, to fifties, and, when all had assembled, there were in
and around the house more than two hundred. It was a genial, happy
throng. All were in the best possible humor. There were pleasant,
kindly greetings between the old, and frolic and flirtations among the
young. At about nine o'clock the wedding ceremony was announced, and
as many of the guests as possible assembled in the largest room. The
bride and groom, with bridesmaids and groomsmen becomingly attired,
entered the room where we were gathered, and the ceremony was performed
by a clergyman of the neighborhood, which was followed by the usual
congratulations and greetings.

But there had been barbecuing and cooking of all kinds for days
before, and very soon we followed the bride and groom with our ladies
to the supper-room. The tables were arranged diagonally across the
room from corner to corner, in the form of the letter X, so as to
accommodate the largest number. There was the greatest abundance of
barbecued meats, and poultry of different kinds, with a variety of
cakes, pies, and everything else to make a hearty and bountiful feast.
This was enjoyed with the keenest relish by all those who had gained
admittance to the supper-room; and, when their appetites were fully
satisfied, they retired to give place to others. These in turn gave
place to others, and so tableful succeeded tableful for hours. While
the feasting was going on, the others were enjoying themselves in
conversation and general hilarity. Not a few occupied the large porch,
and enjoyed a smoke and social chat. I sat down here and had a long
talk with the father of the bride. He told me that, after inviting his
particular friends, legislators, members of the bar, and others, from
adjoining counties and distant neighborhoods, he had put a negro boy
upon a horse and directed him to go to every family, rich and poor,
within a circle of a few miles around his home, and invite them all to
the wedding. I think that very few that could possibly get there had
remained at home. It was a thoroughly promiscuous crowd. It embraced
all ages and all grades of people that the region produced, and all
seemed equally to enjoy the gathering, as they were free to do in their
own way. Some time after midnight I gratified my curiosity by going
into the supper-room and asking my lady friend, who was the mistress
of ceremonies, if she had any idea how many persons had already taken
supper. She replied:

"I had not thought of that, but I can easily tell. The table has been
set each time with thirty-two plates, and this is the fifth tableful."

And still others were waiting, and after them all the colored servants
were to have their feast--in all, more than two hundred.

Later in the night a gentleman residing in the neighborhood invited
me and several other gentlemen to go home and lodge with him. Before
leaving, my lady friend came to me, and said:

"You must come back here and get your breakfast in the morning."

I replied:

"Is it possible that you will have anything to eat after feeding this
great crowd?"

"Oh, yes," said she, opening a door, and directing me to look into a
room where the provisions were stored; "we have five barbecued shoats
that have not been touched yet."

We mounted our horses, and rode through the darkness to my
lodging-place for the night. Beds were soon divided and scattered
over the floor, making pallets enough for each of us. The wife of my
hospitable friend, with the most of the ladies in attendance, remained
at the house and slept in this same manner, covering the floors of the
different rooms. Husbands and wives were generally separated that
night, the gentlemen going to the different houses in the neighborhood
to sleep, as we had done. When we arose in the morning, my host said:

"We shall all have to go back to get our breakfast. There is not a
knife, fork, or dish in the house. They are all at the wedding."

This was the condition of most of the houses in the neighborhood.
When we returned, we found a large company and an abundant breakfast.
After mingling with the departing guests for a time, I renewed my
congratulations and good wishes for the happy pair, and bade good-by to
my kind friends, greatly pleased with this entirely new experience at a
wedding.

Such is a simple, unadorned narrative of a wedding, with its barbecue
feast, at which I was a guest in the Southwest. How unlike those that I
have attended in our largest cities! But who shall say at which there
was the greatest and most universal happiness, whether where wealth
and fashion held high carnival, or at this more simple and primitive
gathering and feasting of old neighbors and friends in the Southwest?




CHAPTER VIII.

THE OLD, OLD BOOK AND ITS STORY IN THE WILDS OF THE SOUTHWEST.


I have never known such remarkable and pleasing results follow the
reading of the Bible, without any human help, as among the ignorant
people I have visited, living in wild and neglected regions in the
Brush. I propose in this chapter to give a detailed account of the
results that followed its presentation, by Mr. J.G. K----, to families
living among the hills upon the head-waters of a stream that I thought
was rightly named "Rough Creek." Mr. K---- was a venerable and faithful
Bible-distributor, sixty-four years old, and he loved, above everything
else, to go from house to house with the Word of God, and strive by
simple, earnest exhortation and fervent prayer to lead souls to Christ.
While prosecuting his labors in this neglected region, he found in
one neighborhood sixteen families out of twenty without a Bible, and
supplied the most of them by gift.

This region of country was exceedingly wild, broken, and inaccessible,
there being no main public road leading to it. The hills were high
and steep, the valleys narrow, and the people were scattered along
the creeks and over the hill-sides, with no other roads leading to
them than neighborhood paths. Mr. K---- told me that he never could
have found all these families had not a young man who was born in the
vicinity (who had since become a Methodist preacher) volunteered to
accompany him as a guide. He had hunted deer, foxes, wildcats, and
other game over these hills until he knew every locality and path.
Entering these rude, humble cabins, they explained the nature of their
work, supplied the families with the Word of God by sale or gift, and
then, after kindly and earnestly urging upon them the worth of the soul
and the importance of securing at once an interest in Christ, they
bowed with them in prayer, and humbly and earnestly besought God's
blessing upon them. There was a strange interest in these visits. The
voice of prayer had never before been heard in many of these dwellings.
Though their visits were so strange and unusual in their nature, they
were everywhere kindly received, the mild, benignant face of the
venerable distributor making him everywhere a welcome visitor. Where
will not a face full of geniality and sunshine secure a welcome for its
possessor?

As he was concluding his prayer at one of these cabins, the old man,
who had been absent, returned, and hearing the strange sound in his
house, cried out, in astonishment, "_Wake, snakes!_" But, on going into
the house when the prayer was concluded, our visitor received him with
a smile, explained to him the nature of his visit, and at once made a
personal religious appeal to him. The old man treated his visitor very
kindly, though he seemed to be in a very jocular mood, and replied to
most of his remarks with some playful speech. But when his visitor left
he went out with him, and assisted him in getting on to his horse,
and invited him to call again whenever he should pass that way. But
generally their exhortations were listened to with deep solemnity and
awe, and their visits evidently made a deep religious impression upon
the neighborhood.

Not many weeks after these visits of Mr. K----, reports were received
that several persons in this neighborhood had been hopefully converted;
and for a year or more I was almost constantly hearing from various
sources of the wonderful work of grace that was going on there. The
statements in regard to the number and character of the conversions
were so remarkable that I was unwilling to make them public until I had
made a personal visit to the neighborhood, and seen with my own eyes
what God had wrought. I subsequently made that visit, and can truly say
that the half had not been told me. My powers are not equal to the work
of giving an adequate description of the great change that had been
wrought through the power of God's Word and Spirit, but I will give
some of the main facts.

I arrived at a house to which I had been directed, near this
neighborhood, about midday, having traveled for miles in the foot-paths
that led from one cabin to that of the next neighbor. Where the path
was blind and difficult to follow, the people would often send a little
boy or girl along to show me the way. On making myself known as a
preacher, and the agent of the American Bible Society, I was at once
greeted with the usual question, "Won't you preach for us to-night?"

I gladly assented, as I had made the journey to learn the real
condition of things, and I was anxious to see as many of the people as
possible. Word was at once sent over the hills in different directions
that I would preach that night in a log-house that had been erected
since the visit of Mr. K---- for a school and meeting house; and
shell-bark-hickory torches were at once prepared to light me and
the hospitable family that entertained me to and from the place of
meeting. This house was upon a hill in the midst of the woods, and at
some distance from any clearing, having been placed there on account
of its central position in the neighborhood. Though the notice was
short, and the night dark, and all who came had to make their way by
torchlight through the forest, the house was well filled, and it was a
real pleasure to unfold and enforce the truths of the Gospel, in simple
language, to a group whose solemn stillness and attention showed that
they listened indeed as to a message from Heaven.

At the close of our services it was a rare and beautiful sight to see
the audience disperse from that rude sanctuary, some on foot, and
some on horseback--a father, mother, and three children upon a single
horse--the oldest child in front of the father, the second behind the
mother, and the third in the mother's arms, their flaming torches
lighting up the grand old forest, as they set out for their homes with
parting words of Christian hope and cheer.

In the prosecution of my inquiries I learned that the first person who
had been converted in the neighborhood, after the visit of Mr. K----,
was Mr. Jake G----, who had received a Testament in the following
manner. When Mr. K---- and his guide were making their visits, they
called at a house where there were eight children, and the parents were
both gone from home. On inquiring of the children if their parents had
a Bible, they said they did not know--meaning, undoubtedly, that they
did not know what a Bible was.

Without dismounting, they gave the children a Testament, and told them
to give it to their parents when they came home.

Not long after this the guide who accompanied Mr. K---- met the man at
whose house they had left the Testament, and he immediately said: "I'm
mighty sorry I was not at home when you and old man K---- were around
with them books, for I'm mightily pleased with the little book you
left at my house. Joe H---- told me you had some bigger ones" (Bibles)
"at his house, and if I had been at home I would have got one of them
bigger ones sure; for I'm mightily pleased with the little one. I can't
read, and my wife and children can't read; but Brother Joe's wife can
read, and she comes over to our house, and we get her to read out of
that little book; and it's mighty pretty reading. I've heard reading
afore, but I never heard any reading afore that I wanted to hear read
again. _But that little book I do take to mightily._ Brother Fred's
wife can read, too, and we get her to read out of the little book; and
everybody that comes to our house that can read, we get them to read
out of that little book; and--_I don't know what it is_--I never heard
any such reading afore; _every time they read to me out of that little
book it makes me cry, and I can't help it_."

I have already said that this man was the first person who was
converted in the neighborhood after the visit of the Bible-distributor.
They read "_that little book_" until he and his wife, and those two
brothers and their wives, became savingly acquainted with its truths,
and they, with many others in the neighborhood, became the humble and
devoted followers of Christ. I learned that this Mr. Jake G----, who
had received and who now loved his "little book," as I have described,
belonged to a family remarkable for their ignorance and irreligion.
Though he had eight children, his grandfather was yet alive, more than
ninety years old, and still a very hardened sinner. He had come to this
neighborhood from southwestern Virginia more than thirty years before.
He had had eighteen children, thirteen of whom lived to marry, and
nine of whom were settled immediately around him. None of his children
could read a word except two of the youngest, who had attended school
a little after leaving Virginia, and, though all of them had large
families, all of them were without the Bible _but two_. One son and one
daughter had married persons who had a Bible. The two Bibles that had
been obtained by marriage were the only Bibles in this large family
connection when Mr. K---- visited the neighborhood and supplied them
all.

The father of the man who had received the Testament was sixty-two
years old; had reared a family of nine children, not one of whom nor
himself could read, and all of them had grown up and married but two;
and that large family had never owned a Bible. The mother could read,
and Mr. K---- gave her a Bible. _Now she and her husband and six of
their children_ were numbered with the people of God, and though unable
to read were humble learners at the feet of Jesus.

The morning after my sermon, accompanied by a small boy, whom my host
kindly sent along as a guide, I rode through the woods and over the
hills to the house of Mr. Jake G----, where, several months before,
the "little book" had been left by the Bible-distributor and his
guide. He was among my hearers the night before, and I had sought an
introduction to him, had a short conversation with him, and told him I
would come and see him in the morning. I was particularly anxious to
spend a few hours with him in his own home, and get the story of the
great change that had been wrought in himself and in the neighborhood,
from his own lips, and in his own genuine Brush vernacular.

There is to me a strange interest and pleasure in hearing one whose
soul has been thoroughly subdued by the power and grace of God, who
as yet knows little of the Bible, and less of the set phrases in
which religious thoughts are usually communicated, give expression to
the warm and glowing emotions of his soul, in language all his own.
There is often in these recitals the highest type of simple, natural
eloquence in the singularity, the quaintness, and the power of the
language used.

As I rode up the hill-side and hitched my horse to the rail-fence in
front of his log-cabin, he came out to meet and welcome me. But there
was not that warmth of cordiality with which he had shaken my hand
the night before. As I entered the house with him and took a seat, he
remained standing, and walked about the floor continually, with an
uneasy, troubled air. He was a very tall man, was barefooted, and his
only dress was a shirt and pantaloons. After some little conversation,
he turned to me and said, "How much does that little book sell for?"

I could not imagine why he asked the question, but replied at once,
"Only a dime, sir." (The Bibles and Testaments were sold as near the
cost-price in New York as possible, but as no pennies were used in any
business transactions in all this region, we were obliged to sell this
Testament, costing six and a fourth cents, for a dime.)

He did not make any response to my answer, but, after some further
conversation, which I tried to keep up, he came and stood directly over
me, and said, in a very sad tone of voice, "Well, sir, I have only got
half enough to pay for that little book, but if I had the money I'd pay
five dollars before I'd give it up."

Understanding at once that he supposed I was on a collecting tour,
and that this was the cause of my visit and all his trouble, I said,
"Why, sir, did you suppose I had come to get the pay for your little
Testament?"

"H'ain't you?" asked his wife eagerly, a slight smile of hope passing
over her earnest, expressive face.

"Why, no, indeed," said I; "that book was given to you. The Bible
Society gives away a great many Bibles and Testaments, and all they
want is to know that people make good use of them."

"Well, I declare!" said she, her face all radiant with joy. "We've been
right smartly troubled about it all the morning. I knew we hadn't got
money enough to pay for it, and I didn't know what we _should_ do. I
wouldn't give it up for nothing. I know none of us can't read any, but
we get it read a mighty heap. I love to have it in the house, whether
we can read or not. _That's the little book we're trying to go by now_,
and whenever they gets together the first thing is to get out the
little book, and it seems like they never get tired of it."

That was one of the most moving and beautiful tributes of affection
and love for the Word of God to which I have ever listened. I see her
now through the lapse of years, her bright, black eyes and her face
all aglow with joy, as she sat at one side of her fireplace in that
comfortless cabin. The chimney, made of sticks and mud, and standing
on the outside of the house, had leaned away from the opening that had
been cut through the logs for the fireplace, and left a large open
space through which and the logs the winds blew upon her back about
as freely as through a rail-fence. Where the brick or stone hearth
should have been, there was only a bed of ashes and a few smoldering
fire-brands. Two beds on one side of the room and a few rough
articles of household furniture numbered all the comforts of their
one apartment. Such were her surroundings, and yet I had made her one
of the happiest mortals I have ever seen. As I looked into her black,
expressive eyes and her bright face, which must have been beautiful
in earlier years, it was hard to believe that she could not read a
word--that she had never learned a single letter of the alphabet of her
mother-tongue.

"Well," said an old man, who thus far had sat quite mute, "I'm sure my
old woman makes good use of hers; she reads it about half the time. I
believe she would go crazy if you should take her Bible away."

This old man, with his hair hanging down to his shoulders, his
powder-horn, pouch, and other hunting equipments hanging at his side,
had entered the house with his gun in hand just as I rode up, having
apparently just returned from a morning hunt. I now learned that he was
the father of the man at whose house I was--the man in whose family
so great a change had been wrought since Mr. K---- had given his wife
the Bible. After I had satisfied them that they were not to lose their
Testament and Bible, all tongues were unloosed, and I wish it were in
my power to give in detail the conversation that followed.

"Can't you stay and preach for us to-night?" said the old man. "We can
send word around, and you'll have a house full. I want to hear you
mightily. We didn't sleep any last night, hardly. Jake came home from
meeting so full, and he was trying to tell us about the sermon. You
ought to stay and see the G----s; you ought to hear them sing and pray."

I consented to preach again most gladly, and after full consultation
among themselves as to whose house in the neighborhood would hold
the most people, and arrangements had been made for circulating the
notice, they all sat down and listened intently while I read to them
out of the "little book," explaining the portions read as I would
attempt to explain them to an infant-class in a Sabbath-school.
I remember that the great change wrought in themselves and their
neighbors seemed an incomprehensible mystery to them. So, looking out
of the open door of their cabin and down the hill-side, I pointed them
to the tops of the large forest trees that were swaying to and fro in
the wind, and said:

"You see all those trees in motion, but can not see anything moving
them. And yet you know what it is. You know that it is the wind. You
can not see it, but you can hear its sound."

I then opened their "little book" (for I had preferred to read to them
out of their own prized treasure, that they might be sure, after I
was gone, that they had in their possession all that I had read and
explained to them), and read to them the story of the conversation of
Christ with Nicodemus, calling their special attention to the passage:
"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof,
but canst not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth. So is every
one that is born of the Spirit."

This passage was apparently new, and made the whole matter wonderfully
clear to them, affording them the most intense pleasure and
satisfaction. So I read, and they listened to these simple comments,
for an hour or more with expressions of the deepest interest, and
would evidently have listened thus for hours. We then all bowed upon
our knees, and, after I had prayed, Mr. Jake G----, at my request,
offered a prayer, such as he offered daily as he assembled his children
around that family altar; a prayer so broken, so humble, so sincere, as
to move the stoutest heart. I wish I could give the whole of it; but I
only remember the first sentence, "O Lord, we bow down to call on thy
name as well as we know how."

I spent the rest of the day with the old man, visiting different
families, and in his own, reading the Bible to them, praying with them,
and listening to their simple details of the wonderful change that
had been wrought among them. Their own statements in regard to the
exceeding ignorance and irreligion of the community corroborated the
accounts I heard of them in all the country around.

"I've known a heap of people," said the old man, as we left the house,
and started off through the woods, "but I never did know as bad a set
as the G----'s" (his own family). "Every one of my boys played the
fiddle, and every one of my children had rather dance than eat the best
meal that could be got. Every one of my boys played cards and gambled.
Every one of them would go to horse-races and shooting-matches, and
get drunk, and fight, and get into all kinds of scrapes. And my boy
Dock--that ain't his name, but that's what we all call him--I do wish
you could hear Dock pray now--my boy Dock used to get drunk and have
fits [delirium tremens], and when he was gone to a shooting-match or a
log-rolling, or any such place, I'd go to bed at night, but I couldn't
go to sleep. I'd just lie and wait to hear him holler, and I've gone
out many a night and brought him into the house out of the most awful
places. And Sundays--why, I didn't hear a sermon in fifteen years.
Sundays my yard was filled with people who came from all around here,
and jumped, and played marbles, and shot at a mark, and frolicked, all
day long. And such a thing as a hime" (hymn), continued the old man,
"singin' himes or prayin', why, there wa'n't no such thing in all the
neighborhood. When they first began to hold meetings around, there
wa'n't nobody to raise the tunes. Now they know a heap of himes, and
sometimes Jake leads the meetin', and sometimes Dock, and you ought to
hear them all sing and pray now."

So the old man talked on, giving his simple narrative of these and
a great many other facts, until at length we came to a log-house.
This was the place where I was to preach that night, the home of a
brother--the old man that had shouted "_Wake, snakes!_" at hearing Mr.
K---- pray. He had since died, and died unconverted, and the account
that the old man gave of the death of this brother was most touching.
As his case grew more and more hopeless, those of his children and
relatives who had been converted felt the deepest interest for him,
talked with him as well as they knew how, and prayed with him; but all
apparently in vain.

"I watched him from day to day," said the old man, "until I saw there
was no hope for him. I knew that he must die, and I knew that he was
not prepared. I shook hands with him, bid him good-by, and turned away
from him, and thought I had no time to lose. I determined to try and
get religion at once, and be prepared for death."

When at length his family and friends had gathered around his bed to
see him die, his youngest daughter, that had lately been converted, who
was about eighteen years old, but could not read a letter, agonized at
the thought of his leaving the world unprepared, rushed forward, knelt
at his bedside, and gave vent to her emotions in a prayer such as is
rarely offered. Those who heard it were most of them as illiterate
as herself, and incompetent to describe it; but from their accounts
the scene was solemn, and the effect overpowering to all except the
dying man. As she arose from her knees, he opened his eyes, and said,
faintly, "I never expected that [to hear a prayer] from one of my
children," and in a few moments breathed his last. During my visit here
I asked this young lady if she could read. She replied:

"Oh, no, sir; I was always too industrious to take time to learn to
read." Her arms were colored to above her elbows, where she had had
them in the dye-tub, preparing the "butternut-woolsey" for the family
use.

From this place the old man took me to his own house. As we went up to
the door, his wife stood with her back to us, washing dishes, and he
rapped at the door. She turned her head so as to see us both, but did
not move her body or say a word. He then said:

"Old woman, see here!" (pointing to me), "here is a man that has come
to get your Bible."

Looking at me a moment, she responded:

"You talk too much," and resumed her work.

We then entered the house, and he informed his wife and daughter who
I was and that I was to preach that night. After I had talked with
them a while, it was proposed that I should again read and explain the
Bible to them. At his son's house, as they had all been so wicked, I
had read, among other portions, the account of the persecutions and the
conversion of the Apostle Paul, and given them a simple sketch of his
subsequent history, and then pointed out the parts of the "little book"
that this man who had been so wicked had been inspired to write. This
story was almost if not entirely new to them, and they were greatly
interested in it. When the family were seated, and I was about to read
to them, the old man said to me:

"Can't you read that again that you read up at Jake's? That
about--that--that--that what do you call him?"

"Paul," said I.

"Yes, Paul, Saul, Paul. Read that about Paul. If that don't hit the
nail on the head better than anything I ever heard afore!"

I, of course, consented, and went over the story again for the benefit
of his family, and the facts seemed to lose none of their interest to
the old man by their repetition. Having spent all the time desirable
in reading and praying with this family, there were still a few hours
before the preaching service began. Shall I introduce my readers
more fully to this home in the Brush, and tell them how this time
was passed? The house contained but a single room. The daughter of
whom I have spoken was about eighteen or twenty years old, tall and
large, wore a butternut-colored woolsey dress that she had probably
spun and woven, and was barefooted. I had not been long in the house
before she retired from their only room, in which I sat, and in honor
of my arrival reappeared in another dress. I do not know where she
made her toilet, only that it was the same ample and magnificent
dressing-room first used by Mother Eve. The material of the dress in
which she appeared was old-fashioned cheap curtain calico, with waving
stripes some two or three inches wide running its entire length.
Preferring perfect freedom and the comfort of the cooling breezes
to considerations that would have been influential with most of my
lady readers, in thus making her toilet she had chosen to remain
stockingless and shoeless. A massive head of dark-brown hair, cut
squarely off and pushed behind her ears, hung loosely down her neck.

When the dishes were washed and all the after-dinner work accomplished,
and she was prepared to sit down and enjoy the conversation, she took
from the rude mantle-tree above the fireplace a cob-pipe, and filled
it with home-grown and home-cured tobacco from an abundant supply in
a large pocket in her dress. Lighting her pipe, she took a seat at
the right of her father, while I occupied a chair on his left. Soon
large columns of smoke began to rise and roll away above her head
as gracefully as I have ever seen them float around the head of the
most fashionable smoker with the most costly meerschaum. Bending her
right arm so that she could clasp the long stem of her pipe with her
forefinger, she rested the elbow in the palm of her left hand. Then,
placing her right limb across her left knee, she swung the pendent
foot slowly, as if in meditative mood, and yielded herself to the full
enjoyment of her pipe and our conversation. Her name I should have said
was Barbara. She was of a quiet, taciturn disposition, and rarely said
anything, except as she was appealed to on some matter by her proud and
happy father.

I have met some people who were so ignorant in regard to rustic
manufactures that they did not know what a "cob"-pipe was. For the sake
of any that may be similarly uninformed, I will describe one. It is
made by taking a section of a common corn-cob some two or three inches
in length, and boring or burning out with a hot iron the pith of the
cob some two thirds of its length, and then boring or burning a small
hole transversely through the cob to the base of the bowl already made,
and inserting in this a small hollow reed or cane for a stem. These
pipe-stems are long or short, from a few inches to two or three feet,
according to the preference of those who are to use them. I have often
been told by old smokers that no pipe was as pleasant or sweet as a
cob-pipe. The great objection to them is that they have to be renewed
so frequently.

Seated as I have already described, the hours passed away to the
evident satisfaction of my entertainers. It is not an easy matter to
maintain a conversation for several hours with those who have never
read a word of their mother-tongue. Their stock of ideas is necessarily
rather limited. But a very large experience in mingling with this class
of people had given me such facilities that I was evidently already
installed as a favorite in the family. I asked a great many questions
in regard to the children and grandchildren, which were answered with
the interest which always pertains to these inquiries. At length the
old man returned the compliment by inquiring very particularly into
my own family affairs. When pressed upon this subject, as I almost
universally was by families in the Brush, I was compelled to tell
them that my family was very small--as small as possible--just that
of the Apostle Paul; in plain language, that I was that quite unusual
character, a clerical bachelor. The old man was astonished. I think he
was gratified. His face glowed with some new emotion. He was evidently
willing on our short acquaintance to receive me as a son-in-law.
Turning his pleased, animated face to me, and leaning forward in his
chair, he lifted his right hand, and, pointing with an emphatic gesture
to his daughter, said:

"Well, preacher, my gals is all married but Barbara here, and she is
ready, sir."

Miss Barbara retained her hold upon the long stem of her cob-pipe,
and smoked on, wellnigh imperturbable at this sudden culmination of
affairs, though I think that, like myself, she was somewhat startled
and moved, for I could see an evident increase in the swinging movement
of her still pendent right foot.

[Illustration: "Well, Preacher, my gals is all married but Barbara
here, and she is ready, sir."]

But I must pass over other and interesting incidents of the day. Night
came, and with it the congregation that had been promised. Temporary
seats had been provided, and the log-cabin was closely packed. As the
last of the company were arriving, it began to sprinkle, and as our
services progressed the rain fell in torrents. There was grandeur in
the storm as the wind howled among the trees and the rain beat upon the
roof but a few feet above our heads. As the most of the company could
not read, and all were very ignorant, my sermon was as simple as I
could possibly make it. It was listened to with an eager interest,
reminding me of the words of the prophet: "Thy words were found, and
I did eat them; and thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of my
heart." Those simple babes in Christ had as yet no idea of a meeting
without special efforts for the conversion of the impenitent; and, in
response to my appeal made after the sermon, a little girl, some twelve
or fourteen years old, came forward to be prayed for. As she started,
the audience were greatly moved. She was the great-grandchild of the
hoary-headed and hardened sinner who had raised his large family as I
have already described, and who still lived and looked on unmoved at
the wonderful work God was doing among his children and his children's
children. She was the eldest daughter of Dock G----, and after I had
instructed her and pointed her to Christ as best I could in these
circumstances, and several prayers had been offered for her, her
father knelt by her side and poured forth the yearning desires of his
burdened soul in her behalf. It was a prayer of confession of parental
unfaithfulness, of thanksgiving for what God had already done, and of
earnest, importunate wrestlings for one that was a part of himself and
must live for ever. It was a prayer such as I had never heard before.
I did not wonder that his father had said to me in the morning, "I do
wish you could hear Dock pray now." Though he could not read, his mind
was evidently of a superior order, and the language of his prayer was
not such as he had acquired by hearing others pray, but was entirely
his own. It was deeply affecting to hear such familiar thoughts,
uttered in language so strange and unusual.

As the rain continued to pour in torrents and the night was fearfully
dark, the meeting was continued to a late hour, and I was gratified in
hearing them sing and pray a long time. Their hymns were mostly those
that they had learned by hearing them sung by others, and their prayers
were the simple, earnest utterances of those who seemed evidently to
have been taught of God. At length the meeting closed, and though
the rain still poured without abatement, and the night was fearfully
dark, several of the company, who had left young children at home,
started out in the storm to make their way home through the woods and
across swollen streams by following, without torchlight, their winding
neighborhood paths. But the most of the congregation remained until
near midnight, when the rain abated and it became lighter. Others now
started for home, some on foot and some on horseback, to find their
way through the forest for two or three miles, up and down hills and
across streams, where I had found it a difficult matter to make my way
by daylight. With a number so large that I did not undertake to count
them, I spent the night in their cabin, and received from the family
the kindest treatment it was in their power to bestow.

First of all, at the close of the meeting, the cob, clay, and all
other pipes were brought out, and family and guests sat down to enjoy
a social smoke and chat. Though I have spent so many years where
tobacco is grown and almost universally used, though I have enjoyed the
hospitality of a great many families where the mothers and daughters
both chewed and "dipped," I have never learned to use the weed. Though
I do not smoke, I have very often been most thoroughly smoked. In this
company of social smokers, composed of old men and young men, old women
and young women, I was more favored than I have often been in the most
elegant apartments of the most magnificent dwellings. The fireplace,
several feet long, filled with ashes, made an ample spittoon, and
the large "stick" chimney, aided by the winds that circulated freely
through the cabin, afforded what I have so often wished for--an
ample funnel for the escape of the smoke and fumes of the tobacco.
Uncultivated as this company was, it was evident that they were gifted
with capacities for enjoying the weed equal to those of the most
refined circles I have ever met.

Having smoked to their satisfaction, and the hour of midnight being
passed, I was pointed to a bed in one corner of the room which I was to
occupy. I had not been in it long before some bedfellow got in to share
it with me. I soon discovered that it was my would-be father-in-law,
and that he slept with his boots on--I suppose to save the trouble of
drawing them off and on. How or where the rest of my congregation
slept, I do not know, for, on getting into bed, I had turned my face
to the log wall, and, being exceedingly wearied with the labors of the
day and the night, I was soon oblivious to all around me, and lost in
sleep. When I awoke in the morning, my friend, who had shared the bed
with me, and who had evidently awaked some time before, greeted me with
the friendly salutation:

"How dy, partner?" his boots, at the moment, greeting my vision as they
extended beyond our bed blankets or quilts.

After breakfast, I bade good-by to the kind friends whose rough but
generous hospitality I had thus enjoyed, with many thanks on their part
for my visit, with many regrets at my departure, and with repeated
requests that I would visit and preach for them again. But my farewell
here, as in thousands of other cases, was a final farewell. I was not
to meet them again, except, as is so often sung, in one of their wild,
favorite religious songs:

  "When the general roll is called."

During this visit I learned that about a hundred persons had
been converted in this neighborhood since the visit of the
Bible-distributor. Among them were about thirty members of the family
to which I have so often alluded, in which this good work had its
commencement in the reading of that little Testament. There had
formerly been no regular preaching in the immediate neighborhood, but a
Cumberland Presbyterian minister had preached once a month in a private
house not far from them. It was the house to which I had been directed,
and the family who had so kindly entertained me and circulated the
appointment for my first sermon in the neighborhood. The preacher was
the faithful man of God who had preached and officiated in the marriage
at the "basket-meeting in the Brush" which I have already described. He
had changed the place of holding his meetings, and preached regularly
once a month in the new log-house in which I preached on the night of
my arrival. In addition to his regular services, he had held protracted
meetings, and his earnest and devoted labors had been greatly blessed
in carrying forward this remarkable work of grace. Methodist preachers
had also visited the neighborhood at different times, and held meetings
at which numbers had been hopefully converted. All who had made a
public profession of religion had united with these two denominations,
and there was the utmost peace and harmony among them. The dark spirit
of sectarianism seemed as yet to have found no place among them, and
all who beheld them were compelled to say, as should be said of all
those of different names who profess to be the disciples of Christ,
"Behold how these brethren love one another."

At the time of my visit and for some months before, the only regular
preaching in the neighborhood was that once a month by Mr. W----, the
Cumberland Presbyterian minister. But they held a prayer-meeting which
was conducted by themselves on all the other Sabbaths, and once during
each week. At these meetings they read the Scriptures, and sang and
prayed, and with tearful eyes and warm and glowing hearts rehearsed to
their friends and neighbors the simple story of the love and grace of
God as it had been manifested to them. To those who had been familiar
with their former lives, there was a convincing, an almost resistless,
power in their services, and they had often been owned of God in the
salvation of souls. Many had been induced to come long distances to
attend these meetings, and had gone away, saying, "Surely this is the
work of God, for only his power could enable such people to offer such
prayers." I was told that even the little children had caught the
prevailing spirit, and had commenced a "play" that was entirely new
in the neighborhood. When their parents were gone to night-meetings,
as they often were, the little children who were left at home alone
entertained themselves by playing "meeting"--going through with all
the services as they had seen them at the meetings they had attended
with their parents. I tried to learn of one mother--the one who was so
grateful that she was not to lose her "little book"--what her children
would say at these meetings, but she could only tell me of one little
fellow four or five years old, that she pointed out to me, who would
get up and very seriously repeat over and over the words, "Oh, them
dear little children in heaven! them dear little children in heaven!"

I was very greatly interested in learning from the remarks that I heard
in both this and the surrounding neighborhoods of the uniformity of
sentiment in regard to the religious character of this work. In a long
conversation with a man who had known these people from his boyhood,
and whose Christian heart had been greatly rejoiced at what he had seen
and heard, I said:

"There must be a very great change among them?"

"Indeed there is," said he, emphatically. "It's a smart miracle!"

Among all the persons of different classes that I saw, I met no one who
seemed to doubt in the least that it was a genuine work of grace. "It
is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes."




CHAPTER IX.

CANDIDATING; OR, OLD-TIME METHODS AND HUMORS OF OFFICE-SEEKING IN THE
SOUTHWEST.


I have found no class of people in the Southwest so omnipresent as
office-seeking politicians. I have visited no neighborhood so remote,
no valley so deep, no mountain so high, that the secluded cabins had
not been honored by the visits of aspiring politicians, eager to secure
the votes of their "sovereign" occupants. In multitudes of such cabins
and settlements, their first impressions in regard to me were that
I was either a sheriff, collecting the county and State taxes, or a
"candidate" soliciting votes. The one vocation was as general and as
universally recognized as an honorable employment as the other. If I
did not make myself known as a clergyman as soon as I arrived at many
of these out-of-the-way cabins, I was frequently greeted with the
salutation:

"How dy, sir? I reckon you are a candidate, stranger!"

Some months preceding each election these aspirants for official
honors publicly announced themselves as candidates for the particular
office that they sought. In those States where the election was held
the first Monday in August, these announcements were usually made the
preceding spring at the February county or circuit court. On such
occasions the court adjourned for the afternoon, and after dinner
the crowds in attendance gathered in the court-house, and, one after
another, all the aspirants for all the different offices, State and
national, came before the assembled people, announced themselves as
candidates, and set forth their qualifications for the office sought
and their claims upon the suffrages of their fellow-citizens. Sometimes
half a dozen or more would announce themselves as candidates for the
same office. In listening to their speeches one would be led to think
that the chief excellence and glory of our Constitution was that
it secured to every citizen the right to be an office-seeker. "My
fellow-citizens, I claim the _right_ of an American citizen to come
before you and solicit your suffrages," was asserted by a great many of
these candidates, and very often by those who could present but a sorry
list of other claims for the office sought.

I have often found these gatherings occasions of the rarest interest
and sport. On one occasion the candidate's name was _Coulter_,
and the office sought was the county clerkship. The incumbent was
a consumptive, in such poor health that he had been compelled to
spend the winter in a milder climate, and it was doubtful if he
would be able to discharge the duties of his office another term. "My
fellow-citizens," said Mr. Coulter, "I am very sorry for Mr. Anderson
[who was present], our worthy county clerk, sorry that his health is
so poor--sorry that he was obliged to leave us last winter, and go
and breathe the balmy breezes of a more genial climate. But as he was
gone, and there was some doubt about his coming back, I did not think
it would be out of the way to try my Coulter a little. I experimented
with it. It worked well. I tried it in several precincts. It ran smooth
and cut beautifully. I am so much pleased with the way it works that I
am determined to enter it for the race." This play upon his name was
received with great favor. His old father sat upon a table immediately
under the judge's seat from which he spoke, and gazed up at him with
open mouth and the most intense parental pride and joy. The crowd
cheered to the echo, and I learned some months afterward that this
remarkable (?) display of wit was rewarded by the clerkship sought.

In these public speeches, and on all other occasions, both public and
private, this pursuit of office was always spoken of as a "race." The
most common remarks and inquiries in regard to any political canvass
were such as these:

"I intend to make the 'race.'" "It will be a very close 'race.'" "Do
you think Jones will make the 'race?'" "Smith has a strong competitor,
but I think he will make the 'race.'" "I will bet you fifty dollars
that Peters will make the 'race.'"

To "make the race" was to secure an election.

On another occasion, I heard a speaker who had been a candidate for the
same office, and had canvassed his county, making speeches in every
neighborhood, for twelve successive years. Though I saw him very often
and knew him very well, I never heard him speak but once.

A part of his speech I could not forget. It was as follows:

"Fortunately or unfortunately, my fellow-citizens, some twelve years
ago I was seized with a strong desire to represent my county in the
lower house of the Legislature of my native State. Fellow-citizens, you
all know me. I was raised among you. I was a poor boy. I am a poor man
now. I ask you to vote for me as an encouragement to the poor boys of
the county, that I may be an example to them--that they may point to
me and say, 'There is a man, that was once as poor as any of us, who
has been honored with a seat in the Legislature of his native State.'
I have taught school a good many winters, and the boys that I have
taught like me. They will give me their votes. I have sometimes thought
I should have to teach school over the county until I had taught boys
enough to elect me."

I can not go through with all of his speech, but his peroration was too
rich to omit:

"My fellow-citizens, when I look back over the twelve years since I
became a candidate for this office, I feel encouraged. When I look back
and think of the very few that for years gave me any encouragement,
and compare them with the numbers that now promise me their votes, I
am proud of my success. I begin to feel that my hopes are about to be
realized--that a majority of my fellow-citizens will honor me with
their suffrages, and that I shall proudly go up to the Capitol and
take my seat among the legislators of the State. But, fellow-citizens,
if, unfortunately, I should fail in this election, _I take the present
opportunity to announce myself as a candidate in the next race_."

This candidate was like the suitor whom the lady accepted to get
rid of him. Though a large number of his fellow-citizens were very
intelligent men, they finally concluded not to vote against him, and
allow him to be elected. I afterward saw him in the Legislature, and
he was certainly superior to some of his colleagues. He introduced me
to a fellow-member from the mountains who could not read or write at
all; and told me, privately, that he read and answered all the letters
that passed between him and his family and constituents. Mr. George D.
Prentice was accustomed to give this legislator from the mountains an
almost daily notice in the "Louisville Journal."

After these public announcements were made, the candidates entered
upon their work in dead earnest. They often issued printed handbills,
announcing the days on which they would speak at different places.
They traveled together, and addressed the same crowds in rotation.
These political discussions between candidates for the higher offices,
such as governor, member of Congress, etc., were often very able and
eloquent. Indeed, I have rarely, if ever, heard more able political
discussions than some of these. Where they canvassed a State or
Congressional district together, they spoke in rotation, an hour each
by the watch, and then concluded with half-hour speeches. This gave
to each an opportunity to answer the arguments of the other. As both
addressed the same audience, and each was applauded and cheered by his
own party, they were both stimulated and excited to the highest degree
possible. Each wished not only to gratify his political friends by the
ability and skill with which he discussed the questions at issue, but
to secure from the audience as many votes for himself as possible.
They were like lawyers before a jury, each anxious to secure a verdict
in his own favor. I have often thought that this method of conducting
a political campaign had many advantages over that which generally
prevails in the Northern and Eastern States, where a candidate, with no
ability to speak, is nominated by a caucus, and the parties afterward
meet in separate mass-meetings, and the speakers convince voters that
are already convinced and annihilate opponents that are not there. In
this manner neither party has the opportunity to correctly and fairly
represent its views to the other.

But public political discussions made but a small part of the labor
performed by the great majority of these candidates. They solicited the
votes of the people in private, and on all sorts of occasions. Some
of them mounted their horses, and went from house to house together
as thoroughly as if they were taking the census. A story is told of
two opposing candidates who spent a night together at a cabin. Each
was anxious to secure the "female influence" of the family in his
own favor, and one of them took the water-bucket and started for the
distant spring to get a pail of water, thinking to make a favorable
impression on the hostess by rendering her this aid in preparing the
coffee for their supper. His opponent, not to be outdone by this
master-stroke of policy, devoted himself to the baby with such success
that he won its favor, and succeeded in getting it into his arms.
The other candidate returned from his long walk with his well-filled
water-bucket, to see his opponent bestowing the most affectionate
caresses and kisses upon a baby that very sadly needed a thorough
application of the water he had brought, and to hear him pour into
the mother's charmed ear abundant and glowing words of praise for her
hopeful child. The water-bucket was set down in despair. It is quite
unnecessary to say which of the candidates secured the vote from that
cabin.

These candidates were always to be found at all large gatherings
of the people. They were to be seen at barbecues, shooting-matches,
corn-huskings, gander-pullings, basket-meetings, public theological
discussions, and all sorts of religious and other gatherings of
the people. Here they were busy shaking hands with everybody, and
using every possible expedient to win their votes. My friend, the
late Rev. Dr. W.W. Hill, of Louisville, Kentucky, related to me a
very characteristic and amusing incident illustrating this style of
electioneering.

While rusticating, quite early in his ministry, at a somewhat
celebrated medicinal spring among the hills, he was invited by his
host to go with him to a public discussion on the question of baptism,
that was to come off in the neighborhood between two distinguished
champions, holding opposite views in regard to the "subjects" and
"mode" of baptism. Judge C----, a candidate for Congress from that
district, who had a very wide reputation as a skillful and successful
electioneerer, was present, as polite and busy as possible, shaking
hands with everybody, and inquiring with wonderful solicitude after
the health of their wives and families. At the close of the services,
or, as the people there would say, "when the meeting broke," his host
invited the Judge and several of his neighbors to go home with him and
eat peaches-and-cream. He said his peaches were very fine, and his wife
had saved a plenty of nice cream for the occasion. The invitation was
accepted, and a very pleasant party accompanied him to his house. When
the company were seated at the table, the Judge found the peaches very
rare, the cream delicious, and was profuse in his compliments to both
host and hostess. At length the host said:

"Well, Judge, what did you think of the discussion to-day?"

"The discussion," said the Judge, glancing up and down the table, and
speaking as if rendering a judicial decision from the bench, "was very
able on both sides. The preachers acquitted themselves most honorably,
most handsomely. And yet I must say in all honesty that Parson Waller
[the Baptist] was rather too much for Parson Clarke [the Methodist]. He
had the advantage of him on a good many points. But, then, he had the
advantage of him so far as the merits of the question are concerned,
_I think_. The Greek settles that question. _Blabtow_ may not always,
in all circumstances, mean 'immerse,' but _blabtezer_, its derivative,
means immerse--go in all over--every time. There's no getting away from
that."

"What did you say that Greek word was that always means 'immerse'?"
said my friend, the young Presbyterian preacher, a recent graduate of
Princeton Theological Seminary, who was sitting immediately opposite
the Judge.

"Do you know anything about Greek?" responded the Judge.

"Not much," replied the young preacher.

"Do you know _anything_ about it? Have you ever studied it at all?"
continued the Judge.

"I have studied and read it some for about a dozen years," rejoined my
friend.

The Judge immediately started off upon an episode full of anecdote and
amusement, and did not get back to answer the question in regard to the
Greek while the company remained at the table.

The Doctor informed me that, as they left the table, he walked off
alone into the garden, but was soon overtaken by the Judge, who
exclaimed:

"Where did you come from, stranger, and how did you get among these
hills, a man that has studied Greek a dozen years? Now let me own up. I
don't know a thing about Greek; never studied it at all. I don't know a
Greek letter from a turkey-track. I am a candidate for Congress, out on
an electioneering excursion. I knew everybody at the table but you, and
I saw that it was a Baptist crowd. I wanted to win their favor and get
their votes. I heard Parson Smith preach on baptism in the city last
winter, and I was giving them his Greek as well as I could remember it.
Now," said the Judge, with a jolly laugh at the ridiculousness of his
position, "if you let this out on me so that my opponent can get hold
of it before I am through this canvass, I'll never forgive you."

It is but simple justice to these Baptists to say that, had the Judge
chanced to dine and eat peaches-and-cream that day with a company of
adherents of the other champion, his predilections would have been
just as strong in favor of Parson Clarke, and he would have marshaled
his Greek just as positively in favor of "infants" as "subjects" and
"sprinkling" as the "mode."

I am sure I shall be pardoned if I interrupt the flow of my narrative
to speak of what seems to me the remarkable fact that, more than forty
years after the scenes I have just described, I am able to say that the
"Parson Smith," so named by the candidate as furnishing his Greek, was
a revered friend whom, until quite recently, I had not met for more
than twenty years; to whose hospitable home, cheered by the bright
sunshine of one of the noblest and the best of wives and mothers, I was
for years welcomed on my return from my long horseback journeys, with
a cordiality as warm, I am sure, as though I had been a member of his
own ecclesiastical fold or diocese, who, now in his eighty-eighth year,
resides in New York City, the honored and beloved senior Bishop of the
Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States.

And I take great pleasure in saying that no bishop or member of his
own Church or any other, who has not, as I have, often met him in
his parochial journeyings, traveled over thousands on thousands of
miles of the same indescribably rough roads, climbed on horseback
the same steep mountain-paths, and partaken of the rough but generous
hospitality of the same rude cabins, can possibly understand with
what patience, with what energy, with what unconquerable devotion, he
has thus toiled for wellnigh half a century for the dear Church and
the dearer Master he has so long loved and served with such pure and
glowing love.

One scene in the life of the venerable Bishop is worthy of the pencil
of the most accomplished artist, worthy to be inscribed upon the walls
of the national Capitol as a companion to Bierstadt's "Emigrants
crossing the Plains," illustrating as it does the manner in which the
heroic heralds of the cross have ever accompanied and followed our bold
and daring emigrants, and in every new State laid, broad and deep, the
foundations of learning and religion by establishing the Church and the
School.

Having in his extended parochial travels become painfully conscious
of the need of increased efficiency in the public-school system
of the State, he accepted, and discharged for two years--1839 and
1840--the duties of Superintendent of Public Instruction. To this
work, in addition to his Episcopal duties, he devoted himself with
untiring energy and zeal, visiting and making educational addresses in
seventy-six out of the then ninety-one counties of the State. Many of
these counties could only be visited on horseback, the only wheeled
vehicle ever seen by the inhabitants being the cart in which the laws
passed by successive legislatures were transmitted to the different
county-seats.

On one of these journeys the Bishop found at a mountain-inn a Methodist
circuit-rider, class-leader, steward, and local preacher, assembled
for an "official meeting." All hearts beat in the warmest Christian
sympathy. As, after a frugal meal, the Bishop's horse was brought to
the door, and he was about to renew his journey, all these heroic
Christian workers gathered sympathizingly and helpfully around him,
one holding his horse by the bridle, another holding the stirrups, and
the others helping him to mount. When fairly seated in his saddle,
the Bishop reverently uncovered his head, and, lifting his hand to
heaven, said: "Send, Lord, by whom thou wilt send, but send help to the
mountains!" to which they all responded with a hearty Methodistic "Amen
and Amen."

The method of private electioneering by going from house to house,
or attending such gatherings unattended by an opponent, was called
electioneering on the still hunt. In pursuing the wild game of those
regions two methods were adopted. Sometimes the hunters went in large
parties, with horses, hounds, and horns, and pursued and killed
their game by these public and noisy demonstrations. At other times
they went alone and quietly through the fields and woods, came upon
their game noiselessly, and killed it by stealth. This latter method
was called by the people "_the still hunt_." In like manner, the
politicians had two methods of electioneering, as already described.
The one was by public gatherings and by public speeches; the other was
by these more private and quiet measures, to which they appropriated
this old phrase from the hunter's vocabulary, and called "_the still
hunt_." I remember on one occasion hearing two candidates for the
office of sheriff address a crowd in one of the wildest regions in the
Southwest, each in advocacy of his own claims. One of them was quite an
effective and the other a very indifferent speaker. In a conversation
with the former, at the conclusion of the discussion, I told him that,
judging from the speeches, and the responses they received from the
crowd, I thought his chances must be altogether the best for securing
the election.

"Ah," said he, "it won't do to judge by the speeches, or to depend upon
them to secure an election. My opponent is the hardest sort of a man to
beat. He is powerful on the still hunt."

Many of these candidates displayed most wonderful industry and energy
in this "still-hunt" method of electioneering. In a conference with
the officers of a county Bible Society, in regard to the time it would
take a Bible-distributor to visit every family in the county, for the
purpose of supplying them with a copy of the Bible by sale or gift, one
of them gave his experience in canvassing the county for the office of
prosecuting attorney, told how many families he could visit in a day,
and said he thought it would not take the Bible-distributor longer to
make his visits than he took to persuade them to vote for him. This
was a new and very satisfactory method of arriving at the time really
required for a thorough religious canvass of the county.

The "still-hunt" method of electioneering also developed and gave
occasion for the display of great tact and skill in influencing every
variety of mind and character. Arguments in regard to the questions
at issue were often of the least possible influence and importance in
securing votes. A lady, whose guest I was, told me that the member of
Congress from the district in which she resided, who had been reëlected
a great many times, and was at that time Speaker of the House of
Representatives, had often visited her house and neighborhood. She said
that, when he first began to canvass his district for Congress, he
always carried his fiddle with him, and made very indifferent speeches
to the people in the daytime, but played the fiddle, greatly to their
admiration, for their dances at night. His fiddling and dancing, fine
personal appearance, and wonderful skill and tact in mingling with
the people and securing their personal admiration and favor, were
far more effective than his speeches, and enabled him to "make the
race" against all competitors. He was a remarkable illustration of
the success of the "still-hunt" method of electioneering. With a most
indifferent early education, without a knowledge of English grammar
at the commencement of his Congressional career, he was reëlected so
often, and continued in Congress so long, that he became perfectly
conversant with his duties, served on nearly or quite every committee,
was made chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means, became the
recognized leader of his party, and was ultimately Speaker of the House
of Representatives through two Congresses--from December 1, 1851, to
March 4, 1855. With these long years of Congressional experience, he
became a very effective stump-speaker, and this, with his "still-hunt"
powers, enabled him to secure his reëlection again and again for some
thirty years, until he quite wore out the patience of the aspiring
members of his own party who were anxious for "rotation" in the office.

After growing gray in the service, he was at length beaten by a
youthful member of his own party on this wise: It was one of the
established laws of conducting a political canvass of the district
that, after the different persons had announced themselves as
candidates for an office, no one of them should call a meeting or
address an audience in any part of the district without notifying
all the other candidates, that they might have the opportunity to be
present to answer their opponent and make a plea in their own behalf.
A young and aspiring member of the party, whose father had grown
gray in the vain hope of a "rotation" in this office in his favor,
determined to take advantage of this "established law" of the party,
and, if possible, secure for himself the office for which his venerable
father had so long waited in vain. He accordingly announced himself as
a candidate for the office, purchased a very superior horse--there was
then no railroad in the district--published a list of appointments to
address the people of the district at different places on successive
days, but made these appointments so far apart--some eighty miles or
more--that it was impossible for his venerable opponent to ride the
distance. He had complied with the "letter of the law," but it was
one of those cases where "the letter killeth." Young, vigorous, and
possessing great powers of endurance, he would address the people at
one o'clock in the afternoon, and then make a long ride far into the
night if necessary, and start early in the morning and ride an equal
distance to the next afternoon appointment. In this manner he canvassed
the district alone. He made his speeches and had no one to answer
them. He had the fullest possible opportunity to tell the people how
long they had honored his opponent, that he had no further possible
claims upon their suffrages, and to make very earnest and even pathetic
appeals in his own behalf. His venerable opponent was not present to
counteract the force of these appeals, either by the eloquence he had
acquired in Congress, or with his once effective fiddle; and so this
son of a disappointed office-seeking father not only triumphed in the
horseback "race," but "made the political race" for the office sought,
and took his seat in Congress. I heard him make several speeches to his
constituents, but thought them far less remarkable than the John Gilpin
features of his political campaign.

I have already remarked that sometimes as many as half a dozen persons
would announce themselves as candidates for the same office at the
opening of a political campaign. As the canvass progressed, one after
another would become satisfied that his prospects were entirely
hopeless, and publicly announce his withdrawal from the race. On one
occasion I heard a candidate announce his withdrawal in a speech that I
thought described the condition of a great many politicians. It was as
follows:

"My fellow-citizens, I came before you at the opening of this campaign
and announced myself as a candidate for sheriff of the county. I now
appear before you to withdraw from the race. I have a great many
friends, strong friends. They stand up to me nobly. Nobody could wish
for better friends. There is only this one trouble in my case--_I
haven't got quite enough of them_.

"I have already gone so far in this race that I don't know myself.
I have lost myself entirely. When I go into the different precincts
and hear all the tales that they have got afloat about me, and the
character that they give me, it is somebody that I don't know anything
about--somebody that I never heard of before. Fellow-citizens, it
isn't me, I assure you, that they are talking about. They have mistaken
the man. If any of you should want to know anything about _me_, just
ask the boys in my precinct. They know me. They will tell you. They all
stand up for me."

I will relate but one more veritable incident to illustrate political
life in the Brush, and to show the expedients sometimes resorted to
by able and eloquent men to make sure of an election to an important
office. I had spent a Sabbath and preached in behalf of the American
Bible Society at a small county-seat town upon one of the large rivers
in the Southwest. While at breakfast on Monday morning, the circuit
judge of that judicial district, who was a resident of the village,
sent his colored boy to the house where I was staying, with the message
that he had heard that I was going to Big Spring that day, and he
wished to know whether I was going in the morning or afternoon. He said
that he had expected to go there in the morning, but if he could have
my company he would defer his ride. As I had an appointment to meet the
officers of the county Bible Society, and attend to the appointment
of a Bible-distributor, and order Bibles from New York for the supply
of the county, I sent back word to him that I could not close up my
business so as to leave until afternoon.

After dinner we mounted our horses and started upon our pleasant ride
of about twenty miles. The day was pleasant, the distance not great,
the Judge was intelligent and a very fine talker, and I enjoyed the
ride greatly. In former visits to the village I had been a guest in
his family, when he had been absent from home, holding his courts in
distant parts of his district, so that I had not before become as well
acquainted with him as I was with his family.

I had been greatly interested and delighted with my long conversations
with his venerable mother, and on her account I was very happy to enjoy
this long horseback-ride and pleasant talk with her distinguished son.
She was one of the most interesting and remarkable women I have ever
met in any part of our country. She was one among the first white
children born west of the Alleghanies. Her father had participated
in the early Indian wars, and her recollections and rehearsals of
the thrilling scenes of early border life and warfare, were the most
vivid and interesting of any to which I have ever listened. Born in a
frontier cabin, with but few neighbors, surrounded by wild beasts and
Indians, the toils, hardships, and excitements of their pioneer life
gave little opportunity for education, and she told me that her entire
school-life was less than nine months. And yet I have rarely conversed
with any one whose language was more smooth, correct, and elevated. The
secret of this seemed to lie in the fact that she had read and reread
the writings of Sir Walter Scott until not only all his sentiments and
characters, but his very style, had become her own. She would repeat
his poetry by the hour with wonderful taste and beauty. Scotch blood
flowed in her veins, and the warmest love of the fatherland glowed
in her heart. With a wonderful command of language, with an easy,
elevated, and flowing style, she would for hours together relate the
thrilling scenes of her childhood, and the varied incidents of her
early border life. Her admiration of her father, and especially of his
bravery, was unbounded. I remember the pride with which she told me of
a visit she once received from a veteran hunter and Indian fighter,
who had been a companion of her father in those early struggles and
conflicts, and of the fervor of his parting benediction; "Jenny, God
bless you, you are the child of a HERO, as brave as ever shouldered a
rifle!"

Kind and genial, as full of sunshine as of stories of the olden time,
beloved by old and young, the evening of her life was truly beautiful.
Many years have passed since I saw the dear old lady, and I do not know
that she is now alive, but I do know that she has not been forgotten.
Her measured, flowing periods still roll on in my memory, her quiet,
sunny smile beams on me now, as when I sat at her hospitable hearth and
board.

I was very happy to have an otherwise lonely afternoon's ride beguiled
with the company of the son of such a mother. I had never heard
the Judge speak, either in court or upon the stump; but he had an
established reputation as an able lawyer and eloquent speaker. I
soon found that he had inherited the conversational powers of his
mother, and the time wore pleasantly away as we rode on. At length our
conversation turned upon the present method of attaining judicial and
all other offices, and he gave me the following chapter in his own
experience, which I reproduce from memory. In justice to my friend
the Judge, I should say that he expressed himself as entirely opposed
in principle to an elective judiciary, and gave this chapter in his
own experience as an illustration of the way in which even a judicial
election _could_ be carried.

"I made," said the Judge, "a very thorough canvass of the district
with my opponent. We closed our public discussions, and I returned
home a few days before the election, which was to come off on the
first Monday in August. My opponent was Judge K----, whom you know as
a very worthy man, a perfect gentleman, and a superior judge. He was
honored by the bar, popular with the people, and a very hard man to
defeat. He had held the office several years. I wanted it, had worked
very hard for it, and was determined to gain it if possible. I looked
over the district very carefully, made the closest estimate I could,
and found I should be defeated unless I could make very heavy gains
in some precinct. It was a desperate case, and I could in honor only
electioneer on the 'still hunt.' I concluded to mount my horse and
ride to C---- F----, which you have visited, and know is about the
most ignorant and uncivilized region in the State. I thought it more
than probable that I would find a barbecue-dance in progress there on
Saturday afternoon, at which all the people in the precinct would be
present. When I arrived I found a dance in full progress in the open
air under the trees, and an ox roasting over the fire near by. It was
the last of July, and very hot and very dry. A perfect cone of dust
arose above the crowd, in which all the dancers were enveloped. It was
a strange, wild scene--a scene to be witnessed nowhere else but in the
wildest portions of our southwestern wilds. There were old men and old
grizzly-headed women, young men and young women, parents and children,
grandparents and grandchildren, all mingling together and dancing with
backwoods energy and wild delight. As I dismounted, hitched my horse,
and went up and joined those that were looking on, one and another
saluted me, very respectfully, with

"'How dy, Broadcloth?'

"As the weather was very warm, I had worn from home a black alpaca
sack-coat. This was the only deviation from home-made butternut-colored
jeans in the entire crowd. My black coat, therefore, distinguished
me from everybody else; and as I walked about among the people the
invariable salutation was,

"'How dy, Broadcloth?'

"I moved around among them very quietly an hour or more, observing all
that was going on, and watching for the most favorable opportunity to
make myself known to them and win their favor. At length my course was
clearly settled in my own mind. I saw what would be my opportunity. I
could see that the fiddler was already so drunk that he would fall off
the block, dead drunk before a great while. I had learned to play the
fiddle when a boy. I could take the fiddler's place, and prevent the
calamity of a complete break-up of the dance.

"His powers of motion failed sooner than I had expected, and there was
great sorrow in all the company. After a while I intimated quietly to
some of them that I could play the fiddle, and they shouted at the top
of their voices:

"'Broadcloth can fiddle! Broadcloth can fiddle! Hurra for Broadcloth!'

"'At once there was a general rush of the company about me, all of them
imploring me to take the fiddle and play for them. I replied, very
positively:

"'No, gentlemen, I won't fiddle for you!'

"'Why not, Broadcloth? Why not?' they all responded.

"'I will tell you why not,' I said. 'I came here a stranger, and you
haven't treated me with any civility at all; you haven't invited me
to dance; haven't introduced me to the ladies; haven't made me one of
yourselves at all; and I won't fiddle for you.'

"But they made so many apologies for the past and promises for the
future that I finally relented, changed my mind, and agreed to fiddle
for them. This announcement was greeted with a general shout of joy. I
then began to brag in the most extravagant manner possible. I told them
that, when they saw me draw the bow, it would be such music as they
had never heard since they were born. I took off my coat, unbuttoned
my shirt, rolled up my sleeves, took the fiddle, and drew the bow
across it, back and forth, for a minute or two, with all my might. They
responded to this very noisy musical demonstration with a scream and
yell of wild delight and a 'Hurra for Broadcloth!' I took my seat and
began to play just before sundown, and played--until the sun was up the
next morning. During the night they came around me, and said:

"'Who are you, Broadcloth, anyway?'

"I told them I was a candidate.

"They shouted:

"'Broadcloth is a candidate! Hurra for Broadcloth!' And then asked me
what I was a candidate for.

"I told them I was a candidate for circuit judge, and they repeated:

"'Broadcloth is a candidate for circuit judge. Hurra for Broadcloth for
circuit judge!'

"This was as much information as I dared to give them in one
installment. I did not wish to give them any more until what I had told
them was perfectly fixed in their minds, so that they would not make
any mistake when they came to vote on the following Monday.

"One of them, a little more thoughtful than the rest, came to me
afterward, and, applying an oath to the party to which I belonged,
said he hoped I was not a ---- ----. I did not, in behalf of myself
or party, resent the oath or favor him with any definite reply to his
question. I knew that the greater part of the company generally voted
with the opposite party, and that, enthusiastic as they now were in
my favor, too much information on this point would be fatal to my
prospects. I felt quite sure that neither my opponent nor any of his
friends would give them this information, and undo the work I had
accomplished between that time and Monday morning.

"As the morning dawned, in response to the inquiries of some of the
more enthusiastic of my friends, I gave them my name in full, which was
greeted and repeated in cheer after cheer.

"When I bade them good-by, mounted my horse and rode away, they
followed me with their cheers, and when out of sight among the dense
forest trees I could still hear their enthusiastic

"'Hurra for S----, candidate for circuit judge!'

"When the election returns were announced, every vote in the C----
F---- precinct had been cast for me. That night's work with the fiddle
secured my election."




CHAPTER X.

SOME STRANGE EXPERIENCES WITH A CANDIDATE IN THE BRUSH.


Having made arrangements with Father E----, a venerable and faithful
Bible-distributor, to canvass a very rough, wild country, I determined
to visit the county-seat, and address as many of the people as could be
assembled. I did this for the purpose of explaining to them that the
entire State and country were being canvassed in this manner, for the
purpose of supplying every family that would receive it with a copy of
the Bible, either by sale or gift. As they had been so much imposed
upon by wandering peddlers, I found it very important to explain to
them that it was not a money-making enterprise--that the books sold
were furnished to them at cost. It was also my invariable custom to
solicit a collection for the Bible Society, wherever I preached,
however poor the people might be. It increased their self-respect to
give them this opportunity to aid in supplying their own destitute poor
with the Word of God.

My ride to B----, the county-seat, was through a rough, wild, and
broken region. This may be judged from the fact that the average value
of the land, improved and unimproved, of the entire county, as returned
by the assessors, and published in the Report of the Auditor of the
State for the preceding year, was but one dollar and seventy-nine cents
per acre. Even this was a little more valuable than the land of an
adjoining county that I explored most thoroughly, the average value of
which, as published in the same Report, was one dollar and seventy-four
cents per acre. Yet these counties had been settled more than fifty
years.

Arriving at the little village, a perfect stranger, my first inquiry
was for some professor of religion who would be likely to take an
interest in my work, and aid me to make arrangements, if possible,
to preach there the following Sabbath. I was directed by my host to
call on the school-master of the place, whom I found to be an old
man more than sixty years of age, who gave me a warm welcome, and
cheerfully rendered me the desired aid. Upon inquiry, we learned that
the court-house, which was the place used by all denominations for
preaching, would not be occupied the next Sabbath, and accordingly it
was arranged that a notice should be circulated that I would preach
there on that day, at 4 P.M. This accomplished, I left the village to
attend to other duties, and await the Sabbath.

As there was no newspaper at this county-seat, and but a very
few families resided there, and only a few days intervening, the
uninitiated in southwestern backwoods life will wonder how the people
in the adjacent hills and valleys were to be notified of this service
and a congregation assembled. But I had been long enough in the Brush
to have no apprehensions upon this point. I knew that they would not
only all be notified for miles around, but that the most of them
would be present. I have found by experience that it is one of the
peculiarities of the wilder and wildest portions of the country, that
the people will be at the greatest possible pains to notify their
neighbors far and near whenever a stranger will preach, whatever may be
the day of the week or the hour of the day.

I have frequently arrived at a solitary log-cabin, late in the
afternoon, after a wearisome day's ride through a rough, wild,
mountainous region, and almost as soon as I had made myself known as a
preacher, they would say:

"Can't you preach for us here to-night?"

"Oh, yes," I have replied; "but I have seen very few cabins for a long
way back, and I can't understand where the congregation is to come
from."

"We know that," they have rejoined; "but there's a heap of people
scattered over these hills, and if you will agree to preach for us
to-night, you will be sure to have a houseful."

As soon as my assent was given, father, sons, and daughters have
started off in different directions to notify the nearest neighbors,
who immediately abandoned their work to inform other and more distant
neighbors. In this manner all the families over a wide extent of
country would be notified in a short time. Nearly all would abandon
their work, and with it all thought of supper until they should return,
and, taking their children with them, would start at once for the place
appointed for the preaching. In such cases I have never failed to have
the promised houseful. Indeed, I have traveled on horseback over wide
regions of country, where, had I sufficient health and strength, I
could have preached every night to a new congregation assembled as thus
described.

I returned to B----, and reached the court-house at the appointed
hour. The announcement that they would be addressed by a preacher
from L----, the largest city in the State, had drawn together an
unusually large audience. Before commencing the services, I was
introduced to the county judge, who was also a Baptist preacher. He,
with others, had been informed of my coming, and kindly came to the
county-seat, and gave me the sanction and aid of both his ministerial
and judicial presence. He very naturally assumed the position of
master of ceremonies, and introduced me to his Christian brethren
and "fellow-citizens," who not only honored him as their spiritual
shepherd, but had elevated him by their suffrages to his judicial
position. He politely escorted me to the judge's seat, which was
my pulpit, and sat with me there during the services. This "seat"
was simply a high, narrow platform at the end of the room, extending
entirely across the court-house, with a railing in front of it, and
supplied with benches and a few chairs.

I can not here adopt the very common and convenient expedient
of writers, and say that the dress and general appearance of my
congregation can be more easily imagined than described. In sober
truth, kind reader, granting to your imagination the very highest
power, I am constrained to believe that you are entirely unequal to
this task. There was very little if any foreign texture there. Their
dresses, coats, and other garments had, almost without exception, been
spun on their own wheels, woven in their own looms, dyed in butternut
from their own hills, and made and fashioned in accordance with their
own taste without consulting any fashion-plates. As they were bound by
no rules, there was variety, and there were very marked displays of
originality. Best of all, there was comfort, and patriotic instincts
were gratified by the exhibition of domestic fabrics. It was a rare
display of woolsey.

In addressing such an audience the speaker was always gratified and
rewarded by the closest attention. I have never seen such listeners as
the people in the Brush. They gave a speaker not only their ears but
their eyes, and their whole attention. They seemed unwilling to lose
a word that he uttered; they yielded themselves to his power. Their
faces moved and glowed responsive to his sentiments; and his own mind
was animated and enkindled by this sympathy of his audience. I suppose
the chief reason of this very marked attention was the fact that the
most of these people read very little, and very many of them could not
read at all. Hence they acquired the most of their information on all
subjects, religious and secular, by being good listeners. Preachers
and politicians, the pulpit and the stump, were their chief sources
of education. The school and the press were comparatively powerless.
Political, theological, and all other controverted questions were
settled in the minds of the people by oral discussions. Henry Clay
once presided over a theological discussion between the Rev. Alexander
Campbell, the founder of the sect popularly known as "Campbellites,"
and the Rev. Dr. N.L. Rice, of the Presbyterian Church, which was
continued through several days, and attended by a large concourse of
people. This debate was but a type of hundreds, probably of thousands,
that have been held in all parts of the Southwest. Let either a
Calvinist or an Arminian challenge the other to discuss the question of
the "Perseverance of the Saints," or "Falling from Grace," and, however
remote and wild the region, the people for miles around would abandon
work and business, and attend for days upon the discussion. Such
debates on the question of Baptism have drawn crowds together in this
manner times without number. Any petty lawsuit would bring together the
most of the people in the neighborhood, to hear the speeches of the
opposing pettifoggers or lawyers. County and circuit-court days were
the great days of the year, when the people left their homes en masse,
and went up to the county-seat in neighborhood cavalcades, and hour
after hour, and day after day, listened to the speeches of the opposing
counsel. In cases of unusual interest and excitement, such as a murder
trial, I have known a very general turnout of the wives and daughters,
and have seen them sit for hours together and listen to such speeches.
As already described in a previous chapter, political discussions
on all questions, State and national, were still more universal and
popular, and stump-speeches delivered to these crowds did more to
decide the minds of the people in regard to the questions discussed
than newspapers and all other causes combined.

This fondness of the people for public discussion, and speeches upon
all sorts of subjects, and the remarkable attention they give to a
speaker, have done very much to develop the peculiar and often very
remarkable oratory that prevailed in these wild regions. Their speakers
were so stimulated by the attention given them, and by the visible
effects produced by their words, as to draw out all their powers. While
they molded the minds and opinions of the people, the people molded
their peculiar style of oratory. They acted and reacted upon each
other.

It is impossible for a man to become animated and eloquent in
addressing an inattentive, listless, stolid audience. I remember
hearing in New England a story of the olden time, when, to avoid
cooking a Sunday dinner, a pan of pork and beans was put into the hot
brick oven, after taking out the bread and pies that were generally
baked on Saturday afternoons. The pork and beans were baked in this
manner, and taken from the oven for the Sunday dinner. An old divine,
remarkable for his eloquence and wit, on one occasion "exchanged" with
a brother clergyman whose parish was noted for the production of white
beans.

"How did you like preaching for my people?" said the latter, as the two
met some time afterward.

"It did very well in the morning," said the witty divine; "but in the
afternoon it was exactly like preaching to so many bags of baked beans."

It is not at all strange that in these times there are a good many dull
pulpits. There are so many audiences that, either from their minds
being absorbed with business or other thoughts, or from sheer mental
and physical stupidity, are as irresponsive and as little stimulating
to a speaker as "so many bags of baked beans."

But I had no such fault to find with my audience on this occasion. Had
there been any inattention, the fault would have been my own. The fact
that I hailed from the great city to which they sent their tobacco and
other products--the Jerusalem of their affection and State pride--was
of itself sufficient to secure me a most respectful and attentive
hearing. I had proceeded with the services, and was about half through
my sermon, when a gentleman entered the open door of the court-house,
halted for a time upon the threshold, and gazed at me for some moments
with that excited and intense earnestness with which a stranger is
regarded in those regions, where the presence of a stranger is a rare
occurrence. He wore a black broadcloth suit, and his appearance and
bearing indicated a professional rather than a laboring man of that
region. The sheriff's seat was close to the door, at his right hand,
and this was occupied by my friend, the venerable school-master of the
village, to whom I have before alluded. Turning to the school-master,
he plied him with questions for some time, which he evidently answered
with great reluctance as he kept his eyes constantly upon me, giving
the closest attention to my sermon. At length he turned his head from
him, as far as possible, and refused to answer his questions. I had
no doubt, from appearances, that in this pursuit of knowledge under
difficulties he was seeking information in regard to the preacher he
had come upon so unexpectedly. After standing in the door and listening
to me for some time, he very deliberately folded his arms, dropped his
head in an apparently meditative mood, and promenaded back and forth
before me from one side of the court-house to the other. The ladies
and a part of the men were within the bar. The rest of the audience
were on seats outside the bar, against the walls, and in the windows,
so that there was ample room for this promenade over the brick floor in
the space between the bar and the seats against the wall. I had had too
wide and varied an experience in addressing audiences to be seriously
disturbed by this somewhat unusual proceeding, and, as the audience
gave me the strictest possible attention, I continued my sermon, and
my abstracted friend continued his promenade and his meditations. At
length, tossing up his head suddenly, he whirled about, and, moving
with a rapid step, marched across the room, passed within the bar,
ascended to the Judge's seat, and sat down on a bench at my left hand.
After sitting here a while, he lay down and stretched himself at full
length upon the bench. Finally he sprang to his feet suddenly, and,
evidently supposing that I was concluding my sermon, stepped in front
of me, elbowed me back as gracefully as such a thing could well be done
in such circumstances, and, bowing profoundly to the audience, he said:

"There is a fine crowd here, and I believe I will make a speech."

This was too much for the patience of my audience, and was greeted
by a general and indignant shout of "Sit down! Sit down! Sit down!"
from nearly every one present, several of the brethren rising to their
feet, prepared to enforce order by physical force if necessary.
My clerical friend the Judge, who was sitting on my right, arose
with them, and, in the name of law and order, commanded him to take
his seat, reminding him of the severe legal penalty for disturbing
religious worship. Meanwhile I stood a silent and passive spectator of
the scene.

During my sermon I had been struck with the very marked attention of
a rather short, compactly built man, with very keen, black eyes, who
seemed all unconscious of his very singular attitude. He was in the
window, at my left, nearest the Judge's seat, and had sat through
the sermon, squatted upon his heels, leaning his back against the
window-jam, looking directly into my face, and listening to every word
that I uttered with the most gratified and animated interest. He was
among the first to spring to his feet, and stood in the window, his
black eyes flashing fire, and evidently more than willing to supplement
the Judge's words by any acts that might be necessary to restore order.

[Illustration: A candidate's unsuccessful effort to make a speech.]

Order was, however, restored without force. My friend with a speech to
make reluctantly resumed his seat. I resumed and concluded my sermon,
and was, in the vernacular of the people, about to "lift a collection"
for the Bible Society. At this point my oratorical friend sprang in
front of me, and exclaimed, with great vehemence:

"There is a fine crowd here, and I am going to make a speech. I
won't be put down by Judge Locke, this man from L----, or anybody else."

This was the signal for the wildest possible excitement. Every man,
woman, and child in the audience sprang to their feet, all shouting at
the top of their voices,

"Sit down! Sit down! Sit down!"

One immensely tall and large woman at my right, head and shoulders
above the group of sisters by whom she was surrounded, with an
indescribable bonnet of the largest old-time pattern and a dress of
home-made woolsey, in the excess of her excitement and rage, jumped
up and down, whirling completely around and jerking her head like a
snapping-turtle, and shouted at the top of her voice, which rang sharp
and shrill above the general roar,

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

My friend with the fiery black eyes leaped at a single bound from his
perch on the window-sill to the Judge's seat, and seizing the intruder
by the collar, jerked him in an instant to the floor below, where he
was reënforced by other zealous brethren, among them my host, who was
sitting at the opposite end of the room, and together they "snaked" him
out of the house in much quicker time than I had ever seen such a feat
performed before. The quickness of the whole transaction was wonderful.
A part of them took him to the jail, which was but a few yards distant,
where he was locked up. Order being again restored, the hats were
passed, and I received a collection amounting to about five dollars.

As soon as I pronounced the benediction, the people crowded around
me and expressed their intense mortification and sorrow at these
occurrences.

"We've got a pretty bad name here anyway," said one, "and if any such
thing happens, it is always sure to be when there is a stranger here
from a long way off."

"I don't want to fight," said my friend with the fiery black eyes, "any
more."

The reverend Judge and the brethren and sisters, one after another,
gave expression to their deep humiliation, and my fiery friend kept
stepping about nervously, and repeating over and over, half to himself
and half to me:

"I don't want to fight any more."

At length, shutting his fist, and bringing it down emphatically, he
said:

"I don't want to fight any more. But I won't see religion abused
anyway. I will fight for my Master."

Looking at his closely knit, compact form, his quick, vigorous
movements, and his flashing eyes, I could read in his "any more" the
story of many a fierce fight before his conversion--which I could not
now doubt was genuine.

At length I inquired who the gentleman was that had made the
disturbance, and had been so suddenly locked up in jail. I confess
I was somewhat surprised to be informed that he was a lawyer and
candidate for prosecuting attorney for the county. This was the first
Sunday in August. The election was to come off on the following Monday.
He had been making speeches in different parts of the county every day
for two or three weeks before. It was very evident that he was not a
teetotaler, though, as I afterward learned from himself, he entertained
a very high regard for temperance as a theme for oratorical display.

I learned that before sundown his opponent in the canvass magnanimously
interposed in his behalf and bailed him out of jail, being chivalrously
unwilling to profit by his enforced absence from the polls from such a
cause on the ensuing election-day.

After breakfast the next morning, I concluded to walk over to the
court-house and see how the election progressed. As soon as I entered
the yard, a "sovereign" whom I had not seen before approached me, with
a large water-bucket in one hand and a quantity of quarters, dimes, and
other change in the other, which he shook before me, and said:

"We are agoing to have a general treat, stranger; would you like to
throw in?"

I declined as politely as possible, and he passed on to the tavern to
expend the proceeds of his collection for a pail of whisky. "A general
treat" is where the whisky is purchased by a "general collection"
taken in this way, and put into a water-bucket or larger vessel, and
all parties come forward and help themselves with a gourd dipper. A
general treat so early in the morning gave promise of a lively day. As
I entered the court-house door, my friend the candidate recognized me,
and advancing with the most consequential air, and bowing with a great
deal of assumed dignity, he said:

"I believe, sir, you are the gentleman from L---- that preached here
yesterday?"

I replied, "Yes, sir."

"Well, sir," said he, "I wish to apologize to you. I very much regret
what occurred. I came into the court-house, and saw that there was a
very fine crowd, and I concluded that I would deliver them a temperance
speech. I have a very fine one that I have delivered in Cincinnati,
Louisville, and St. Louis, that I was agoing to give them, but they
hauled me out like a dog. I am a candidate for commonwealth attorney,
sir, and I suppose the affair will injure me somewhat in this precinct;
but I think, stranger, that I shall make the race."

Passing through another part of the county some days afterward, I
learned that, sure enough, he did "make the race," being elected by a
large majority.

It is but simple justice for me to add that, in all my extended travels
in the Southwest, this is the only instance where I have had the
slightest interruption in the discharge of my professional duties. I
have uniformly had that kind, cordial, and hospitable reception for
which the people are so justly famed. All my readers will understand
that _whisky_ was the sole cause of this exceptional case.




CHAPTER XI.

EXPERIENCES WITH OLD-TIME METHODIST CIRCUIT-RIDERS IN THE SOUTHWEST.


In my extended horseback travels in the Southwest, I made the
acquaintance of a great many itinerant preachers, and spent a good deal
of time with them in riding around their circuits. I found them, as a
rule, a genial, laborious, and self-denying class of men. In general,
they had hard work, rough fare, and, so far as this world is concerned,
very small pay. But they understood all this when they entered upon
this itinerant life. They did not toil for earthly reward. They labored
for the salvation of men and the glory of God. Their richest present
compensation was the peace and joy that ever pervade the souls of those
who, in simplicity and godly sincerity, yield themselves to the toils
and privations of this high and glorious calling. In this the richest
pleasures and the sweetest joys attend those whose self-denials are the
greatest and whose toils are the most severe.

Almost without exception, I found my ministerial brethren in the
Brush men with perfect health. This I attributed very largely to
their out-of-door life, their horseback-riding, and the fact that
they communed far more with men and nature than with books. More
than this, I found them cheerful men. They loved and enjoyed their
labors. They enjoyed their long rides to preach to a dozen or more at
an out-of-the-way appointment--enjoyed preaching, praying, singing,
shouting--enjoyed laboring with "mourners in the altar" until late
in the night, and they could scarcely speak for hoarseness--enjoyed
seeing them "come through" (the vernacular for conversion), hearing
them shout, and receiving them into the church--enjoyed class-meetings,
quarterly-meetings, camp-meetings, love-feasts, and conference--enjoyed
the familiar and affectionate greetings of parents and children, the
cordial welcome, and the free and unrestrained social intercourse that
awaited them in their pastoral visitations in the Brush--enjoyed with
the relish that comes from real health and hunger the "good things" the
sisters provided for them, especially _fried chicken_. I have heard
it said a great many times that many of the dogs in the Brush knew a
preacher as soon as he rode up to a house, and, anticipating the call
that was sure to be made upon them, would start out unbidden and run
down the chickens for the coming meal, and bring them to the house. I
can not vouch for this remarkable canine sagacity of my own knowledge,
but I can say that, when riding the circuit with these brethren, I have
often seen the dogs start after the chickens upon a very _slight_
intimation, and run them down for our supper as soon as we rode up, and
received from the sister, all aglow with joy at our coming, the cordial
invitation to "'light" (alight). I speak of all the enjoyments I have
thus enumerated from personal knowledge, for I have been with many of
these good brethren in all these scenes.

But other and strange scenes were almost constantly occurring in the
prosecution of these labors. On one occasion I started out with a young
preacher to visit several of his week-day appointments. His circuit was
known in the conference as "Brush College." It was so called because
young preachers, without wife or family, were invariably sent there.
They were sent there if they had a great deal of zeal, and there was
any doubt as to its permanency; for the trials and discouragements
they would there meet would thoroughly test their sincerity and
their perseverance. They were sent there if they were thought to be
lacking in humility, or, in the language of the Brush, if they had the
_big-head_; for roughing it there would be certain to relieve them of
any inflated notions of self. They were sent there not unfrequently
because, in their entire devotion to God and his service, they were
more than willing to go anywhere and suffer anything if they might
lead men to that Saviour whose love glowed in their souls a pure and
ceaseless flame. Such was the devout character and spirit of the young
circuit-rider whom I accompanied on his week-day visit to Rocky Creek.

It was an intensely hot day in July. As we neared the place of meeting,
we passed two or three old women on foot, accompanied by a boy about
a dozen years old, who was carrying a brand of fire and swinging it
to keep it alive. As the weather was so uncomfortably warm, it was
entirely beyond my ability to comprehend what use they could make of
fire, and, turning to the preacher, I said,

"What can be their object in carrying that fire with them to the
meeting this hot day?"

He smiled as he saw my puzzled look, and simply answered,

"You will soon see."

We rode on to a rough log school-and meeting-house, standing upon
the bank of a rocky creek or "branch," as it was called, entirely
surrounded by large and small forest trees, under the grateful shade
of which we hitched our horses. This was done here, as elsewhere in
the whole region, by riding under a tree, pulling down a limb, and
making fast to the end of it by a simple loop made with the end of the
bridle-reins. This is an admirable method of hitching a horse. The
long, easily bending limb offers no resistance to the movements of the
horse in fighting flies, and there is no liability of getting the reins
or halter under his feet. It has often been a pleasant sight to me to
see scores or hundreds of horses hitched in this manner, and standing
comfortably in the shade of forest trees, surrounding a church,
preaching-stand, or camp-ground. As we returned from this care of our
horses, the mystery in regard to the fire was all explained. It had
been placed in a large stump, which was burning freely, near the log
church. As soon as the people arrived, and had hitched their horses,
men and women, old and young, made their way to this stump, lighted
their pipes, filled with home-raised and home-cured tobacco, which they
carried loose in the ample pockets of their coats and dresses, and
sat down on the ground to enjoy a social, neighborly smoke and chat
before going into the house to hear the sermon. When the congregation
had arrived, by paths radiating through the forest from all points
of the compass, some of the official brethren who had accompanied
the preachers into the house struck up a familiar hymn. This was the
signal for a general laying aside of pipes and gathering in to the
service. We had been joined at the church by a "local preacher" who
had formerly served in the ranks of the itinerancy, but had "located"
in this neighborhood, and, after years of almost gratuitous service
in the ministry, was now supporting himself and family by carrying on
a small tannery and store. This old itinerant preached the morning
sermon. He was a man of strong muscular frame, heavy voice, and great
experience and power in moving upon the feelings of his hearers. In
the midst of his sermon a woman sitting near me sprang to her feet,
threw her arms in the air, and shouted, "Glory! Hallelujah!" and jumped
up and down, clapping her hands and shouting until she sank exhausted
upon the floor. Soon another and then another, until a large part of
the audience were shouting in this manner. The preacher's face fairly
glowed with joy, and his voice arose louder and louder as the people
were more and more moved; and there was a general blending of songs,
prayers, and vociferous shouts. At length, with singing, prayer,
and a general shaking of hands, they closed what was to them a very
delightful meeting.

In the afternoon, as the day was very hot, it was decided to hold the
services out of doors, under the shade of the large oak-trees that
stood immediately in front of the cabin. The benches were brought out,
and occupied mostly by the women, and the rest of the congregation sat
on the ground. I took my position at the foot of a large oak-tree, near
the bank of the murmuring stream, and preached to the people grouped
and seated before me under the shadow of this and other oaks. All gave
the most respectful attention. During my sermon I noticed a woman who
was sitting but a few feet distant, and immediately in front of me,
hunch with her elbow the one sitting next to her. She immediately
hunched in the same manner the next, and she the next, until the,
to me, unknown signal had been communicated in this manner to the
half-dozen or more who occupied the bench. During this time every eye
was fixed on me and not a muscle of any face moved. In a few moments
the hunch was repeated, and they all arose from the bench with almost
military precision, filed out before me as quietly as possible, moved
around to the large burning stump on my right, filled and lighted their
pipes, took seats on the ground near by, and all commenced smoking.
During all this movement, from the first hunch, they each kept an ear
inclined toward me, intent on listening to my sermon, and not one of
them apparently lost a word. They smoked on and I preached on to the
end of my sermon; and, as usual, "lifted a collection" for the Bible
Society, which, in this instance, amounted to about seven dollars. The
benediction was then pronounced, and, in their vernacular, the "meeting
broke." We spent the night very comfortably with a kind family living
near the place of preaching, and returned to continue the services the
next day.

In the morning I listened to a sermon from a genuine backwoodsman, the
young man I have spoken of in the chapter entitled "The Old, Old Book
and its Story in the Wilds of the Southwest," as the guide who piloted
the venerable Bible-distributor through that rough, wild region. He
had since been licensed, first as an exhorter, and then as a local
preacher. It would hardly be possible to find a young preacher whose
education had been more completely that of the Brush. His home was in
the wild region I have described in that chapter, and his companions
had been as illiterate and uncultivated as could well be found. He
had attended school but a very few months, and that was vastly poorer
than the most of my readers have ever conceived of as possible. He had
then taught, for a few months, this school in his own neighborhood, in
which he had received his only education. His reading was tolerable,
his writing passable, his spelling horrible. Several weeks afterward
I received a letter from him, in which he expressed the hope that
certain facts I had asked him to send me would have due weight--which
he spelled "dew wate." He was about twenty years old, full six feet in
height, with very full, broad chest, square shoulders, and he stood as
erect and straight as any Indian. He had a full head of very handsome
black hair, bright black eyes, a very mild, pleasant expression of
countenance, and a voice that rang loud, smooth, and clear like a
trumpet. I listened to his sermon with unbounded amazement, and, I
may add, delight. It was a mystery to me how one so unlettered and so
unlearned in all religious reading except the Bible--and, in the nature
of the case, but poorly versed in that--could have acquired thoughts so
sensible and good. It was a greater mystery how he could clothe them
in such appropriate language. Both his thoughts and his words flowed
as freely as the stream near by, and they had great power to arrest
the attention and move the hearts of his hearers. It was the power
of undoubted sincerity and burning zeal; it was the power of one with
superior natural endowments stirred to their profoundest depths, and,
beyond all question, taught of God. It was the power of one whose life,
whose education, and whose modes of thought were in full sympathy with
his hearers, who had been born in the same wild region and reared with
the same educational surroundings as himself. He was adapted to preach
to those people, as the learned pastors of intelligent congregations
are adapted to theirs; and each, with his human sympathies, was better
adapted to preach to those of like human character and infirmities than
any angel in heaven. If it be heresy, I am so heretical as to believe
that God has other methods of training some men--yea, many men--to be
useful ministers of the Gospel than by filling their heads with Latin,
Hebrew, and Greek. So he had trained this man for the remarkable work
he had for him to do. Several weeks after this I met him at conference,
where he was received into the "traveling connection," to enter upon
his four years of practical training and study for the "full work
of a Gospel minister." A few months later, in the prosecution of my
labors, I reached the circuit to which he had been sent with an older
colleague, when I was told by a gentleman of the legal profession that
he had often heard him preach, and always with the greatest interest.
This gentleman informed me that, while making the round of his
extended circuit, his horse had suddenly died. He pushed on on foot
to fulfill his appointments, and, on his return, the people had been
so gratified with his Christian zeal and energy that they had raised
money and purchased a horse, which they presented to him. At the close
of the year his report of the numbers converted and received into the
church under his labors brought out an emphatic and hearty Amen from
the conference. The next year he was sent alone to a rough mountain
circuit, where his labors were crowned with still greater success. As
long as I was able to trace him, his career was luminous with good
accomplished.

But I must return to our services at Rocky Creek. At the conclusion
of his sermon several persons were baptized by the old itinerant, who
had preached on Baptism the day before. Moving a few steps from the
oak where I had preached, they knelt on the edge of the stream, and he
stood in the water and baptized them, either by sprinkling or pouring,
as they preferred. The entire congregation then knelt with him under
the shade of the branching oaks, and he made a prayer so earnest and
impassioned that it moved the people to the most intense excitement
and joy. The forest rang with their shouting. At the conclusion of
this prayer the benediction was pronounced, and the meeting "broke."
In all this region meetings were never said to be "out" or to "close."
They were said to "break," or, more frequently, "the meeting is
done broke." As we mounted our horses I rode with the sister whose
hospitality we were to enjoy. She was a woman about thirty years of
age, large, and very fine-looking. I had noticed her when shouting,
and been particularly struck with the rapt expression of her face. She
had a very pretty daughter some fifteen years old. Neither mother nor
daughter could read a word. As we rode on she was still much excited
with the closing exercises, and speaking of the prayer, she said:

"I thought Brother M---- would pray the limbs off the trees."

When we reached her home, which was an old log-house, she prepared
our dinner with the greatest apparent delight. Her house was one of
the circuit homes of the young preacher, where he left a part of his
clothing. As we were about to leave to attend a quarterly-meeting at
the court-house, she called him back, and, in a very frank and motherly
way, directed him to make some changes in his dress, saying:

"I don't want my preacher to leave my house looking or'nery."

Afterward I heard of "or'nery" people, "or'nery" preachers, doctors,
and lawyers, "or'nery" animals, and "or'nery" almost everything else,
and concluded the word was a corruption of "ordinary," though it was
more intensely expressive as it was usually applied.

I have been asked by those who were aware of my wide acquaintance with
all classes of people in the Southwest, if the character of Nancy
Kirtley, in Rev. Dr. Edward Eggleston's "Roxy," was not overdrawn--if
it could possibly be true to nature. I have answered, without
hesitation, "It is absolutely true to life." The Methodist sister I
have described above was not a Nancy Kirtley in moral character, but
she was in personal beauty. In her form and features, in the glow of
her face, and in the marvelous beauty of her eyes, she was a remarkable
specimen of physical perfection. So was her young daughter, and I have
seen scores of others like them in the wilds of the Southwest. I was
greatly interested in a distinction drawn by General Grant, when asked
if a certain man to whom he had given an office was not a very ignorant
man. "He is an illiterate man," said the General, "but I should not
call him an ignorant man." That was a "distinction" worthy of General
Grant. I have met a great many highly educated literary men who knew
almost nothing of men and of the great world outside of books. And
I have known a great many illiterate men and women, with marvelous
knowledge of the world, with wonderful shrewdness and keenness, and
with an ability to compass the end sought surpassed by very few that I
have ever known. The fact that they could not read or write required on
their part unusual tact and skill not to be overreached, and to make
their way in the world. I have known several such men who have acquired
large fortunes. Dr. Eggleston's Nancy Kirtley is not a mythical
character.

After the young preacher had made satisfactory changes in his dress,
we all bade good-by to our hospitable friends, and rode several miles
to the county-seat where the quarterly-meeting was to commence that
night. Here the young circuit-rider preached the opening sermon, and
the meeting continued through the following Saturday and Sunday. There
was nothing to me unusual and noteworthy in the meetings, except in
the love-feast on Sabbath morning. The first to speak was my host, a
warm-hearted, earnest man, a Cumberland Presbyterian, who spoke of
the goodness of God to him and of his love to all the followers of
Christ, and then started out and shook hands with nearly every one
in the house, continuing his fervent remarks and ejaculations during
all the hand-shaking. Next, a sister spoke and started in the same
manner, shaking hands with the brethren, and throwing her arms around
the sisters and embracing them in the warmest manner. Nearly all who
followed them went through these same demonstrations. They not only
sang,

  "Now here's my heart, and here's my hand,
  To meet you in that heavenly land,"

but they gave the cordial and often long-continued grasp. As the
experiences, prayers, songs, and shouting became more and more animated
and exciting, the hand-shaking became more general, until nearly the
entire congregation, in larger or smaller groups or numbers, were
shaking each other by the hand, keeping time in their movements to the
wild Western melody they were singing. Hand-shaking among brethren and
embracing among sisters formed a very prominent part in the religious
services of these people in the Brush. This was especially cordial and
earnest when one was converted, or, in their language, "came through,"
after long mourning and praying at the altar. Then parents, brothers,
sisters, and warm Christian friends came forward and shook hands with
them, or embraced them, amid a general chorus of songs and shouts from
rejoicing friends.

As I had now visited nearly every part of the county (including several
places to which I have made no allusion), I called a general meeting at
the court-house on Sunday P.M., and organized a county Bible Society.
Subsequently, I ordered a large supply of books, and the entire county
was most thoroughly canvassed and supplied with Bibles. The results of
this work were of surpassing interest, and I shall give some of them in
a later chapter.

In my long tours with circuit-riders I was often greatly interested in
the accounts they gave me of their experiences upon other circuits.
One of them told me that he had joined conference many years before,
when he was but nineteen years old. The first year he was sent to one
of the roughest mountain-circuits in Tennessee. In addition to the
usual outfit, he had a bear-skin overcoat, so that, if necessary, he
might lodge at the foot of a tree. On receiving his appointment, his
predecessor gave him a map of the circuit, upon which was indicated all
the preaching-places, the families where he would be most comfortably
entertained, and other items to aid him in the discharge of his duties.
I learned that this was customary at the first conference that I
attended, where I saw the preachers giving the maps they had prepared
of their circuits to their successors as soon as their appointments
were read out by the bishop. I was greatly interested in it, as I had
so often felt the want of such a guide as I had floundered through
the Brush, with nothing to indicate where I would find Christian
sympathy and aid in my work. Having reached his circuit and entered
upon his labors, he found it necessary to cross a mountain in order to
reach one of his appointments, and preach to the families that were
scattered up and down the narrow valley and over the mountain-sides.
It was a very long day's ride, and only a mountain bridle-path, with
no friendly family on the route to aid him should he lose his way.
Having reached the top of the mountain, he found several paths leading
in different directions, all equally plain, or rather equally blind,
and nothing to indicate which one of them he should take. This was
a most uncomfortable dilemma. Himself and horse were weary with the
long ascent, night and darkness were coming on, and he had no time to
lose. He took one path, followed it to the end, and returned. He took
another and another with the same result. They all led to where a
tree had been cut down for some wild animal, for bees, or for staves,
shingles, or for something else, either for sale or for the use of
the mountaineers. At length the darkness closed around him, and he
made the best arrangements possible for spending the night upon the
mountain-top. He fastened his horse, made as good a bed as he could
with leaves and the other materials at hand, and lay down at the foot
of a tree, finding abundant need thus early for his bear-skin overcoat.
The night wore slowly away, and he did not like to trust himself to
sleep; but, wearied with the toils of the day, it overcame him, and, as
he was falling into a profound slumber, the terrific yell of a wild-cat
broke upon his ear, and he sprang at once to the back of his horse.
Having no other weapon than a large pocket-knife, he opened that,
determined, as he told me, "to make the best fight he could with that"
in case he was attacked. But he was spared this. There was no more
disposition to sleep, and he could only watch and wait for the morning.
At length he heard the chickens crowing in the valley below him,
and as soon as it was light enough he started, taking the direction
indicated by them. This led him down the side of the mountain to the
family he was seeking, as directed by his circuit-map. It was near a
large spring, forming the head-waters of one of the important Southern
rivers (the Holston). Here he received the warm welcome that awaits
the new preacher on his first tour around his circuit. Notice of his
arrival, and that he would preach at their house that night, was soon
sent to their nearest neighbors, and by them communicated to all within
reach. They assembled promptly at night, in many instances the parents
bringing all their children, old and young. As the different groups
arrived, the men invariably brought their rifles and stacked them in a
corner of the room as they entered the cabin. At length the room was
filled, many of them sitting upon the floor, the children being seated
nearest the fireplace. Taking his stand near the chimney-corner, he
introduced the services by singing and prayer. As they had no candle
or lamp, they prepared for his use a "slut." The light to which they
give this not inappropriate name is made by putting oil or tallow in a
tea-saucer, teacup, or any bowl or basin they may have, and placing in
this a strip of cotton cloth, allowing the end of it to lie over the
edge of the dish for a wick, which, when lighted, will burn until the
tallow or oil is consumed, affording ample light. Sometimes they take
small split sticks, tie them together, and insert the bundle in the
tallow for a wick, as a substitute for the cotton cloth. With the aid
of this light he was able to "line out" his hymns, and read a chapter
in the Bible and his text. In my travels in the Brush I have seen a
great many of these "sluts"--to say nothing of others.

At the conclusion of his services no one moved. All sat quietly, as
they had during the evening. Now their curiosity must be satisfied.
They wished to know all about him, where he had come from, and how he
had got there. They were greatly interested in his account of his stay
upon the mountain the night before. They knew all about the different
paths he had taken, and gave explanations that were quite too late
to be of service to him. At length, wearied with his long ride and
watchings the night before, he fell asleep upon the bed upon which he
had laid down while they were talking to him. In the midst of the night
he was awakened by the noise of a terrific rain-storm, and heard the
groaning of some animal in great distress near the house. He at once
thought of his horse--that he had been hitched without any shelter--and
feared that in the storm he had gotten down and was in this distress.
An itinerant preacher without a horse in such a region would be in a
sorry condition, and he had no time to lose. So, bounding from his bed
in the darkness, he made his way to the door, but it was over a mass of
human bodies. The entire congregation were asleep, apparently, in the
same places they had occupied at the conclusion of his sermon. Instead
of his horse, he found that a calf had gotten down, and the water
from the roof was pouring upon it. He pulled it out from under the
stream, looked after his horse, and returned to his bed. In the morning
the congregation slowly dispersed, and he went on his way to other
appointments around his circuit.

I was greatly interested and amused with some experiences entirely
unlike these, which were related to me by my friend, whom I have
already introduced to my readers, the first Methodist circuit-rider
that I met deep in the Brush. He had some years before received an
appointment to a circuit that was not in the mountains, but in a poor,
broken, hilly region of country. Having been provided with a map of
his circuit by his predecessor, he was making his way to a part of it
known as "Coon Range." Everything indicated the extremest poverty and
ignorance among the people. The very small patches of ground cleared
and cultivated around their wretched cabins, and the coon, deer,
and other skins that were hanging up around them, showed that the
chief dependence of the people for a livelihood was upon the chase.
Penetrating deeper and deeper into this utterly wild and desolate
region, his horse struck and followed a neighborhood footpath until it
led him to the back side of a cabin. An opening had been cut through
the logs for a small window, but as yet there was no sash or glass in
it. The woman, hearing the sound of the footsteps of his horse as he
rode up, stuck her head out of this opening, and at the first sight
saluted him with,

"How 'dy, stranger, how 'dy? I reckon you are our new preacher."

He told her he had been appointed to that circuit, and gave her his
name. At this she was all excitement and joy, and said:

"'Light, Brother M----, 'light, sir. I'm mighty glad to see
you. Brother K---- used to stay with us a heap, and I've got the
'class-book.'"

As soon as he entered the house she brought the class-book, and began
to give him a full account of each member of the class. But he told her
it was nearly night, and he had had no dinner. He had ridden all day,
and he was very hungry and very tired. She replied to this intimation:

"We'll have supper d'rectly, Brother M----, d'rectly. The pig is in the
pen. And Joe, he'll be home right soon, and get the water a bilin'.
We'll have supper d'rectly, Brother M----."

To those unacquainted with the people in the Brush, the fact that
"the pig was in the pen," and yet to be butchered, would seem to be
a somewhat strange reason to give that the supper would be ready
"d'rectly." But with her it was a very important advance in that
direction. The rest of the pigs, of which I have elsewhere said these
people, with little care, raised the greatest abundance for their
own use, were perhaps miles away, in some unknown direction, ranging
the forest for acorns, beech-nuts, and other "mast" that abounded in
that season. "Joe" was such a provident husband that he had gone out
and hunted those that belonged to him, called them up to his house,
captured and "penned" one of them, perhaps in anticipation of the
coming of the preacher. As the supper was so well assured to her,
and not dreaming that the delay of a few hours could make any more
difference with him than it did with the people in the Brush, she
resumed the class-book, and began to go over the names, and tell how
this brother could pray, and this sister shout, and how they could
all sing, and what happy meetings they had had the last conference
year, until he interrupted her with the story of his long ride, great
fatigue, and intense hunger. To this she responded, in the most
assuring manner:

"We'll have supper d'rectly, Brother M----, d'rectly. The pig is in the
pen. Joe he'll be home right soon, and get the water a b'ilin', and
we'll have supper d'rectly, Brother M----, d'rectly."

Having given him this, to her, perfectly satisfactory and renewed
assurance, she went on with the greatest enthusiasm and earnestness
to tell him of their love-feasts, and the wonderful "experiences" of
some of the sisters, when, in utter despair of getting any supper from
this zealous sister, he asked her the distance to the nearest family
indicated on his map. She told him it was about three miles. He went
out to his horse and mounted it. She followed him with blank amazement,
and said:

"Why, Brother M----, you're not agwine, is you?"

He replied:

"Oh, yes, Sister; I must have something to eat," and started off.

Astonished beyond measure, she called after him, and he rode away
hearing her emphatic promise:

"We'll have supper d'rectly, Brother M----, d'rectly. The pig is in
the pen, and Joe he'll be home right soon, and he'll get the water
a b'ilin' d'rectly, and we'll have supper d'rectly, Brother M----,
d'rectly! d'rectly! d'rectly!"

Such are some of the experiences I have had with old-time Methodist
circuit-riders in the Brush, and such are some of the accounts they
have given me of their experiences upon other circuits. They are but
specimens of such as were constantly occurring during the months and
years of my _ante-bellum_ labors in the Southwest. Many of them are so
dim and faded on the tablets of my memory that I can not recall them.
After so many years, I now, for the first time, record these on more
enduring pages, thinking they may afford both pleasure and instruction,
and anxious, also, to wreath a garland of merited praise around the
brows of those toiling, and too little known, and too little honored
circuit-riders in the Brush.




CHAPTER XII.

HEROIC CHRISTIAN WORKERS IN THE SOUTHWEST.


It was a bright, dreamy, autumnal day, that I was making my way among
the bayous of one of the most sluggish of the rivers that enter and
swell the volume of the Mississippi. My ride since morning had been
very long and very lonely. It is a strange sort of life to ride on
horseback, week after week and month after month, over a new and
sparsely settled country. The most of such journeys are alone. One but
rarely meets with company, and then they usually travel together but a
short distance before their paths diverge and they separate. In these
long, solitary rides, any unusual scene or incident startles one as
from a dreamy reverie, and makes a lasting, an almost ineffaceable,
impression upon the memory.

[Illustration: A circuit rider in the Brush.]

I have very often recalled, and shall hardly forget while I live, a
most pleasing incident in this day's ride. I had recently traveled over
a wide scope of country including a half a dozen counties, where the
land was nearly as level as the numerous streams that flowed through
it. The soil was entirely alluvial, and very rich. Occasionally,
gentle elevations of a very few feet swelled above the surrounding
level, which were crowned with large oaks having short trunks and
heavy tops with wide-spreading branches. These oaks were usually
interspersed with smaller trees and underbrush. As I floundered through
a wet, marshy road, and struck a sandy path leading up one of these
elevations, I saw a number of horses hitched to the limbs of the
trees, and soon came up to a plain unpainted church or chapel. Its
only foundation was the few wooden blocks upon which it stood, and
the windows were without sash or glass, the shutters made of boards,
being thrown open to admit the light, and closed when the services
were ended. I rode under a tree, hitched my horse to a limb, and
entered the church as quietly as possible. The preacher had closed
his sermon, and was about concluding the services. It was the close
of a meeting which had continued several days, in which a number of
hardened and very hopeless sinners had been led to Christ. It was
his last appointment before leaving them for conference. The labors
of the year had left their impress upon his whole frame. He looked
wan and worn. He had breathed the malaria of the rivers, bayous, and
marshes, along which he had sought out these people in their homes,
and near which he had preached to them, until it had changed the color
of his flesh to a bloodless saffron hue. I never before or since saw
such a human face. It bespoke a body, soul, and spirit, heartily,
wholly, and irrevocably consecrated to his noble work. There was over
it that perfect calmness that succeeds long and intense anxiety and
excitement, when their end has been fully attained. As he spoke to
them of the labors of the year, and of his departure for conference,
he was the only one that seemed unmoved. His voice was low and calm
amid the weeping that was all around him. Among the most noted of the
converts was a woman who for years had done more than any other person
in the neighborhood to counteract the influence of the preachers who
had labored on that circuit, and to injure the little church. She was
famous as a fiddler, and the leader in getting up all the neighborhood
dances, and it was difficult for the young converts to withstand the
fascinations of her bow. In former years she had fiddled a great
many of them out of the class before their six months' probation had
expired. Now that she had at last been brought down, there was general
rejoicing. It was like the fall of some tall oak of the forest that
brings down many smaller trees with it. They could now sing, as I have
often heard them in their log-cabins:

  "Shout! shout, we're gaining ground,
    Oh, glory Halleluyah!
  We'll shout old Satan's kingdom down,
    Oh, glory Halleluyah!"

This woman sat in a chair near the pulpit (with her little babe lying,
smiling and playful, upon her lap), participating with the deepest
interest in all the services, and weeping among those most deeply
moved. At the conclusion of his remarks the preacher baptized this
little child, the mother giving to it the double name of himself and
his colleague on the circuit. His work thus ended, he sang alone, in a
clear, firm voice, a simple and beautiful parting hymn, that I can not
now repeat, with the refrain,

  "Brothers, fare ye well,"

passing at the same time through the congregation and shaking hands
with the weeping class-leaders, stewards, local preachers, and other
brethren present. He then moved to the other side of the room, and sang
on in the same manner, changing the refrain to,

  "Sisters, fare ye well,"

and shook hands with each one of them, he alone being perfectly calm
amid their convulsive weeping and sobs. The benediction was then
pronounced, and I withdrew as quietly as I had entered, and resumed my
journey. Such labors in such a region illustrate a moral heroism that
is both heroic and sublime.


REV. JAMES HAWTHORN, D.D.

I recall a very different experience with another type and class
of these heroic workers for the Master.[1] Many years before, he
mounted his horse and rode from his home in the Southwest, over the
Alleghany Mountains, onward to Philadelphia, and thence to Princeton,
New Jersey, where he sold his horse and spent three years in the
Theological Seminary. He had then returned, and spent his ministerial
life in preaching to feeble congregations that were able to pay but a
small salary for his services. At the time I first met him he preached
regularly on alternate Sabbaths to two congregations about twenty miles
apart. In those months in which there was a "fifth Sabbath," he usually
visited some yet smaller congregation, often at a greater distance,
for the purpose of preaching to them, and perhaps administering the
communion and baptizing their children. But this was only a small part
of the labor he performed. The compensation he received for these
services was entirely inadequate for the support of his family, and he
was obliged to supplement his salary by other and more arduous labors.
He spent five days each week in teaching a school in the basement of
his church. And they were not such days' work as are usually given to
teaching. Immemorial custom in that region had required of teachers
nearly as many hours' daily labor in the school-room as were given to
any other employment. Hence he usually began his labors in the school
at or before eight in the morning, and did not close until five, or
later, in the afternoon. His scholars were of all ages and grades
of attainment, and they pursued a great variety of studies. Many of
both sexes studied the higher English, classical, and mathematical
branches, and completed their education at this school. This diversity
in the ages of the scholars and the books they attempted to master
added greatly to his labors; but from early Monday morning until late
Friday afternoon he toiled faithfully in the school-room, term after
term and year after year. With all this teaching, he had the other
labors indispensably connected with such a school--the care of the
school-room, consultations with parents, the collection of bills,
and all the nameless calls and duties connected with its care and
government. When to the long rides and other labors as a pastor, and
the duties of a teacher, that I have enumerated, are added those of a
housekeeper in providing for his family, there would seem to be little
time left for the preparation of sermons. But these were thoroughly
studied, and very often fully written, in hours that most others would
have given to rest and sleep.

On a cold midwinter day I mounted my horse and rode with him some
twenty miles to his regular appointment on Saturday afternoon. When we
reached the log-school-house in the outskirts, of his congregation but
a small number had come out through the cold, and at his request I
preached to them. We then rode home with an old Presbyterian elder, the
cold constantly increasing in severity. His heart was much warmer than
his log-house. We slept in a room which he tried in vain to warm with
a large wood-fire. But the water we were to use in the morning froze
solid, though placed as near the fire as possible. After breakfast we
mounted our horses and rode a few miles to church, though it was so
cold that I nearly froze in going, and was obliged to stop on the way
to warm myself. I preached to a congregation of about forty, and we
reorganized the county Bible Society. Having kindly rendered me all
the aid in his power, he mounted his horse after dinner, and rode home
through the cold in order to be able to open his school promptly on
Monday morning. At other seasons of the year, when the weather was such
that the people could assemble for worship, he was accustomed to preach
at the church in the morning, and at some school-house like that in
which I had preached, in other and distant parts of the congregation,
late in the afternoon. He would then mount his horse and ride over the
roughest roads, often through mud, rain, and darkness, reaching home
late at night, so that without fail he might promptly open his school
the next morning. I inquired and learned of others the salary that
was _promised_ him for preaching in this manner to this congregation,
twenty miles from his home, twice each month. I would state the
amount, but I remember the story, told me by my genial friend, the late
Rev. Dr. William L. Breckenridge, of an Irishman who desired to have a
letter written home to Ireland from Kentucky, many years before, when
provisions were most abundant and cheap.

After mentioning a good many things that he wished him to write to his
friends in regard to America, he said:

"Tell them that I get all the meat I can eat three times a week."

"And what do you mean by that?" said his employer. "Don't you get all
the bacon you can eat three times a day?"

"Yes, your riverence," was the prompt reply.

"Well, then, what do you mean by writing to your friends in Ireland
that you get all the meat you can eat three times a week?"

"Faith," said Pat, "and _that_ is more than they will belave."

But these were not the hardest and most poorly remunerated of the
labors of my friend. In some of his visits to smaller congregations
on the "fifth Sabbath" his rides were much longer, and he encountered
difficulties and discouragements such as most Presbyterian ministers
have never dreamed of. I will relate a single case. A small church
some fifty miles distant was without a pastor, and for a long time
the sacrament of the Lord's Supper had not been administered to
them. Always ready to aid and cheer such struggling churches, he
promised to give them a "fifth Sabbath." I will here say that there
were hundreds of churches of different denominations in the Southwest
and South that did not have preaching every Sabbath. They enjoyed
this privilege but twice a month, once a month, or less frequently.
When their appointments for preaching were regular, the _number_ of
the Sabbath in the month was always specified, as, for instance, the
first and third Sabbaths might be the days selected for preaching
regularly at one church, and the second and fourth Sabbaths might be
appropriated to two other churches. Or the first, second, third, and
fourth Sabbaths might be the days fixed for regular preaching, once a
month, at four different places. And so of all week-day appointments
for preaching. They were always made for some day in the first, second,
third, or fourth week in the month. Hence the people did not need
to consult an almanac in regard to the day of the month, and there
was rarely any mistake or confusion in regard to these appointments.
Where several different denominations occupied the same court-house
or building for preaching on successive Sabbaths, this was a matter
of great importance. It always stirred bad blood when from design on
either part these appointments conflicted, or, in the language of the
Brush, "locked horns." From the simplicity of this method of making
appointments the people would learn for miles around, and remember
for months ahead, that a basket-meeting, sacramental meeting, or
camp-meeting would commence on the second Friday in August, or the
third Thursday in September, or any other day that was announced in
this manner. As the "fifth Sabbath" is of infrequent occurrence, young
preachers often took this day to visit their mothers and sweet-hearts,
and old preachers made missionary tours and visited neglected
neighborhoods and destitute churches. It was such a day and such a
work my worthy friend had promised the little church to which I have
alluded. After his accustomed labors for the week, he on Saturday
performed the long, rough horseback ride, and on Sabbath preached and
administered the communion to them. But it was not a pleasant service.
The day was cold; the church, like others I have described, had no
other foundation than blocks of wood; the hogs of the neighborhood had
made their bed under it, and they successfully disputed all efforts to
drive them from their warm shelter. Hence all the services of preaching
and the administration of the Lord's Supper were performed with the
accompaniment of their incessant squealing and fighting immediately
under the pulpit and communion-table. The long, cold ride home extended
into the darkness of midnight. How few have ever gratuitously performed
so laborious a service with so little to compensate, so much to sadden
and distress!

But such experiences were relieved by many of a far different
character. To many feeble churches his coming was anticipated by all
needed preparations, and he was greeted with great joy by the little
flock. They listened with delight to the truths that they loved as they
fell from his lips. Cheerful homes welcomed him and were gladdened by
his presence. To many scattered families of the church to which he
belonged his pastoral visits were all that they received, and they were
the more prized because such visits were so rare to them.

Faithful, laborious, self-denying man of God! his toils have not been
unrewarded in the past, and they will be abundantly honored in the
future.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The late Rev. James Hawthorn, D.D., of Princeton,
Kentucky. Every word of this record of his heroic labors was written
while he was yet alive, and I did not wish to startle or offend his
sensitiveness and modesty by giving his name to the public. But, now
that he has gone to his full and glorious reward on high, I am most
happy to pay this tribute of abounding veneration and love to this
noble servant of our common Master. As his compensation for his purely
missionary services was so very small, I once took the liberty of
suggesting that he should receive a stipend from the Presbyterian Board
of Home Missions. It was most respectfully, but positively declined.
That was the true Pauline spirit of the man.]




CHAPTER XIII.

STRANGE PEOPLE I HAVE MET IN THE SOUTHWEST.


I have met a great many very odd and strange characters in the
Southwest. The peculiar life of the people developed their originality.
They were not restrained by the laws and customs that control older
and more established communities. Every man was a law unto himself.
All that was unusual and peculiar in their natural characters grew in
unrestrained luxuriance like the wild vines on their hill-sides and in
their valleys. What any man or community might think of their actions
or mode of life had the least possible influence in deciding what they
should do or not do. The laws of fashion, generally so tyrannical,
were utterly powerless with them. What any one else might think of the
color, shape, or quality of a garment, had no effect upon them. They
dressed entirely in accordance with their own notions of comfort. This
same kind of independence characterized all their actions and their
entire life.

I frequently passed the plantation of a very marked character of this
peculiar type, who, by great energy and native shrewdness, acquired
a large property, and became the owner of many slaves. His dress and
personal appearance were such that strangers calling at his house on
business often mistook him for a plantation "field-hand," and called on
him to open the gate leading to his residence, or for any service they
would expect from a slave. He could read and write, but his spelling
was about as bad as possible. On one occasion he wrote an advertisement
and took it to a printing-office. The proprietor, knowing his positive
traits of character, told him as politely as possible that there were
some mistakes in the spelling, which, with his permission, he would
correct in printing the advertisement. The old man was as positive and
unyielding in regard to his spelling as in regard to his dress and
everything else, and would submit to no changes. That was his way of
spelling, and his way was as good as anybody's way. It must be printed
exactly as he had written it, or not at all. It was so printed; and in
addition to the amusement it afforded to the people of that region, a
copy was sent to a large museum in a Southwestern city, and was among
the most amusing of all their curiosities.

In a long horseback-ride over a turnpike-road connecting two large
Southwestern cities, I stopped to dine and feed my horse at a house
of entertainment. Entering a small apartment that served for a
sleeping-room for the family and a sitting-room for travelers, I met
a sight very unusual in that region. I found the walls of the room
covered with a large number of cheap lithographic portraits of the
prominent statesmen and military heroes of the country. A very brief
interview showed me that my host was "to the manner born," and a very
striking and original character. At length I alluded to the portraits
hanging about his room and said:

"You seem to be very fond of pictures, sir."

"I am a patriot, sir," he replied.

Feeling quite sure that I should get a positive opinion, without any
sort of hesitation I said to him:

"And who, sir, do you think was the greatest man of all the Presidents,
statesmen, and military and naval heroes whose portraits you have here?"

"Andrew Jackson, sir," was the prompt reply.

"Ah!" said I, "I see, sir, that you have the portrait of Washington.
Was Andrew Jackson a greater man than George Washington, sir?"

"I tell you, sir," said he, "Andrew Jackson was the greatest man God
ever made. He was a man of firmness--more firmness than Washington."

Greatly to my surprise, I had found lying open upon a bed in our
sitting-room a copy of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe's "Key to Uncle
Tom's Cabin," but recently published, the only copy I ever saw in that
region. I made some inquiries in regard to it, and he told me he had
bought it of a Jew peddler who had spent a night with him. He was very
much absorbed in reading it.

"I tell you, sir," said he, "the man that wrote that book was a very
smart man. They say 'twas a woman; but I tell you, sir, the man that
wrote that book was a very smart man." In all our long conversation he
did not give the slightest possible credence to the idea that the book
had been written by a woman. His oft-repeated and invariable statement
was:

"I tell you, sir, the man that wrote that book was a very smart man.
They say 'twas a woman; but I tell you, sir, the man that wrote that
book was a very smart man."

A large number of his slaves were passing in and out of the room,
preparing our dinner. At length he said to me:

"I tell you, stranger, that is my greatest trouble. What is to become
of these people when I am gone?"

I knew that the laws of the State forbade his emancipating and leaving
them there, and so I said:

"I suppose you know that some masters are freeing their slaves and
sending them to Liberia."

"I know that, sir," said he, "and I have told mine that I would free
them all and send them there if they would go. But they have told me
they would rather I would chop them into mince-meat than go there."

Their ears had been filled with such tales in regard to Liberia that
this was their idea of the place. As I never saw the old man but this
once, I do not know what became of him or his slaves.

In former chapters I have spoken of my visit to a celebrated
watering-place. I met there some very strange characters. My sermon
in a "ballroom" was preached at this watering-place. I found it much
more of a resort for gamblers than clergymen. In the general suspension
of travel on the Southern and Western rivers, on account of the low
stage of the water, and other causes, the gamblers, who usually plied
their vocation upon the river-steamers, congregated in large numbers
at these Springs. The waters were famed for cleansing the system, and
preventing malarious diseases. In addition to this improvement of their
health, and preparation for the renewal of their usual employment on
the steamers, and at the cities and towns along the rivers, they found
many subjects upon whom to practice their arts successfully, among the
numerous and often verdant visitors at the Springs.

Wishing to avail myself of the benefit of these waters, I spent
some two or three weeks here, visiting meanwhile a large number of
neighborhoods in the vicinity, in the prosecution of my labors. I
witnessed here the most remarkable devotion to card-playing that I
have ever seen or known. The principal sleeping-apartments for the
hundred or more guests were in a long, low, log structure, but a
single story high--a series of cabins--with a piazza along the whole
front which served as the general promenade for the visitors. In going
to and from my room, day after day, I passed a table standing upon
this piazza, within a foot or two of my door, which was surrounded
by card-players. The principal character at this table was an old,
gray-headed man, apparently not less than seventy years of age. In
the morning he always accompanied his wife to the dining-room, and,
as they returned from breakfast, they separated at the door, and she
went alone up the piazza to her room, and he walked down the piazza in
the opposite direction, and took his seat at this card-table. It was
the hottest July weather, and the old man took off his coat and vest,
rolled up his shirt-sleeves above his elbows, and sat down and played
cards, without any interval, until the first bell rang for dinner. He
then went to his room and waited upon his wife to the table. As they
returned, he parted with her at the door of the dining-room, as after
breakfast, walked down to his card-table, disrobed himself, and took
his seat as in the morning, and played without cessation until the
first bell rang for supper. He then went to his room and waited upon
his wife to the table as before. This was repeated, with unfailing
regularity, day after day, and week after week. I was told that he
was not a professional gambler. As I passed the table, which I was
compelled to do every time I went to my room, there was not usually a
great deal of money lying upon it at stake in the game--only "enough to
keep up the interest and excitement." But sometimes there were piles of
gold lying over the table, and they seemed to be gambling in earnest
and for large amounts.

The devotion of this old man to cards or gambling was so remarkable
that I confess I was somewhat surprised to see him enter the ballroom
with his wife among the first of those who assembled to hear me preach
on the Sabbath. I had preached at a court-house, a few miles away, in
the morning, and returned here to address the people at four in the
afternoon. There was a general attendance of the visitors, including
the well-known professional gamblers, and all gave me as respectful
a hearing as I could desire. I was furnished with a Bible for the
occasion, but there was no hymn-book. I expected to resort to the
expedient of "lining out" some familiar hymns, which was the most
frequent method of singing in this region. But the old card-player
came forward to the table where I was sitting, and handed me an Old
School Presbyterian hymn-book, which I had seen his wife bring into
the ballroom, and which she sent up for my use, as she saw there was
no hymn-book on the table. Some months after I recognized the aged
couple in a large city congregation to which I was preaching, and was
afterward told by its honored and beloved pastor that the old man
was one of the most regular and attentive attendants at his church,
and that his habits as I have described them were widely known. His
manner was so apparently reverential, and his attention so marked,
that strangers preaching there often got the impression that he was
one of the elders of the church. So strange and paradoxical are the
"characters that make up the world."

Among the visitors at the Springs was one who was a very wealthy man,
a large slaveholder, and a very great invalid. He was a cripple, with
one limb much shorter and smaller than the other, and was compelled
to use two crutches to walk at all. As I saw him mingling with the
visitors, I observed that he was profane, rollicking, genial, and
exceedingly social in his nature. I do not now remember how I became
acquainted with him, or whether or not I was introduced to him at all.
But from the first he attached himself to me, and sought my company. If
I sat down alone upon the piazza, he would come and take a seat near
me, and we engaged in long conversations. I explained to him in the
greatest detail the work in which I was engaged, and the operations of
the American Bible Society at home and abroad. I described to him the
Bible House in New York, and the process of making Bibles--commencing
with the printing of them in the higher stories, and passing them
through different hands from story to story below, until they reached
the depository, well-bound and beautiful specimens of the art of
book-making. I told him of the wealth and business character of the
men who acted as managers of the society, and gratuitously supervised
and controlled all its operations. Thoroughly irreligious in all his
training and associations, my statements were new to him, and he was
greatly interested in them. He thought the whole thing was "grand" and
"magnificent," and was enthusiastic in his commendations of me and my
work. When I was absent for a day or two for the purpose of meeting the
people of some neighborhood at a week-day appointment, he was among
the first to meet me on my return to the hotel, and inquired with the
greatest interest as to the success of my labors. In our repeated
interviews I talked with him frankly, freely, and fully, in regard to
his own spiritual condition, urged him to make religion a personal
matter, yield his heart to Christ, and live henceforth for the glory
of God, and the good of his fellow-men. The openness of his nature and
the frankness of his expressions upon this subject were remarkable. His
belief in the Bible was implicit. He did not seem to have a shadow of
doubt in regard to its truth. He told me that, from the nature of his
disease, he was liable to die at any moment, and if he died he knew
he should be lost. He did not seem to have a particle of doubt on this
subject. Sometimes, in deep consciousness of the struggle within him,
he would say:

"The trouble with me, sir, is, that I have no stability--I just go
with the crowd I am in. When I am with a man like you, I wish I was a
Christian. I would give the world to be a Christian. But when I am with
W---- and G----" (naming the chief gamblers at the hotel) "and their
crowd, I am just carried away with them. I can't help myself. If I
could always be in the company of men like you, I believe I could be a
good man and a Christian."

I prayed with him in my room at different times, and gave him all the
instruction and encouragement in my power.

On learning from me that I was a native of the State of New York, and
was familiar with the free States, he had a great many questions to
ask in regard to them. He had never been out of the slave States. He
inquired particularly in regard to the schools, and whether there were
any schools where colored boys could be educated. I gave him the name
of Oberlin and other schools that then admitted colored students. He
told me that he had been confined to his bed seven years; that the
greater part of the thigh-bone of one of his limbs had come out; that
his body-servant had nursed, washed, and taken care of him like a baby
all this time; and that in reward for these services he had offered
to grant him and his two boys their freedom, and give the boys a good
education. "But," said he, "I don't hire any overseer now. He is my
overseer, and that makes him the biggest nigger in T---- County, and
he says he 'don't want no freedom,' but he would like to have his boys
sent to school. Now, sir, if you will find any school in the North that
will take them, I will send them to school just as long as there is any
use of their going."

I afterward wrote to several institutions on the subject, and sent
their replies to him at his home. He was very anxious to know
positively if he could send them to the State of New York, and said:
"I can not send them to Illinois or Indiana, and I can not understand
how they can be sent to New York. They are all free States." I told him
that Illinois and Indiana had passed laws prohibiting colored persons
coming into those States, but New York had not. He then wanted to know
why this was so, and I told him that one reason was, that New York was
so much farther from the slave States, and less likely to be overrun by
free colored people. He at length became satisfied upon this point, a
very important matter with him, as the sequel will show.

On one occasion, in explaining to him the nature of my Bible-work, and
the extent of the territory committed to my supervision, he interrupted
me with--

"That will include T---- County, my county. You must certainly come and
see me when you reach that part of the State, and stay with me while
you are in that region."

I thanked him for his invitation, and told him that I should be certain
to call on him. This invitation was often repeated, and renewed with
special earnestness when we separated. A long time elapsed before I
visited all the intervening counties, organized or reorganized Bible
societies, preached and "lifted collections" in the more important
churches, ordered Bibles from New York, secured the appointment of
colporteurs, and completed all the arrangements for a thorough canvass
and supply of the counties. But after several months I reached T----
County; and, as my friend resided some distance from the county-seat,
I completed all my arrangements for the supply of the county before
making him my promised visit. This accomplished, I mounted my fleet
horse and rode several miles to his residence. His welcome was as warm,
cordial, and hearty as words and acts could make it. A long-absent
brother could not have been received with greater demonstrations of
joy. After I had laid aside my leggins and spurs, washed myself, and a
troop of big and little house-servants, who were rushing about eager to
render some service in welcoming me to their master's hospitalities,
had brushed me and properly cared for all my wants, and the commotion
created by the arrival of a stranger at a large plantation had somewhat
subsided, my host said to me:

"The blue-grass in my pastures is knee-high to your horse. Now just
stay with me a few weeks, and let your horse run there. The weather
is hot; you are a hard worker. You need rest, and your horse too. It
will do you both good. Just stay with me, and I will kill my biggest,
fattest turkeys, and give you the very best that the plantation
affords."

I thanked him for his cordial welcome, told him that I could not spare
so much time, but would stay with him as long as I possibly could.

He then inquired after my plans for the supply of his county with
Bibles. I told him that I had spent the previous Sabbath at the
county-seat, and gave him the names of all the men that had been
elected as officers of the County Bible Society, and of the colporteurs
that had been chosen to canvass and supply the county. He knew them
all, and approved the choice that had been made. I then said:

"I have ordered a large supply of Bibles from New York, and I am quite
sure I can depend upon the people of the county to meet the expenses of
this work."

"Yes," said he, thrusting his hand into his pocket, and taking out
and opening his pocket-book, and handing me a bill, "there is twenty
dollars for T---- County"; and, handing me another bill, "There is ten
dollars for the world."

I was very much gratified with his appropriation of the money, as I saw
that, in my conversations with him, I had given him a clear idea of the
local or home work and the general or foreign work carried on by the
American Bible Society.

A bountiful supper followed, and the evening passed very pleasantly and
rapidly in conversation; with many reminiscences of our life at the
Springs, and the various persons we had met there. At length he ordered
the Bible brought forward, and the servants summoned for prayers. A
large number, including the house-servants, and their husbands and
children who lived in the kitchen and other adjacent buildings, were
soon assembled. The master and myself were the only white persons in
the group. He sat near me in a large chair, thin, pale, and sickly, his
two crutches lying across his legs, and seemed profoundly interested
and impressed. With a stillness that was almost motionless and
breathless, and with a fixed, an earnest, an excited attention, such
as I have never seen, only as I have seen it in many similar groups,
they all listened while I read to them a portion of the blessed Word
of God--that Word that I have found so potent to soothe and cheer and
bless the most ignorant and the most oppressed--and then we all bowed
together before our common Father, and in language as simple as I could
command I earnestly besought his blessing to rest upon them all, and
commended master and slaves to his compassionate care and love. As,
after the lapse of so many years, the long-closed chambers of memory
open at my bidding, and, recalling this scene, I for the first time
commit it to pages that can be read by others, it all stands revealed
before me, so vivid, so _present_, so unspeakably tender and precious
in its memories, that again and again I have been compelled to lay down
my pen and wipe the fast-falling tears that would flow as I have lived
over again the golden, glorious hour thus spent in communing with God
and comforting his enslaved and suffering poor. The same divine power
comes down upon me now, while I write, as when I knelt in the midst of
that dark group, melting my soul with a tenderness so inexpressibly
sweet, and irradiating my whole being with a joy so unearthly that I
can but exclaim with the poetess:

  "Tell us if the gleams of glory,
  Bursting on us when we pray,
  Are not transient, blest revealings
  Of our _home_, so far away;
  Loving glances of our Father,
  Sent to lure our souls away."

A delightful night's rest was followed by a most beautiful day. A
morning stroll revealed to me the character and extent of my host's
plantation. His residence was a large brick house, standing in the
midst of a grove of forest-trees, and presented a most neglected,
not to say dilapidated, appearance. A great many panes of glass
had been broken from the windows; the doors were out of order; it
had been unpainted for many years; the fences, out-buildings, and
everything about it had a "tumble-down" look, and all presented
about as "shiftless" an appearance as ever distressed the soul of
a neat and thrifty Miss Ophelia. If my memory is not at fault, the
plantation contained one thousand acres. It was as rich, productive,
and beautiful land as I have ever seen. It lay in the heart of one of
the finest tobacco-growing regions in the United States. The stock,
most of which was "blooded," and of the finest quality, presented noble
subjects for the pencil of a Rosa Bonheur, as they were feeding in
his large pastures, where the blue grass was up to my horse's knees.
The buildings I have already described sadly marred a landscape of
exceeding beauty. This was the paternal estate. He had lived with his
parents until their death, and, being the youngest son and an invalid,
they had given him the homestead, providing liberally for the other
members of the family, who lived in adjoining counties and were very
wealthy. The place was cultivated by his own slaves, who, including old
and young, I think must have numbered nearly or quite a hundred.

Shall I describe the household?

My host was unmarried. I do not know his age. I remember that his hair
was so much frosted that it was decidedly iron-gray; but I am sure that
it must have been prematurely so, on account of the great suffering
he had endured. His housekeeper was a large, fat, gross-looking
negro woman, one of his own slaves. But she was more than his
housekeeper--she was the mother of his children. Here was one of those
strange, unaccountable, revolting alliances--far more common than the
great world has ever dreamed--that set at defiance the laws of God not
only, but all other laws--where the one least attractive of all upon
the plantation becomes the master's unholy choice. It hardly required
the second look to detect among the groups of colored children that
were playing about the yard four who bore to their father the double
relation of children and slaves. The two eldest were girls, probably
six and eight years old, and they had his light gray eyes, his double
chin, and, indeed, all his features much more strongly marked than is
usual where both the parents are either white or black. In their color,
his white blood preponderated very largely over that of the mother;
their hair indicated their African parentage much more positively than
their skin. The two boys were much darker than their sisters, and the
features of their father were less strongly though indisputably marked.
The youngest was a handsome little fellow not more than three or four
years old.

Here, then, to any one who had seen but a tithe of what had fallen
under my observation in years of horseback-riding where I had been
in constant communication with masters and slaves, was the full
explanation of the intense interest and anxiety of my host in regard to
the _schools_ and _laws_ in the free States. Here was a mind agitated
with the most terrible conflicts, the most excruciating anxieties,
that ever raged in the human heart. Here were the pangs of a guilty
conscience in regard to the past; and all the instincts of a father
moved to their profoundest depths in behalf of his children, who were
legal slaves. He knew, even better than I did, the unutterably terrible
future that awaited them as slaves. He knew not only the possibilities
but the probabilities in regard to the fate of his daughters, which
the laws and the customs of society rendered doubly sure. It was to
a mind thus agitated and distressed that I had brought the sweet
message, "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from _all_ sin." It was
to a spirit thus moved that I unfolded the fullness and the freeness
of the forgiveness and salvation purchased by the sufferings and death
of the "Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world." It was to
one thus involved and entangled in the meshes of sin that I spoke of
a Deliverer from its thralldom and power. O wondrous message! Often
as I have looked into the faces of the vilest of the vile, I have
been thrilled and startled at the sound of my own voice as I have
proclaimed to them: "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as
white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."

No wonder that he listened intently, and that his eyes often filled
with tears, as I sat long at his bedside, where he was compelled to lie
the greater part of the time, endeavoring to instruct him and lead him
to Christ. If I were to repeat all the strange questions that he asked
and that I answered--questions the like of which I never heard of being
propounded to a minister of the gospel before--they would be far more
strange and startling to my readers than anything I have written. No
wonder that he esteemed and loved me as he did! Probably no clergyman
had ever treated him with that consideration or instructed him with
that care and earnestness that I had.

Possibly if I had known as much of his character as I afterward
learned, I should have been less enthusiastic and hopeful in my
efforts to instruct him and lead him to Christ. But it has been one
of the incidents of my long wanderings and extended intercourse
with strangers, that I have made the acquaintance of negro-traders,
slave-hunters, gamblers, and other like characters, enjoyed their
hospitality, prayed with and for them and their families, and given
kind and hopeful words of instruction, where those who knew these
people best had little heart or hope to put forth such efforts in their
behalf. At times I have been permitted and rejoiced to learn that such
labors have been attended with the happiest results.

When I asked the officers of the Bible Society the way to the residence
of my friend, and told them of my promise to make him a visit, the
strange, blank expression upon their faces told me plainly that his
home was not a resort for clergymen. Their silence on the subject was
far more expressive than the few ejaculations of surprise that were
uttered. No wonder that he took such strange ways of manifesting his
affection and regard. Once he called a servant and gave directions to
have two white shoats thoroughly washed in soapsuds, and driven up to
the front door for me to look at. He told me he had sent to Marshall P.
Wilder, near Boston, Massachusetts, for a pair of white pigs and a pair
of chickens, which with the freight had cost him a large sum, which
he named, but which I have forgotten. He was anxious to gratify me by
seeing them in the best possible condition. Indeed, he seemed never to
forget that I was his guest, and he was constantly striving to do all
in his power for my entertainment, and to render my stay with him as
pleasant and protracted as possible. Very often he would repeat what he
said to me so frequently at the Springs:

"If I could only have none but good people for associates, I believe I
could be a good man. But I haven't got a bit of stability. I am just
carried away by the crowd I am with. If I could only have you here, I
believe I could be a Christian. If you will only stay here and preach
for us, I will give the ground for a church and help build it, and I
will bind my estate for a part of your salary after I am dead and gone,
as long as you will stay. The trouble is now, if we do go to church,
any one else there might just as well get up and preach as the man
that does preach.[2] You are an educated man, and I believe you are a
good man; and then you are a gentleman. If they would only send such
preachers into this country, I tell you they would take the crowd.
My mother was a Baptist, and I believe she was a good woman, and if
I was fit to belong to any church, I should like to join the Baptist
Church on her account. But I don't care very much about that. You are
a Presbyterian, and if you will only come and start a Presbyterian
church, I will do everything for you that I say."

When the hour for dinner arrived, we two alone sat down to a table that
fully redeemed the promise of the night before. We had as nice a turkey
as ever tempted the appetite, and a superabundance of other dishes,
"the best that the plantation afforded."

As I could only make a brief stay with my friend, I was anxious to
leave something with him that would, if possible, deepen his religious
impressions, and give him the instruction that he so much needed, after
I had gone. Sitting at his bedside, I gave him Rev. Newman Hall's "Come
to Jesus"--a few copies of which I usually carried in my saddle-bags.
I expressed to him my very high appreciation of the little work, and,
in order so to enlist his interest in it that he would not fail to read
it after I had left him, I told him how very highly it was esteemed
by the late General John H. Cocke, of Virginia, whom I had known some
years before, while superintendent of the colporteur operations of the
American Tract Society in that State. My host was of an old Virginia
horse-racing, sporting family, and his pride in the old State insured
his attention to anything I would say in regard to so distinguished a
Virginian. So I proceeded:

"The General had a magnificent estate in Fluvanna County, Virginia--was
President of the American Temperance Union, was prominently identified
with many of our national benevolent institutions, and was withal
very fond of doing good in a genial, quiet way. On one of his visits
to Richmond, Miss Jennie Taylor, daughter of his old friend Rev. Dr.
Taylor, of the Union Theological Seminary in Prince Edward County,
had recently been married; and, while attending to his business, he
ran into the store of her husband to congratulate him. The bride was
a great favorite with him, as she was with a very large circle of the
best people in the State, who loved her for her own and her honored
father's sake. As the General was about to leave, he said:

"'I wish to make you and your bride a very valuable present,' and
handed him a tract of four pages.

"'Thank you,' said he, and immediately took from his desk a copy of
'Come to Jesus' and said, 'Please accept that in return, General, and
don't fail to read it.'

"But a few days after this the General was in the city, and called
again at the store, and said:

"'Where can I get copies of that little volume, "Come to Jesus"? I am
delighted with it, and must have a quantity for distribution.'

"'I order them by the hundred copies from the Tract Society in New
York,' was the response, 'and always keep a supply on hand to give away
as I have opportunity.'

"The General soon procured a supply, and he had so many proofs of their
great usefulness--so many of those to whom he gave them expressed their
gratitude, and testified to the great benefit they had received from
their perusal--that he ordered them again and again, and scattered
hundreds of them over the country."

"How can I get a lot of them?" said my host, quite fired with the
missionary spirit by this recital. I told him that I knew of no nearer
place than the depository of the American Tract Society at Cincinnati,
Ohio, which was several hundred miles distant. He would not rest until
I had written out for him the address of Seely Wood, the depositary,
and given him full instructions how to order them. On my next annual
visit to the county I found several copies of "Come to Jesus" in the
family of a Presbyterian elder, living near the county-seat, and,
inquiring of him how he obtained them, he said:

"I found a package of them addressed to me at the post-office, and the
postmaster said they had been left there by Mr. ----" (my host), "and
that he left several other packages there addressed to Rev. Mr. ----,
principal of the seminary, and the officers of the different churches."

The matter was an inexplicable mystery to him, and to all that received
those packages. They knew him well, and afterward described his
character to me as far different from that which usually pertains to a
tract-distributor. They told me that he was a very cruel master, and
that it was the general belief that he had shot and secretly paid the
owner his price for a negro because he thought him too intimate with
his housekeeper.

At night I preached in a small school-house, near his residence, to
about a dozen persons who had assembled in response to the ringing
of a small bell late in the afternoon and at the hour of assembling,
the signal in all that region for preaching by a stranger, as I have
elsewhere described.

Perhaps I should say that as a matter of form I asked my host, soon
after my arrival, if he had received the letters I had forwarded to
him, and sent his overseer's boys to school as he had proposed. He said
he had received the letters, but gave some excuse or reason for not
having sent them as yet. He ordered them dressed and called into the
parlor for my inspection, that I might judge of their capacity for an
education. This I afterward learned caused a great commotion in the
"negro quarters," as they all thought I must be a "nigger-trader," and
this examination was in reference to the price I would pay for them.

As my duties were very pressing, I spent but two nights with my host,
and left him the next morning, with many thanks for his hospitality,
and with earnest expressions of regret on his part--never to see him
again.

A few months later I read a notice of his death in the papers,
accompanied with this statement:

"He has left a very large estate. By his will he has freed a part of
his slaves, and given his plantation and nearly all his property,
including his slaves, to those he has freed."

On my next visit to the county-seat, I hitched my horse to a post, and
before entering any other house went directly to the county clerk's
office and asked him if he would do me the favor to allow me to
read Mr. ----'s will. He at once produced the volume in which it was
recorded, and I was about to read it, when he said:

"I have the original will here, if you would prefer to see that."

I thanked him, and he handed it to me. It was in his own handwriting.
The spelling was very bad; as, for instance, I remember that "be" was
spelt "bea," and a good many other words were as badly spelled. I have
often been similarly astonished to find that men who had a great deal
of general intelligence, and were most interesting talkers, were unable
to spell the simplest sentence correctly. But the clerk told me that he
recorded the will exactly as it was written, and that bad spelling did
not vitiate any legal document. The will was very brief, and I remember
its principal provisions as follows:

"I give and bequeath to ----" (the mother of his children) "her liberty
from the hour of my death."

"I give and bequeath to her children" (here followed the names of her
five children) "their liberty from the hour of my death."

"I give to ----" (another woman) "her liberty from the hour of my
death."

"I give to my brother ---- my fiddle."

"I give to my brother ---- my kitchen furniture."

These brothers, when visiting him, had in joke asked him to make these
legacies, saying that was all they wanted of his property, and he had
_in earnest_ told them he would give them what they asked. He also gave
a little niece, the daughter of a sister, a valuable gold watch and
chain, which he had promised her. He then gave a very small legacy--I
think only three hundred dollars--to the mother of his children. Of her
five children, only four were his. To these he gave all the remainder
of his property, including plantation, blooded stock, slaves, money,
etc., and directed that "they be sent to the State of New York," and
placed in the best schools and thoroughly educated.[3]

Some ten days subsequent to the date of his will he had added a
codicil. In this he gave the name and date of birth of each of the four
children, in the order of their birth, and added, "These are my own
children," and something like an appeal that they might be permitted to
receive what he had left for them, and a hope that they might enjoy all
that wealth and education could procure for them.

But the saddest, strangest thing about the will was its exceeding
cruelty to the rest of his slaves. He directed that they all be sold
for the benefit of his children that he had freed; and, that they might
bring the greatest possible price, he ordered that they all be sent
to New Orleans and sold upon the block at auction--not in families,
but each one alone. His will directed his executor to advertise the
"sale" for three months in the principal cities of the Southwest
and South, so as to secure as large an attendance as possible of
negro-traders and planters wishing to buy slaves. This horrified even
his pro-slavery neighbors; for, had they been sold at home, many of
them would have been bought by those who owned husbands and wives that
were intermarried, or had "taken up" with them, and others would have
been bought in the region, so that fewer families would have been
separated. His own relatives, who would otherwise have inherited this
large estate, were very wealthy, and he knew that they would spare no
money in contesting his will. Hence he took precautions such as I have
never heard of before to prevent its being broken. After he had got it
written to suit himself--and I was told that he said he was inspired to
write it--he made a large dinner-party, and among others invited the
prominent physicians of the neighborhood. After the usual pleasures
and excitements of such a party, as his guests were about leaving, he
called the physicians to his room, and said:

"Gentlemen, you all know me well, and I wish to know if, from all that
you have seen to-day, you think that I am competent to make my will?"

They all answered him in the affirmative. He then said, "I wish to know
if this is your professional opinion, and that if called upon you will
make oath to it?"

They again gave an affirmative response. He then took his will from his
pocket, and said:

"Gentlemen, here is my will, written by myself, exactly as I want
to dispose of my property, and I wish to sign it in your presence,
and have you sign it as witnesses," which was done. Notwithstanding
these precautions, I heard of the will as before the court, of the
disagreement of the jury, and of the inability of the contestants to
either establish or break it. I suppose the emancipation proclamation
freed all the slaves before the case was settled by the courts.
Fortunately for his children, I was told that he became so alarmed
about them before he died, that he sent them to Ohio, and deposited
money there for their support. Otherwise they would have remained
slaves during the controversy in regard to the will. I have inquired
after these children at Oberlin, at Xenia, and in many of the towns and
cities of Ohio, but I have never been able to hear of them. I do not
know whether or not they ever received the rest of the large estate
which properly belonged to them.

I have written out these facts in all this detail, thinking that they
would answer in part the query whether "anything strange or interesting
did ever happen to a missionary," and also to reveal a type of
character and civilization with which I have very often been brought
in contact. I knew a free colored woman, and she was at the time a
very liberal contributor to the American Bible Society, who told me
that her own daughter had been educated at a fashionable school by her
white father, and was the wife of an officer in the United States Army.
She visited her daughter frequently near one of the largest Northern
cities, not as her mother, but as her old nurse or "mammy." Her husband
supposed that her own brunette mother had died in her infancy, and that
she had been "raised" by this "mammy," as such nurses were called, and
hence their great affection for each other.

Within a few miles of the home of my host, in an adjoining county, I
knew two colored girls whose mother was "as black as the hinges of
midnight," whose white father and master had left them and a legacy
for them in the care of a sister, to whom he had willed a large number
of slaves; and those two girls were trained to call their mother
"Margaret," and always to treat her as their "mammy." This was in
anticipation of their going North to a fashionable boarding-school, and
that their mother might gratify her maternal instincts by accompanying
them or visiting them without detriment to their social standing or
prospects. It was well known in the Southwest and South for many years
before the war that, notwithstanding the intense prejudice on account
of color so universal in the North, many of the most expensive and
fashionable boarding-schools received pupils from Cuba, South America,
and other tropical countries, even if their skins were decidedly
dark. As colored children were so rigidly excluded from nearly all
the best schools in the country, many availed themselves of the
exception thus made in behalf of those of foreign birth by placing
pupils in these schools whose tropical lineage was only "asserted" by
those who paid their bills. A few Northern schools, as is well known,
have always received colored pupils. Bishop Payne, of the African
Methodist Episcopal Church, President of Wilberforce University,
Xenia, Ohio, told me during the war that before the war most of his
students were those who had been born slaves and were educated by
their white fathers. The stories that they have communicated to him
of the sufferings they have endured as they have thought of the life
to which their children were exposed if left in slavery--and as they
have traveled with them up the river, and been compelled to witness the
indignities to which they were exposed, as they were obliged to leave
them on deck with the rough crowds of passengers, liable at all times
to the basest insults, while they, as they valued their lives, dared
not offer them a father's protection--would alone make a volume of
painfully thrilling interest. Alas, that there were many thousands of
such parents whose natures were so blunted that they cared as little
for their offspring as the dumb beasts around them!

But I have said all and more than I had intended, though very far from
all that I could say upon this subject, and will betake myself to more
pleasant and congenial narrations of my labors in the Brush.


SUPPLEMENTARY FACTS.

In writing the foregoing chapter, I, of deliberate purpose, suppressed
the name and place of residence of the person whose remarkable history
I have given in so much detail. I wished to make the case less personal
than representative of a state of society now happily passed away. I
gave the facts as far as I had received them.

But, since reaching New York, and while reading the proof-sheets
of this volume, I have received additional facts from the highest
authority; and, as the case has become so celebrated, there is now no
reason why I should withhold any of them.

In the year 1859, one year after my election to the presidency of
Cumberland College, I one day made a very long horseback-ride in order
to reach the residence and spend the night with the Hon. Francis M.
Bristow, at Elkton, Todd County, Kentucky. Mr. Bristow was at the
time serving his second term as a member of Congress from the third
district. I was anxious to see him, from the fact that, in accordance
with instructions from the maker of the above-named will, the executor
had employed him and his son, a young lawyer who had recently opened
an office in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, to defend the will in a suit that
had already been instituted in the Circuit Court. I did not find the
distinguished Congressman at home, but was so fortunate as to meet and
spend the night with his son.

I have called several times, since reaching the city, upon the "junior
counsel for the will," now the Hon. Benjamin H. Bristow, late Secretary
of the United States Treasury, Washington, D.C.

The maker of the will was Mr. Lycurgus B. Leavell, of Trenton, Todd
County, Kentucky. General Bristow informs me that the case was tried
before Hon. Thomas E. Dabney, at a term of the Circuit Court, held at
Elkton, Kentucky. The senior counsel for the will was Hon. Francis M.
Bristow; the junior counsel, Benjamin H. Bristow and H.G. Petrie. The
senior counsel for the contestants was the Hon. Gustavus Henry, the
"eagle orator" of Tennessee; the junior counsel was James E. Bailey,
late United States Senator for Tennessee. As the case was so very
important, the jury was selected from the most prominent and honorable
slaveholders in the county. Young Bristow and Bailey opened the case.
It was ably contested, and of most extraordinary interest, but this is
not the place to describe it. The jury were eleven for and one against
sustaining the will.

The war soon came on; the slaves, including several who had recently
been imported from Africa in the Wanderer, were freed by the
emancipation proclamation; the contest was withdrawn, and the will
established. The executor and his bondsmen were financially ruined
by the war, and only a small part of the estate, some forty thousand
dollars, reached the two surviving children to whom it was devised. One
of them, a young lady, has recently graduated with distinguished honor,
and the president and professors of the college speak of her in terms
of the very highest praise.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: This was, alas! too true--and true of a very large portion
of country that I have visited, where the great majority of the
preachers were uneducated.]

[Footnote 3: At the time of his death this property would have sold for
nearly or quite a quarter of a million dollars. The plantation alone
was sold under the hammer for ninety-five thousand dollars.]




CHAPTER XIV.

OLD-TIME ILLITERATE PREACHERS IN THE BRUSH.


I have very often thought that the best work that could possibly
be prepared in favor of an educated ministry, would be to send
stenographers through those States where the census reveals the
greatest amount of ignorance, to make _verbatim_ reports of sermons
that are actually preached, and publish them in a volume. Such a book
would be the most remarkable exhibition of ignorance ever printed. Any
one who has not traveled extensively will be astonished to learn of
the great number of altogether unlearned and ignorant preachers who
minister regularly to large congregations. I have found that the deeper
I got into the Brush, and the denser the ignorance of the people, the
greater was the number of preachers. I have seen a surprisingly large
number of people who knew very little of the world, and a great deal
less of books, to whom the honors of a preacher were very attractive.
I say "honors," for the emoluments were so small that they had very
little weight in the matter. I have known them to urge their own
claims, and "electioneer" with others for years, and with the greatest
pertinacity, in order to secure licensure and ordination. Some of them
could not read at all, and many could read a verse or chapter only with
the greatest difficulty, and miscalled a large number of the longer
words.

I penetrated a wild region among the hills, and my own observations and
the explorations that I caused to be made secured for it the undoubted
and undesirable preëminence of being the banner county for ignorance
and destitution of the Bible of all those that I visited. In some
manner that I do not now remember, on my first visit I was directed
to call upon one of the preachers of the county, who would coöperate
with me in making arrangements to have it canvassed and supplied with
the Bible. I found his house among the hills in the midst of a vast,
dense forest, surrounded by a small clearing or "dead'ning," which
was planted with corn and tobacco. He was rather a short, thick-set
man, with a powerful, muscular frame, and very quick and active in
his movements. On riding up and introducing myself, he gave me a very
cordial welcome to his home. It was a log-house, rather larger and
higher than was usual in the region; but it was without chambers, and
from floor to roof all was a single room. His family, including wife,
mother-in-law, and children, numbered an even dozen. I spent the night
with them, partaking of such food, using such knife, fork, and dishes,
and occupying, with others, such a bed as I can not well describe, and
I am sure my readers will not be able to imagine. But I had by this
time become so accustomed to this kind of life in the Brush, that, if
not pleasant and agreeable to me, it was at least not strange. Not long
before, in a similarly wild region, in an adjoining county, I had slept
in a much smaller cabin with one room, where the man and his wife and
mother-in-law and four children, with another visitor besides myself,
occupied three beds. I shared one of them, upon a very narrow bedstead,
with the visitor, a neighbor who had called in for a social visit, as
rough and tough-looking a long-haired backwoodsman as one often meets,
dressed in butternut; and a "chunk of a boy," as his father called him,
about a dozen years old, who was placed in the bed between us, with his
head at our feet, and _ex necessitate_ his feet not far from my head.
It is a kind of lodging that can be endured for a night, as I know from
positive experience. But I am not prepared to recommend it.

When I arrived at this house, which was about dinner-time, I found
the children parching corn in a spider. The father was absent, and it
was necessary for me to remain until he returned. The mother made no
movements toward getting dinner, and said nothing about it, which was a
very unusual thing in my experience. At length the children brought to
me some of the corn, which was parched brown, but not popped. I had by
this time become satisfied that this was to be their only dinner, and
ate some of it with them. The father returned in a few hours, and urged
me to spend the night with them, which in the circumstances I was glad
to do; I could easily have gone farther and fared worse. He soon took
a bag and went through the woods a mile or two to a neighbor's, and
returned with some corn-meal and a piece of bacon. The entirely empty
larder being thus replenished, a meal was soon cooked, and I sat down
to what was to me both a dinner and supper of corn-dodger and fried
bacon. I called upon some of the families in this neighborhood, and
some months after met one of the young ladies at the county-seat. In
talking with her in regard to this visit, I said:

"I was told that a number of the young women in your neighborhood can
not read."

"Oh!" said she, "there are but two there that can read."

And yet I was told that there were two or three resident preachers
there, but I had not time to call upon them. As the kind of food
and lodging that I have described were so common to me, the chief
"variety" that was the "spice" of my itinerant "life" was in the varied
characters that I met. And I rarely found this "spice" of intenser
flavor than in my own profession, among some of the preachers that I
found in the Brush. The one that I had sought out, and with whose
family I had spent the night, was one of the most remarkable of his
type with whom I became acquainted.

In the morning he mounted his horse and rode with me to visit and
confer with several of the leading citizens of the county in regard to
its exploration, and to spend the following day, which was the Sabbath,
in visiting two different and distant congregations, for the purpose of
presenting the matter to them, and "lifting collections" in its aid. We
rode several miles through the woods, only occasionally passing a small
cabin and clearing, and made our first call at a log-house, where my
clerical friend and guide was evidently a very great favorite. Here we
were urged to have our horses put in the stable, and remain to dinner.
We assented to this, and arrangements were at once made for convening
a Bible committee, at a house in the neighborhood, that afternoon, and
for religious services in the house at which we had stopped to dine
that night. The husband and children at once started out to circulate
these notices, and the wife began her preparations for our dinner.
She was apparently about thirty years old, above the medium size,
in a region of country where the most of the women were very large,
with a bright, pleasant face, a cheerful, happy disposition, and very
cordial and enthusiastic manners. The log-house, though not of the
best, was decidedly of the better class; and our dinner, both in its
quality and the manner in which it was served, was a great improvement
upon my breakfast, and the supper the night before. It was a happy
group. Conversation was cheerful and animated, and geniality and joy
glowed in all faces and pervaded all hearts. Some time after dinner I
started with my clerical friend on foot through the woods to meet the
Bible committee. After a pleasant interchange of views, we appointed a
colporteur to canvass the county, and adjourned. At once we received
earnest invitations from different ones to go home with them to supper.
They were unwilling that the family upon which we had first called
should monopolize the pleasure and honor of entertaining us. I left
my clerical friend to settle this matter, and we went a mile or two
in another direction, where we were hospitably entertained at supper.
We then returned to the house where we had dined, and it was soon
filled with people, who had assembled upon this brief notice. It was
arranged that instead of a sermon a chapter should be read, and each of
us should occupy a portion of the time in brief addresses. My friend
read the chapter. I was astonished. I had never heard the like at any
public religious service. Many of the words were mispronounced and
entirely miscalled, and it would have been difficult to understand what
was meant, from his reading of the passage. But both his reading and
remarks were very well received, and I saw no one who seemed to notice
that there was anything out of the way with either. I followed him with
some remarks, and the meeting seemed to be greatly enjoyed by all. Then
began a very spirited contest as to where we should go and spend the
night. There were many claimants for the honor.

"You must go home with me," said one.

"No," said another, "you had Brother A---- when he was here, and you
can't have these preachers. They must go with me."

"No," said still another, "you've had the preachers a heap of times
since I have. I hain't had nary one in a long time, and they must go
hum and stay with me."

For myself, wearied as I was with the varied labors of the day, I
should have greatly preferred remaining with the family where I was.
But I left the matter for them to decide, and we soon started out, and
taking a footpath through the underbrush, among the large forest-trees,
we went in the darkness a mile or two, to an entirely new cabin. The
logs had been peeled, and it looked very clean and nice. A large fire
was soon blazing upon a hearth made of fresh earth, and roaring up a
chimney made of split sticks covered with mud. It was the home of a
young couple, who had but recently married and commenced housekeeping.
There were two beds in the room. We sat before the bright fire and
talked for some time, until I told them how weary I was, and they
pointed out the bed which the preacher and I were to occupy. The room
was new and bright, and the sense of cleanliness was most grateful
to my feelings. I thought that in that new house I should enjoy that
rare luxury in the cabins in the Brush, a nice, untenanted bed and
a pleasant sleep. As I turned down the blankets and moved my pillow
to adjust it, I saw what I at first thought was a drop of molasses
dried on the sheet. I impulsively moved my finger toward the spot
to ascertain what it was, and it ran! My pleasant dreams were all
banished, and I plunged in, in desperation, to share my bed with
such company as for months and years I had found in so many of the
log-houses in the Brush. The mild climate and the habits of the people
conspired to make the beds quite too populous and repulsive to be
described.

Though my meals were often such that only necessity compelled me to
partake of them, yet the want of beds fit to be occupied by a human
being, after my long, hard days' rides, was by far the greatest of
all my privations and trials in the Brush. If I were to describe all
that I have seen and endured in this matter, it would not only be
very unpleasant and repulsive reading, but would surpass belief with
all those not personally familiar with the country and the people
described.

After breakfast the next morning we walked back to the house where we
had first called and left our horses, and sat with the family until it
was time to leave for church. As we sat together, my clerical friend,
who was of an inquiring mind, turned to me and said, "How do you preach
the first seven verses of the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes?"

I must here say that, in common with the great majority of his class,
he used the word "preach" in the sense of "explain." My friend the
Rev. Dr. S.H. Tyng, of New York, once told me that while preaching in
a Southern State, in the early part of his ministry, a preacher of
this class made him a visit. Seeing a pile of manuscripts upon his
study-table, he inquired what they were, and was told that they were
sermons.

"Why!" said he, in astonishment, "how many texts can you preach?"

These men were accustomed to "study" a passage in their manner, and
form some opinions in regard to its meaning, and then they "preached"
(explained) it on all occasions, with the most positive assurance
in regard to the correctness of their views. Hence, when my friend
asked me how I "preached" the passage alluded to, he wished from me a
full exposition. Taking a Bible from the mantel-piece above the large
fireplace, he turned to the chapter and read the first verse, as he had
read the night before, and said to me, "How do you preach that?"

I gave my views of the passage in as few words as possible, and then he
proceeded at much greater length to tell how he "preached" it.

As he concluded, the good sister, who had listened with face all aglow
with delight, exclaimed: "Ah! Brother P---- has studied _that_!"

In this manner he read, and we gave our views of each of the seven
verses.

His "preach" was in each case much longer than mine, and invariably
drew from the attentively listening sister the fervent expression of
rapt admiration and delight: "Ah! Brother P---- has studied _that_!"

I am sorry that I can not tell my readers how he "preached" the entire
passage; but it was so utterly strange, and so entirely unlike anything
I had ever conceived of as possible to be said in explanation of
this or any other passage of Scripture, that I confess I was obliged
to exert myself to the utmost to maintain the gravity becoming my
position. If I had smiled, I should have given great offense to the
delighted sister, for no enthusiastic lady that I ever saw was more
proud of her pastor than she was of her preacher at that moment. So
earnest were my efforts to maintain my dignity, and not dishonor my
exalted position as an agent of the American Bible Society, that I
could not afterward recall his explanations but of two of the passages.
I will give but one of them: "'Or ever the silver cord be loosed.' The
doctors say that there is a cord that runs from the nape of the neck,
down the backbone, through the small of the back, into the heart, right
thar; and that when a man dies that cord always snaps: that is the
silver cord loosed."(!)

"Ah!" said the sister, her face radiant with delight, "Brother P----
has studied _that_!"

I will only add that this is a fair illustration of his explanations of
all the other verses. If I might moralize upon this subject, I would
repeat the opening sentence of this chapter: "I have very often thought
that the best work that could possibly be prepared in favor of an
educated ministry, would be to send stenographers throughout the Brush,
to make _verbatim_ reports of sermons that are actually preached, and
publish them in a volume." Soon after this exposition, we mounted our
horses and attended services at two different appointments, Brother
P---- preaching at one of them. About a year after this I saw him
regularly ordained to the full work of a minister of the gospel.

There are books containing "plans" or "skeletons" of sermons, and some
clergymen are said to make free use of them in the preparation of their
sermons. I will give one which may aid some limping preacher who needs
such helps, and hereby offer it as a contribution to the next volume of
skeleton sermons that may be compiled. The sermon was preached to quite
a large congregation in a grove, where I was present and occupied the
"stand" with the preacher. His text was Job xxvi, 14: "Lo, these are
parts of his ways: but how little a portion is heard of him? but the
thunder of his power who can understand?" After an introduction that
was quite as appropriate to any other verse in the Bible as to this,
the preacher said:

"In further discoursing upon this passage, I shall, in the first place,
review the chapter, and show what is meant by the word 'these.' I
shall, in the second place, mention some of the works of God. I shall,
in the third place, conclude, according to circumstances, light and
liberty being given."

I must say to my readers, in explanation of his "third place," that
the "plan" and effort in sermons, addresses to juries, political and
all other speeches in the Southwest, was to wind up with as grand and
stirring a conclusion as possible. Here the congregation was to be
deeply moved, the jury to be melted, and the crowd to demonstrate by
their applause how they would vote. These perorations often reminded
me of the manner in which the stage-coaches of the olden time used
to drive into my native village, in the days of my boyhood; when the
driver cracked his long whip, blew stirring blasts from his tin horn,
and his four horses rushed up to the village tavern on the jump, his
noisy demonstrations startling all the villagers. It was so with these
sermons and speeches. However lame and limping in their progress, there
was always, if possible, a rousing conclusion, a demonstrative drive
into town. Hence, my clerical friend did not wish to embarrass himself
by announcing definitely what he would say in his conclusion; but left
himself free to soar and roar "according to circumstances, light and
liberty being given." He went through with his sermon according to his
"plan," but his conclusion did not arouse and move his audience like
many that I have heard.

I have already spoken of the genial friend to whom I sold my faithful
horse, and of the accounts that he gave me of the preachers he had
known and the preaching he had heard. He told me that upon one occasion
he heard the funeral sermon of a child preached from the text, "Write,
Blessed are the dead," etc. The preacher was so ignorant in regard to
spelling that he supposed the "write" in the text was "right," not
wrong, and he endeavored to comfort the parents by showing them that it
was "right" that people should suffer affliction, "right" that their
children should sicken and die, and that all the Lord's dealings with
his people were "right."

On another occasion he attended a meeting where a number of ministers
were present, and the opening sermon was preached by an old
acquaintance and friend, who owned a good plantation, a number of
slaves, and for many years preached regularly on alternate Sabbaths
to two quite large congregations. There are many thousands of people
who rarely, if ever, hear a sermon from an educated minister.
These people have strong and well-defined notions as to the kind of
preaching that suits them. If the preacher ranges extensively over
the Bible, and quotes a great deal of Scripture without any regard
to its appropriateness or connection with the text, they say of him
approvingly: "He's a Scripter preacher. He's not a larnt man, but he's
a real Scripter preacher." Hence, many of these preachers range over
both the Old and New Testaments in every sermon, and quote as much as
they can, with as little connection as a page in the dictionary.

The preacher on this occasion took for his text the words: "The name
of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous runneth into it, and is
safe." He described these towers as places of safety, ranged through
the Old Testament, and, coming down to the New, said: "The world
was then in an awful condition; there were no towers, no places of
safety! The whole generation was without a tower! You may say: 'How
do you know this is so? You haven't much learning. You haven't read
many histories.' Ah! but I've got Scripter for it. I don't want any
histories when I've got the Bible for it. Here it is. Peter, preaching
to them on the day of Pentecost, said, 'Save yourselves from this
untowered generation.'"

After the meeting "broke," and they mounted their horses to ride to
dinner, my old friend said to the preacher:

"Why, Brother Mansfield, you made a great mistake in your sermon this
morning."

"Mistake!" said he, "what was it, Brother Roach?"

"Why, that about the 'untowered generation.' It is not untowered,"
said he; "it is untoward. It is, 'Save yourselves from this untoward
generation.'"

The preacher dropped his head, thought a moment, and then said:

"There can't be any mistake about that. Why, I've preached it that way
more than a dozen times."

When they reached the house where they were to dine, they found a
dictionary, and that was appealed to to settle the matter. Alas, that
the verdict spoiled a favorite sermon!

I was about as much astonished at the facts I heard in regard to the
salaries that were paid to these preachers, with all the formalities of
a regular contract, as at anything I ever learned in regard to their
preaching. I once occupied the pulpit with one of them, in a church
which was a large, barn-like brick structure, having four doors, one
near each corner, for the ingress and egress of the congregation.
This preacher was a great favorite in the region, with both the white
and colored people, and was familiarly known as "Jimmy B----." He had
stentorian lungs, was wonderfully voluble, and his sing-song "holy
tone" was most delightful to his audience. It was a warm summer day,
and the house was packed with whites dressed in butternut jeans, and
groups of colored people were standing outside near each open window.
It was a monthly service, and all seemed to enjoy it greatly.

In the afternoon, after the custom of the Southwest, he preached to
the "servants," and I again occupied a seat in the pulpit with him.
His colored audience was moved by his stentorian voice and avalanche
of words to the extremest excitement and joy. At the conclusion of his
sermon they could not separate without singing some of their "breaking"
songs, and all marching by the pulpit and shaking hands with the
preachers. This hand-shaking was one of the most marked features of
their religious services, and these "breaking" or parting exercises
have afforded me the opportunity of hearing the grandest, wildest, most
beautiful and genuine African melodies to which I have ever listened.
As I was a "visiting brother," I was entitled to as warm and cordial
a greeting as the one who had preached. The leader commenced a hymn
familiar to the large audience, and they began to sing and move in
procession by the low pulpit where we were standing, shaking hands with
each of us as they passed. As the long procession filed by, their dark
faces shining with delight, the music arose louder, wilder, and more
exciting, until they seemed entirely unconscious of the strength of the
grip they gave my poor, suffering hand. I was unwilling to mar their
joy by withdrawing it altogether, and, to save it from being utterly
crushed, I resorted to the expedient of suddenly clutching the end
of the fingers of each hand that was extended to me by the excited
and happy singers, and so they were unable to give me their vise-like
squeeze, and I escaped comparatively unharmed. The hand-shaking ended,
the meeting "broke," and they all dispersed, masters and slaves highly
delighted with the preacher and all the services of the day.

My host upon this occasion was the hotel-keeper of the place. In
talking with him about the great popularity of this preacher, he said
that, if equally extended notice should be given that he would preach
there on one Sabbath, and the Rev. Dr. Young, the learned and eloquent
President of the college at Danville, would preach there on another,
Jimmy B---- would call together the largest audience. At another place,
when quite a number of persons were present, reference was made to the
salary that was received by this popular favorite. I made particular
inquiries upon this subject, and learned that the church negotiated
with him to preach for them one Sabbath each month during the year, for
one dollar a Sabbath. Hence, they paid him twelve dollars a year for
one fourth of his time. Some of them thought that as neither he nor any
other good hand could at that time get more than fifty cents a day for
mauling rails, hoeing corn, or any other labor, this salary was rather
excessive; but in consideration of the fact that he had to leave home
on Saturday evening in order to meet his appointment, and furnish his
own riding-nag, they magnanimously voted him the full dollar a Sunday,
"for one fourth of his time." I was informed that he preached to other
churches, but did not learn that any of them paid him a larger salary.
In another place that I visited, the Rev. James L---- had preached to
the same church twenty-one years, and he said the largest sum he had
ever received for preaching in any one year was twenty dollars, and he
had often received less than ten dollars! Very many of these churches
were entirely satisfied if they had regular preaching once a month.
In riding through the Brush, I used often to gratify my curiosity
by making inquiries in regard to the salaries received by those who
preached in the churches that I passed. Once, in riding late in the
evening, I overtook--or, in the vernacular of the region, "met up
with"--a boy some twelve or fourteen years old, who was riding a mule.
After exchanging "howd'ys," I found him very loquacious, and disposed
to enlighten me in regard to everything in the neighborhood. I asked
him what salary they paid their preacher. "Oh!" said he, "they pay the
one they have got now right smart. They give him a dollar and a half a
Sunday."

We passed a church where the members washed one another's feet at each
communion. I made some inquiries in regard to the ceremony, and he told
me the brethren washed only the brethren's feet, and the sisters the
sisters' feet. I told him that I supposed they only sprinkled water
upon their feet--they did not wash much. "Oh!" said he, "sometimes
they gets happy, and washes right hard." I had spent a Sabbath at a
meeting in the woods with the poet of this denomination, and purchased
of him a hymn-book that he had been duly authorized to compile and
publish for them, containing some hymns that he had written to be sung
at these feet-washing services. He was one of the most illiterate men
I ever met. I regret to say that I have lost the book, and can not
transcribe some of these original hymns for the benefit of my readers.
I had a good deal of conversation with this "poet," and he told me he
was at the time engaged in teaching school. I afterward met the school
commissioner, a lawyer, at the county-seat, who had examined him and
given him his license to teach, and rallied him jocosely for giving a
man that was so ignorant, authority to teach a public school.

"Oh!" said he, "I only certified that he was competent to teach _in
that neighborhood_."

For years I was accustomed to avail myself of every opportunity of
hearing these illiterate preachers, both white and colored, consistent
with my other duties. It was a new and interesting study to me.
Sometimes I got rare kernels of wheat in the midst of a great deal of
chaff, rich nuggets of gold among a great deal of sand and rubbish;
and I always felt more than repaid for the time thus expended. It
was interesting to observe the workings of minds, often of superior
natural powers, in their attempts to elucidate the Scriptures. It
was especially strange to hear them render any Scripture narrative,
entirely in their own Brush vernacular. I have often regretted that I
did not take down many of these narratives of Bible facts at the time
I heard them. But the unusual sight of a person thus employed in a
congregation would attract more attention than the preacher himself,
and I was therefore unwilling to do it. But I can give my readers a
very correct idea of these narratives.

In riding through a very rough, wild region, I fell in company with a
gentleman on horseback, and rode some distance with him. He told me
that a preacher, who was so illiterate that it was with the greatest
difficulty that he could study out a chapter in the Bible, sometimes
preached in a log school-house in his neighborhood, and he had heard
him the Sabbath before. It was in a region where a rough-and-tumble
fight would attract more attention than anything else. The preacher
had a theme of the deepest interest to himself and the most of his
congregation. This gentleman gave me quite a full outline of the
discourse, and I write it out from his description, and fill it up as
my extended acquaintance with these people, and knowledge of their
vernacular, derived from years of constant mingling with them, enable
me to do.

"Last week, my breethrin, as I was a-readin' my Bible, I found a story
of a big fight (1 Samuel, xvii). It was powerful interestin', and I
studied it 'most all the week. There was two armies campin' on two
mountains right fornenst each other; and a holler and, I reckon, some
good bottom-land and a medder-lot lying between 'em. In one of the
armies there was a big feller--a whoppin', great, big feller--and every
day he went down into the medder-lot and looked up the hill to t'other
camp, and jest dared 'em! He told 'em to pick their best man and send
him down, and he'd fight him. And he jest strutted around there in
his soger-close, and waited for 'em to send on their man. And such
soger-close I never heerd tell on afore. He had a brass cap and brass
trousers, and a coat made like mail-bags where they are all ironed and
riveted together. But the fellers in t'other camp just clean flunked.
They darn't fight the big feller, nary one of 'em. They jest all
sneaked away, and the big feller he went back to camp. But he didn't
quit thar, the big feller didn't. He was spilin' for a fight, and he
was bound to have it. He jest went down into the bottom-land, into the
medder-lot, every day, mornin' and evenin', and dared 'em and dared
'em. I tell you he did pester 'em mightily. The old feller, Saul, the
gineral, he felt more chawed up and meaner than the sogers, and, when
he couldn't stan' it no longer, he told the boys if any of 'em would
go down and lick that big feller he'd give him his gal, and a right
smart chance of plunder. But they was all so skeer'd that even that
didn't start one of 'em. The big feller went down and dared 'em and
pestered 'em more'n a month--forty days, the Bible says. I don't know
what they'd a-done if it hadn't a-be'n that a peart little feller had
come down to camp one day to fetch some extra rations to his three big
brothers that their old dad had sent to 'em from home. Kind old pap
he was, and sharp, too, for he sent along a big present to the boys'
cap'en. Well, jest as little brother drove up, they was all gwine out
to fight, and the little feller left his traps with the driver, legged
it after the sogers, and told his big brothers howd'y. Right thar the
old big feller come out and dared 'em agin, and they was all so skeer'd
that they jest run like mad. The little feller heerd him, and then went
back into camp and heerd all the sogers talking about him, and what
the old gineral would give to have him licked. He asked 'em a heap of
questions about it all, and big brother he got mad at him, and twitted
him about keeping sheep, and give him a right smart of sass. He was
plucky, but you see he had to stan' it, 'cause 'twas big brother. Big
brothers are mighty mean sometimes.

"But the little feller talked a heap with the other sogers, and they
told the old gineral about him, and he told them to tell the little
feller to come and see him. The little feller was mighty plucky, and
he jest up and told the old Gineral Saul that _he'd fight the big
feller_! The gineral looked at the handsome little feller--he was raal
handsome--and ses he, kinder softly, I reckon, and shakin' his head:
'It's too big a job; you're only a chunk of a boy, and he's an old
fighter.' The little feller spunked up and told the old gineral that
he'd had one b'ar-fight, and he'd killed the b'ar. He said there was an
old lion and a b'ar got among his dad's sheep, and was gwine off with a
lamb. He broke for 'im, and as soon as he met up with the old b'ar he
lamm'd him, till the b'ar turned on him for a hug; but he got one hand
into the long ha'r, under his jaw, and he lamm'd him with the other
till he was dead. He'd killed the lion and the b'ar, and he know'd he
was enough for the old big feller.

"Then the little feller talked raal religious to the old gineral. You
see he'd got religion afore that, and he know'd that the Lord would
help a feller, if he was all right, and got in a tight place. He told
Gineral Saul that the Lord had made him mighty supple, and looked out
for him when the old lion and b'ar tried to get their paws into him;
and he knew he'd see him through the fight with the old big feller; for
_he_ was jest darin' 'em and pesterin' 'em to make game of religion.
When the old gineral seed he was so plucky, _and_ religious too, he
know'd them's the kind that fit powerful, and he told him to go in, and
he made a little pra'r for him hisself. Then the old gineral put his
own soger-close on the little feller, and strapped his sword on to him.
But they was all a heap too big, and he shucked 'em off d'rectly, and
made for a dry branch down in the bottom. There he hunted five little
rocks, smooth as a hen-egg, put 'em in a little bag where he carried
his snack when he was a-tendin' the sheep, got his sling fixed all
right, and hurried up to meet the old big feller in the medder-lot.
When he seed him comin' he was powerful mad they'd sent down such a
little feller, and jawed awful. But the little feller jest talked back
religious, and kept his eye peeled. And I _reckon_ the big feller
couldn't a be'n a lookin'. I've studied a heap on it, and I jest know
the big feller couldn't a-be'n a-lookin'; for the little feller got out
his sling, and drew away, and shied a little rock at him, and he popped
him, and down he tumbled. Then the little feller rushed up and mounted
on him, jest as an old hunter loves to get on a b'ar after he's shot
him; and he out with the big feller's long sword and off with his head.
Then it was them Philistine sinners' turn to be skeer'd, and they broke
for the brush; and all them chil'en of Israel fellers jest shouted and
chased 'em clean over the mountain into a valley, and then com'd back
and got all their camp-plunder.

"My breethrin, that's the best story of a fight I ever read after; and
you can't buy no better story-book than this 'ere Bible."

If the facts presented in this chapter make a draft on the credence of
any of my readers that they find it difficult to honor, I respectfully
commend to them the study of the late United States census, especially
its portrayal of the illiteracy of the late slave States. The figures
are as humiliating as they are startling. They seem at length to be
forcing themselves upon the attention of the President, Congress, and
the country. But no figures can ever make any such impression as the
actual personal contact I have had with thousands of these people in
their own homes, since the commencement of my labors among them in 1843.

But my account of "Old-Time Illiterate Preachers in the Southwest"
would be very incomplete if it did not include some of the notable


NEGRO PREACHERS OF THE OLD RÉGIME.

I used to take great interest in hearing them preach, and availed
myself of every possible opportunity to do so, consistent with my
duties. Many of these preachers were very devout and godly men. They
had good judgment, strong native sense, and exerted a great influence
over the slaves, which was highly appreciated by their masters. They
also gratified in a measure the religious instincts of the slaves, by
officiating at their weddings and funerals.

One of the largest, most orderly, and impressive funeral processions
that I have ever witnessed, was that of an old negro preacher at
Lexington, Kentucky, who had been the pastor of a large colored church
in that city for many years. It was upon a Sabbath afternoon, during a
meeting of the Synod of Kentucky, which I was attending. Hundreds of
slaves came in from the surrounding country, and it was estimated that
there were from two to three thousand in the procession. Nearly every
family-carriage in the city and the surrounding country was in the
line, occupied by the "family servants." These carriages were sent by
the owners, as their tribute to the old preacher for his great and good
influence over their slaves. The most of the men marched some four or
six abreast, with slow and solemn tread, and that silent awe to which
their natures are so susceptible in the presence of death.

I knew another negro preacher, and often heard him address his people,
for whom I had the profoundest respect. He was a devout and saintly
man, and his dignified port and bearing were those of a born gentleman.
He was often engaged the whole week "attending masons." I have often
met him as he was driving a horse, sitting upon a wagon-load of mortar,
thoroughly bespattered, and received from him a bow so easy, dignified,
and graceful, that many a Governor and Congressman that I have known
might well covet his distinguished bearing.

Upon one occasion I heard him preach a sermon to his congregation,
enforcing the duty of keeping their hearts pure and free from all
evil thoughts, when he abruptly broke forth: "But you say, 'I can't,
I can't. These bad thoughts come to me, and I can't help it.' I know
you can't help it," said he, "and I know, too, that you can't help the
birds dying over your heads; but you can help their building nests in
your ha'r" (hair).

The public political, theological, and other discussions, that I
have already described in this volume, developed a love of religious
controversy in the Southwest such as I have never known among any other
people.

The negroes were echoes and imitators of the whites in this respect
as in others. Morning services were for the white congregations, but
slaves usually attended them, often in large numbers. The afternoons
were mostly given up to the colored people, and they were free to
attend religious services, whether they were ministered to by white
or negro preachers. If there was a public discussion, or any special
interest or excitement upon any subject at the morning service, that
was almost certain to be the theme of the negro preacher's discourse to
his afternoon audience.

The overwhelming majority of colored church-members were either
Baptists or Methodists. The differences of these churches in doctrinal
belief were the theme of almost endless controversy between the colored
champions and defenders of these opposing creeds.

Some of these discussions were original and spicy, beyond anything I
have ever heard of in the line of theological controversy. I will give
a few characteristic illustrations.

I had preached in the morning at a small county-seat village, and
after dinner set out, with a venerable and estimable Methodist "local
preacher," to attend his afternoon appointment. After a ride of several
miles, we reached the brow of a very deep and narrow ravine, which we
were to cross. At the moment of our arrival a venerable, gray-haired
black man, mounted upon a fine horse, appeared upon the opposite brow.
At the first sight of him I turned to my companion and said:

"That must be a brother preacher."

"Oh, yes," said he, "he is a very distinguished preacher. He is the
champion and defender of the Methodist Church among the colored people
in all this region. He is an old and favorite family servant, and his
master, who is a graduate of West Point, allows him to use that fine
horse in going to his afternoon appointments."

As we passed him, he returned "the bow professional" with a dignity and
a Methodistic swing that would have done honor to such old itinerants
as Bishop Asbury and Bishop Soule. Such was my first acquaintance with
the Rev. Nathan Board, whose controversial exploits I am about to
relate. As we rode on, my friend informed me that upon one occasion,
when Nathan was present at a Baptist church at a communion, the
preacher, in giving the reason why they did not invite those of other
denominations who were present to commune with them, said:

"We are not alone and singular in the fact that we do not invite you
all to commune with us. Presbyterians fence the tables. Methodists
fence the tables. All other denominations fence the tables. They do
not allow anybody and everybody to commune with them. We all fence the
tables. The only difference is, that the Baptist fence is a little
higher than any of the others."

In the afternoon Nathan preached to his people, and as some of them had
been present in the morning and heard this address, he had to answer it
for their benefit. After repeating the whole address, he said:

"Now, my bruddren, I'd rather have a low fence and a tight one, than a
high fence and a good many holes in it."

As these Baptists were of the anti-mission class, who opposed an
educated and paid ministry, Sabbath-schools, Bible societies, and all
mission enterprises, but favored good Bourbon, Nathan's reply was
regarded as decidedly personal, and some of them thought he ought to be
"whooped" (whipped) for his impudence.

A few weeks after this I reached a county-seat village upon the Ohio
River, and learned that it had recently been the theatre of a very
exciting theological controversy among the slaves.

A colored Baptist preacher, of great reputation among his brethren
for boldness and polemical skill as the champion and defender of his
denomination, a Calvinist of the stern John Knox order, became greatly
excited on account of what he esteemed the heretical doctrines and bad
influence of Methodism. After mature deliberation, he determined that
he would wage against it a war of extermination in the community.

Having formed this resolution, for successive Sabbaths he labored in
the work, and discharged his batteries with most telling effect. His
victory was a signal one. Arminianism was overwhelmed--the Methodists
were completely routed. They had no preacher that they dared to put
up to answer their opponent, and they could only manfully acknowledge
that they were beaten for the present, and adjourn their defense to
some future day. I was only able to learn the manner in which he
discussed the antagonistic Arminian and Calvinistic doctrines of
"falling from grace," and the "perseverance of the saints." But, if
that was a specimen of the entire discussion, any one at all acquainted
with slave preaching, with the frequent use made by these preachers
of _illustrations_ and _comparisons_, and the great effects produced
by them upon the minds of the slaves, can well understand how this
preacher had such power over his audience. It was as follows:

"De Methodiss, my bruddren, is like de grasshopper--hoppin', all de
time hoppin'--hop into heaven, hop out, hop into heaven, hop out. But,
my bruddren, de Baptiss, when he get to heaven, _he's dar_! De Baptiss
is like de 'possum. Hunter get after him, he climb de tree; he shake de
limb, one foot gone; he shake de limb, anudder foot gone; he shake de
limb, ebbery foot gone; but tink you, my bruddren, _'possum fall_? You
know, my bruddren--you cotch too many--you know _'possum hang on by de
tail_, and de berry debbil can't shake him off!"

The head Methodists, after many conferences, concluded that they would
make one desperate effort to save their cause. After discussing the
merits of all their preachers far and near, they decided to send for
the Rev. Nathan Board, the veteran war-horse in theological polemics I
have already introduced to my readers. This venerable preacher of the
olden time was a genuine African, and entered his profession before
it was fashionable for those of his class to learn to read; but he
had a strong memory, which made up somewhat for this "defect" in his
education, and, if he could not remember the very thing that he wished
to repeat, he could always remember _something_; and, therefore, he was
never at a loss for a quotation from Scripture, or an illustration.

The appointed Sabbath arrived, and Nathan was on the ground. The
intense excitement among the blacks had aroused the curiosity of the
whites, and there was a general turnout of white and black to hear
Nathan's defense. His brethren had in private gone over all the strong
points that had been made by their opponent, had given him a graphic
and glowing picture of the utterly prostrate condition of their
cause, and with the eloquence of the deepest feeling had endeavored
to impress him with the magnitude of the interests involved in his
success or failure. Nathan was greatly excited, but he was confident of
his ability to meet the emergency. He had not read books, but in the
previous fifty years he had witnessed many a fierce and bitter contest
between successive Governors, Congressmen, and others, in their hot
race for office, and his polemical tastes had made him a close observer
of the various methods of meeting and overwhelming an opponent. That my
readers may understand what follows, I must premise that the American
Bible Union, under the presidency of the Rev. Spencer H. Cone, D.D.,
was at the time very earnestly engaged in the revision of the Bible;
that the Baptist churches in the Southwest very generally coöperated
in this work; that pastors of churches and agents of the society were
urging its necessity, and soliciting collections in its aid; and that
the other denominations were very generally defending King James's
translation, and opposing the new version. Hence the question was the
subject of almost universal discussion by the white clergymen; and, as
I have already said, the colored preachers were but their echoes--they
all felt called upon to enlighten their congregations upon this, as
upon all other questions.

Having gone through the preliminary services, Nathan arose and
commenced his sermon as follows:

"My bruddren, I has been sent for to come here and preach, and, when I
gets t'rough, you'll t'ink I _has_ preached. You'll find my text, if my
memory sarve me, in de book of de Revolution: 'For de great day of his
raff is come, and who do you t'ink is gwine to stand?'"

Nathan was too full to spend any time in introduction. He broke out at
once, in the most emphatic manner: "And do you t'ink, my bruddren, de
Baptiss will den be able to stand?" Shutting his eyes and shaking his
head most dubiously, with his peculiar guttural "Umph! ah! my Lord! and
you'll see 'em paddling den. All de water in de Ohio River won't save
'em den; dey'll call for de rocks and de mountains to fall on 'em in
dat great day of his _raff_, and I'll tell you, my bruddren, dat a hot
rock will be a mighty tight place for a Baptiss."

Having thus given vent to his feelings, in imitation of Cicero's
immortal philippic against Catiline, he proceeded with more
deliberation and at great length to review the entire ground that had
been traveled over by his theological assailant.

The grasshopper, the 'possum, and all the other strong points were
taken up and disposed of to the entire satisfaction of his brethren.
The stunning blows that he had dealt in his opening passage were
followed by others, scarcely less telling, all the way through to the
peroration. Already he saw in the faces of his audience undoubted
evidence of the success of his efforts, and he was flushed with
victory. His tone became triumphant, if not overbearing. His bitterness
and severity would surely have been entirely inexcusable, but for
the excitement he was under from the terrible provocation. That
"grasshopper" comparison was the most damaging assault upon Methodism,
the most crushing blow to Arminianism, that he had ever been called
upon to repel, in all the long years of his ministry. That of itself
was enough to fire all the blood of this old theological war-horse.
And then to follow that with the "'possum"--that was the crowning
indignity--that was a Calvinistic blow administered to an already
crushed and fallen foe, which Nathan's Arminian blood was fired to
punish to the very utmost extent of his power. In Nathan's intense
admiration for his Master he had, with the extraordinary imitative
powers of his race, taken on, in addition to the clerical, a very
decided military bearing. In his composite character, he represented
the dignity of the bishop and the boldness and dash of the successful
general. He was, therefore, a very striking representative of the
"church militant," and he put into the remainder of his defense the
concentrated polemical power of the two professions. He proceeded:

"De Baptiss, my bruddren, is in such a gone case, dey is in such a
mighty tight fix, dat de ole Bible--de Bible dat all de faders and
mudders have gone to heaven wid--de Bible dat dey used to love such
a heap--de ole Bible dat fill us wid de hebbenly fire all de way
along de road to Canaan--dat ole Bible, my bruddren, is no account
any more to de Baptiss, and dey say dat the Baptiss is a gwine to get
up a new deversion. In de ole Bible it reads, if my memory sarve me,
'In dose days came John de Baptiss.' Dey say in de new deversion its
gwine to read, 'In dose days came John de Immerser'--_'tain't dar_,
my bruddren. In de ole Bible it reads, if my memory sarve me, 'He
shall baptize you wid de Holy Ghost and wid de fire.' Dey say dat in
de new deversion it's gwine to read, 'He shall _immerse_ you wid de
Holy Ghost and wid de fire'--_tain't dar_, my bruddren! Immersin' wid
fire, my bruddren!--immersin' wid fire! Who ever read in de Bible 'bout
immersin' wid fire, _only_ dem chil'en of de three Hebrewsers? Dey was
immersed wid fire--dem three Hebrewsers dat was put into de furnace,
heated seven times hot by de dedict of Nebuckefalus--what you call 'em
now" (scratching his head)--"Shamrack, Shimshack, and Bedgone. Dey ar
all dat we read in de Bible 'bout bein' immersed wid fire."

This was the finishing blow. Nathan sat down. The excitement and joy of
his brethren were unbounded. They shouted, danced, shook hands, hugged,
and yielded themselves up to that perfect luxury of excited, joyous
feeling of which they alone seem capable.

My esteemed friend the late Rev. W.W. Hill, D.D., to whom my readers
are indebted for the story of the candidate and his Greek quotations,
gave me the following facts, illustrating the argumentative power of an
old-time slave preacher:

At the commencement of the Doctor's ministry he was for several years
the pastor of a church that had been founded in the early history of
the State, and ministered to for a lifetime by a distinguished Scotch
minister. He had indoctrinated the entire community, and built up a
very strong Presbyterian church. Dr. Hill, who was a native of the
State, and greatly interested in the colored people, was very often
invited to preach to a colored Baptist church in the afternoon, which
he always did with the greatest pleasure. It is perhaps not known to
all my readers that the slaves always assumed and stoutly maintained
among themselves the relative social rank and position of their
masters. If the master was a President, Governor, Member of Congress,
Judge, or a man of large wealth, all his slaves participated in his
honors, and often bore them more conspicuously and proudly than he did.

It so happened that in Dr. Hill's congregation the families of highest
social position were Presbyterians. Some of the slaves, quite naturally
for them, got the impression that the Presbyterian Church was "de
'ristoratic church," and thought it would be a nice thing if they could
have a Presbyterian church for the colored people. But they were all
thoroughly indoctrinated in the Baptist creed--and there was the rub.
"Christ went down _into_ the water, and came up _out_ of the water."
That, in their minds, was the hard thing to be overcome. But the desire
to attain social elevation through church relations has often caused
other than colored people to make extraordinary struggles, and they
were willing to put forth the effort. After many conferences upon the
subject among themselves, they concluded to invite Dr. Hill to preach
on the subject of baptism, and explain and defend the Presbyterian
views. They accordingly called on him, and presented their request,
which surprised him very much. He said to them:

"I have preached for you, whenever you have invited me, for several
years, and you all know that I have never said one word upon the
subject of baptism. I do not like to do it now. The people will not
understand it, and will think I am trying to proselyte you."

But they told him that they had been appointed a committee to invite
him to preach on the subject, and that it would be understood by all
that he preached on baptism at their request. Upon this statement
he accepted the invitation and afterward preached for them as
requested. But his effort was a decided failure; he did not "move de
difficulties." "Christ went down _into_ the water, and came up _out_
of the water." That was still the great stumbling-block in the way of
the organization of a Presbyterian church for the colored people. Some
weeks afterward Judge Green, of Danville, Kentucky, drove over in his
family carriage to make a visit and spend a Sabbath with some of his
friends in this congregation.

It soon became noised abroad among the slaves that the _driver_ of this
distinguished jurist was not only, like his master, a Presbyterian, but
he was a noted Presbyterian preacher.[4]

The committee who had invited Dr. Hill to make the effort that proved
so unsuccessful, at once waited upon their distinguished visitor, and
invited him to preach to them upon the subject of baptism. He was from
Danville, the seat of a Presbyterian college, the Jerusalem of the
Presbyterian Church in Kentucky. Hence the honor of that Church among
the colored people of that State was largely in his keeping, and he
appreciated his responsibilities. He accepted the invitation promptly,
and, like the Rev. Nathan Board, he was confident and eager to stand
forth as the champion of his church. He was greeted with a large
congregation, and his effort was a decided success.

Some days after, Dr. Hill met some of the committee, and said to them:

"I understand that this colored Presbyterian minister from Danville
preached on baptism last Sunday, and that he has made the whole matter
entirely clear and satisfactory to you all."

They assured him that that was true.

"Now," said the Doctor, "that seems very strange to me. You all profess
to like my preaching, and are generally full of compliments and thanks
for my sermons. I have done my very best for you on this subject of
baptism. I have told you all I know--all I have learned from Hebrew and
Greek--and it did not do one bit of good. And now this colored minister
from Danville preaches to you, and beats me entirely. He makes the
whole subject plain and satisfactory to you. Can you tell me what he
said?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" they responded. "His tex' was, 'My sheep hears
my voice, and I knows them, and dey follows me.' Den he said, 'In de
Bible de Christians is de sheep.' He had a heap of Bible on dat p'int,
and he preached a mighty long time and make dat so strong, no nigger
can't 'spute it. And den he said, mighty strong, 'Now, my bruddren and
sisters, you all knows you can't get a sheep into de water nohow,
'less you cotch him and carries him in.' And, preacher, you knows dat
is so yourself."

I give these truthful sketches of old-time slave preachers and
preaching in the hope that others may follow my example, and preserve
as many as possible of these illustrations of a state of things now
rapidly passing away, through the labors of an educated ministry.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: I do not know that I need to say that these slave
preachers were not regularly licensed and ordained by any
ecclesiastical body. They simply assumed the profession, and were
recognized as preachers among their own people.]




CHAPTER XV.

"ORTONVILLE"; OR, THE UNIVERSAL POWER OF SACRED SONG.


I have a distinct recollection of the circumstances of my first
acquaintance with "Ortonville," a piece of sacred music by the late
Professor Thomas Hastings. It was more than forty years ago. The church
choir in my native place, a small country village in western New
York, had gone down to that sad pass, that for several Sabbaths the
alternative was either to have no singing at all, or a maiden lady, a
veteran member of the choir, must "pitch the tune." This, even in the
estimation of the most staid and least nervous of the congregation, was
quite too bad; and the matter was taken up and talked over in earnest
at the village store, where all matters public and private pertaining
to the neighborhood and town were discussed, and public sentiment on
all questions was regulated, like the price of stocks at a board of
brokers. The result of this discussion was, that a subscription-paper
was started, and a singing-master employed for one evening each week
during the winter, who, according to immemorial custom, was paid three
dollars an evening for his services, and the school was free to all who
were disposed to attend.

A country singing-school--who, that has ever attended one, is not
carried back to some of the most delightful scenes of his earlier
years by the mere mention of the name? What visions of early playmates
and schoolmates, of bright moonlight rides, with the merry chimes of
bells and shouts of joyous hearts, as group after group from different
families was gathered for the school, and crowded into the capacious
sleigh--mothers' warm, home-made mittens, stockings, and flannels,
and all the buffalo-robes in the neighborhood, bidding defiance
to an atmosphere at zero! And then the frank, unstudied greetings
and companionship at the village church; the lighting of candles
that each one had brought from home (no lamps or sextons in those
days); the first essays, of each pupil alone, at the ascending and
descending scale, with this one's failure and that one's success; the
coquettings and rivalries of the "intermission," and the successful
and unsuccessful offers of the youthful beaux to "go home with the
girls" at the close of the school--these and a thousand other pleasant
memories come thronging upon the mind at the remembrance of a country
singing-school!

We had spent several evenings upon the rudiments, singing from the
blackboard; the teacher had decided that the old books would not do
(what singing-school teacher since that day, in view of his commissions
on the new book, has failed to reach the same conclusion?); and we had
obtained the "Manhattan Collection," which was just then a candidate
for public favor. Several of the old members of the choir were standing
in a group, during an "intermission," expressing their opinions on the
merits of the new book, when Deacon Arnold said to the teacher:

"Here is a new tune I should like to have you look at--'Ortonville.' I
have hummed it over, and it seems a very good one."

The teacher glanced over it, said they would try it, and very soon the
school were singing--

  "Majestic sweetness sits enthroned,"

as those words have been sung a thousand times to the sweet and simple
notes of--

[Illustration:

  ORTONVILLE. C.M.       Thomas Hastings, Mus. Doc.

  Ma-jes-tic sweet-ness sits enthroned
  Up-on the Sav-iour's brow:
  His head with radiant glory crowned,
  His lips with grace o'erflow,
  His lips with grace o'erflow.]

Such was my first acquaintance with this piece of sacred music. Little
did I then think that it was an acquaintance I was to meet in such
different and distant parts of the world, in so many and such varied
circumstances, and that was to afford me such peculiar pleasure.

I need hardly say that "Ortonville" became at once a favorite with
our school. The new scholars were most apt to strike upon it, if they
happened to be in a mood for singing, as they were busy at their
winter's tasks--foddering the cattle and other stock at the barn,
watering the horses, carrying in the wood for the evening and morning
fires in the ample old-fashioned fireplaces, or doing any little chores
about the house.

The teacher was pretty sure to select it if the minister or influential
members of the congregation came in to see how the school was getting
along; as, somehow, they always seemed to be in better time and tune,
and do more for the credit of the school, and the satisfaction of those
who had raised the subscription, when they sang this, than in singing
any other tune. Very soon it was sung everywhere, and those who could
sing at all had learned it by rote, at least, as a necessity. The choir
were not only better satisfied with themselves, but the minister seemed
to preach with more animation, when "Ortonville" was sung upon the
Sabbath, and prayer-meetings that were dull and uninteresting would
take a new start when "Ortonville" was started. For not only all the
new singers could sing, but all the old men and women who had been
members of the choir when the country was first settled, and the hardy
Puritan pioneers, in the absence of a minister, had what were called
"deacon-meetings," the school-master, or whoever was regarded as the
best reader in the settlement, reading a sermon.

It was not long before it was found out that we were not alone in our
admiration of the new favorite. In the adjoining towns, wherever the
singing-schools were using the "Manhattan Collection," they had fallen
upon this tune and were singing it just as we were.

Before our singing-school closed I left home to pursue my academic,
collegiate, and theological studies, and for a few years following,
in connection with my residence at different places, and my travels
in different Northern States, I again and again had opportunities of
observing that in cities as well as in the country, in centers of
intelligence and refinement as well as at my rural home, there was
something in "Ortonville" calculated to interest nearly every class
of mind, and make it, as soon as it was known in any place, a popular
favorite.

With these elements, and our national habit of never sparing our
favorites, but pressing them into service for the time, _ad nauseam_,
those who heard it once in any place were sure to hear it, to say the
least, until they "had heard enough of it," and then it was consigned
to comparative neglect.

For a long time I had heard it but rarely; the feeling of dislike at
its frequent repetition had worn off, and it again possessed not only
its original interest, but was thick clustering with pleasant memories
of home, and many of the happiest scenes of my life. I was at length
in the interior of a distant Southern State, an invalid, alone, and
doubtful of the future. Sabbath came, and with kind, new-found friends,
I rode through the pines over a sandy road to a plain, unpainted
church, standing in the midst of a piny wood, and bearing the name
"Mount Zion." In the rear of this building, comfortably seated and
sheltered, a large congregation of slaves was assembled, who were
listening to the instructions of an earnest and faithful minister of
the gospel. He had just finished reading a hymn as I reached the place,
and an old negro slave rose to lead the singing. The lines were given
out one by one, and as every voice in that large company seemed to join
in the song, never did "Ortonville" sound more sweetly than as it then
broke unexpectedly upon my ear. With their rich, melodious voices, and
the enthusiasm peculiar to the African, they seemed to pour out all
their souls, and, as they sang through the hymn, and those familiar
sounds resounded through the grove, the effect upon my feelings can be
more easily imagined than described.

During my stay in this neighborhood, a slave died upon one of the
plantations, and I was told that I would have an opportunity of
witnessing one of their favorite funerals. In those portions of the
South where the plantations were largest, and the slaves the most
numerous, they were very fond of burying their dead at night, and as
near midnight as possible. In case of a funeral, they assembled in
large numbers from adjoining plantations, provided with pine-knots,
and pieces of fat pine called light-wood, which when ignited made a
blaze compared with which our city torchlight processions are most
sorry affairs. When all was in readiness, they lighted these torches,
formed into a procession, and marched slowly to the distant grave,
singing the most solemn music. Sometimes they sang hymns they had
committed to memory, but oftener those more tender and plaintive,
composed by themselves, that have since been introduced to the people
of the North, and of Europe, as plantation melodies. I have never yet
seen any statement of the manner in which these melodies, that have
moved and melted the hearts of millions on both sides of the Atlantic,
were composed. I have been familiar with the secret of their birth and
power since my first acquaintance with, and religious labors among, the
slaves in 1843. It is preëminently true of these plantation melodies
that they were "born, not made." I have been present at the birth of a
great many of them--many that I think more tender and pathetic than
those that have been given to the world by the various jubilee-singers.

[Illustration: An old-time midnight slave funeral.]

In their religious gatherings the best singer among them was always
the leader of the meeting. They usually commenced their services by
singing some hymn that they had committed to memory; but the leader
always gave out this hymn, one line at a time, in a sing-song tone,
much like a chant, and then the audience sang the line he had given
out, and so went through the hymn. As the meeting progressed, and their
feelings became deeper and deeper, and the excitement rose higher and
higher, they at length reached a state of tender or rapturous feeling
to which no hymn with which they were familiar gave expression. At
this point the leader sang from his heart, or, as musicians say,
improvised, both the words and music of a single line. The audience
then sang that line with him, as they had sung all the preceding hymns.
He then improvised another line, and another, and they sang each one
after him, until he had improvised one of those plantation melodies,
which, as they gave expression to the glowing hearts of those who first
sang them, so, when they have been repeated, they have touched the
universal heart. When thus "born," no such words or music were ever
forgotten by the leader. It was sung over and over again at succeeding
meetings, until some other melody was in like manner improvised, to
meet another and perhaps a higher state of religious enthusiasm. In my
visits to hundreds of different plantations and congregations, I have
heard a great variety of these plantation melodies. Many of them, that
were inexpressibly tender and beautiful, were never heard beyond the
immediate neighborhood in which they were first sung, and will never be
reproduced, unless it be among the songs of the redeemed in heaven.

But to return to this midnight funeral. The appearance of such a
procession, winding through the fields and woods, as revealed by their
flaming torches, marching slowly to the sound of their wild music, was
weird and imposing in the highest degree. This procession was to pass
immediately by our door, but, in order to get a fuller view, a small
company of us went out a short distance to meet them. We saw them and
heard their music in the distance, as they came down a gentle descent,
crossed over a small stream, and then marched on some time in silence.
As they came near where we stood, we heard their leader announce in the
sing-song, chanting style I have already described, the words--

  "When I can read my title clear;"

and that long procession, with their flaming fat-pine torches, marched
by us with slow and solemn tread, singing that beautiful hymn to the
tune of "Ortonville." We followed to the place of burial, listened
to their songs and addresses at the grave, and witnessed all the
ceremonies to the close. From first to last the scene was impressive
beyond description.

A few days after this, as I was taking a lonely horseback-ride to an
adjoining parish, I heard the negroes singing in a field that I could
not see, lying behind a wood that skirted the road. I stopped my horse
for a moment to listen to their music. I could hear no words, but at
once distinguished "Ortonville." Soon after I inquired of my host
how long these people had been singing this tune, and where they had
learned it; and was told that the minister I had seen upon the Sabbath,
while on a visit to his relatives in the State of Georgia the fall
before, had heard it sung at the meeting of the Synod, and was so much
pleased with it that he procured a copy, and in that manner it had
been introduced to this place and the places adjacent. At one of those
places I was told that they were so much pleased with it that they had
sung it over and over one Sabbath-day during the entire intermission.

Time passed on, and in my invalid wanderings I was within the tropics,
sailing in the track of Columbus, along the north shore of Hayti.
Entering those waters, so often tinged with human blood, that divide
this island from the famed Tortugas, as if in harmony with the dark
memories that crowded upon the mind, black clouds began to darken the
heavens, the thunders rolled, the lightnings gleamed with terrific
fury, and amid the most sublime tumult of the elements we were carried
along until our little craft dropped anchor in the bay of Port de
Paix. The storm and darkness were such that I could not go ashore, and
I was that night rocked to sleep on waters where many a pirate-ship,
with bloody deck, had ridden securely at anchor, and prepared to set
forth again on new missions of pillage and death. This harbor was the
chief rendez-vous, the refuge from danger, and retreat from toil, of
the buccaneers that for years infested these seas, and whose piratical
plunderings for so long a time made their names a terror to all within
their reach. However, not being particularly superstitious, I slept
soundly for the night.

In the morning I left our little vessel and received--what is ever so
grateful to a wanderer on a foreign shore, and especially to one who
has any sympathy with the command, "Go teach all nations"--a welcome to
the residence of a countryman, to a missionary's humble home. Ay, noble
men and women are they, who, forgetful of themselves, and alone for the
honor of the Master that they serve, leaving the comforts and amenities
of a Christian civilization, toil on through life amid manifold
discouragements, endeavoring to instruct and elevate the degraded, and,
above all else, anxious to

  "Allure to brighter worlds and lead the way."

And yet, like those whose own minds are so degraded and debauched
that they can not conceive of purity and virtue in any character,
there are those who are so utterly ignorant and unconscious of the
lofty sentiments that animate these self-sacrificing missionaries,
that they are ever finding, in base, unworthy, and ignoble objects,
the grand motive of their life-work. Such may well ponder the life of
unparalleled Christian heroism of the great Apostle to the Gentiles, of
which the undoubted and sufficient motive was a constraining LOVE!

Evening darkened around the dwelling of the missionary, and a little
group of natives assembled for religious worship. I sat in that little
room and listened to the words of instruction, praise, and prayer,
with indescribably strange emotions, for all was in a language that I
did not understand. As the services proceeded, a hymn was read by the
missionary with peculiar interest and emotion, and the dark group sang
in the familiar strains of "Ortonville":

  "Beni soit bien qui chaque jour
    Nous comble de ses biens,
  Et dont s'inconvenable amour
    A romptu nos liens."

What a change--what a change! The haunts of bloody pirates giving place
to the home of the missionary of the cross; the wild, agonized shrieks
of their murdered victims succeeded by the sweet and peaceful notes
of "Ortonville!" And so this tune has often been sung where sounds of
direst woe and wretchedness had long been heard, and so it doubtless
will be, and onward to the millennium.

As I once returned from a small church on the banks of the Savannah
River, where it had been sung, the friend whose hospitality I was
enjoying remarked:

"My brother-in-law, a missionary, told me he first heard that tune, and
since had often sung it, on Mount Zion, in Jerusalem, and it sounded
most sweetly there."

And thus it has been sung in many a land and clime by that heroic
missionary band which now encircles the globe with celestial light.

But this narrative would swell to a volume were I to relate in
detail all the sweet, sacred, and delightful memories associated
with "Ortonville." In all my long invalid wanderings, and in all
the years in which I have been permitted to labor actively in the
Master's service, both "in the Brush" and elsewhere, it has often been
my happy lot to recognize and greet in the most varied and striking
circumstances the favorite I first learned to love in that country
singing-school. Its gentle, soothing notes have broken sweetly upon my
ear in crowded city churches; in quiet meetings for prayer; in large,
unpainted, barn-like edifices erected for Christian sanctuaries; in
rude log churches crowded with devout worshipers; in basket-meetings,
camp-meetings, and in all varieties of gatherings for the worship of
Almighty God. Often, very often, it has inspired my devotions as I
have mingled, for the first time, with households gathered for family
worship. With adoring recognition of the Fatherhood of God, and with
loving recognition of the brotherhood of man, it has been my happy,
happy lot thus to worship with uncounted hundreds of families--among
them the most cultivated and refined, and the most ignorant, neglected,
and lowly of God's poor. In very long horseback-journeys, for days,
weeks, and months together, as I have ridden over bleak, desolate
"barrens," through dense, dark forests, along deep, narrow ravines and
valleys, and up and over rough and rugged mountains, nearly every night
has found me under a different roof, enjoying the rough or refined
hospitality of a new-found family. As they have invited me to "take the
books" (the Bible and hymn-book) and lead the devotions of the family,
often in the most remote and lowly cabins, I have been surprised
and delighted, as I was in the tropics, with the familiar notes of
"Ortonville."

As I write these lines my memory is far more busy than my pen. I think
of my wanderings in many different States, and of the cabins in which
I have briefly rehearsed the old, old story, and by kind words of
entreaty, and in reverent words of prayer, attempted to "allure to
brighter worlds, and lead the way." I have knelt in prayer in many a
home along the banks of the Rappahannock, the James, the Cape Fear,
the Santee, the Savannah, the Tennessee, the Cumberland, the Ohio, the
Mississippi, the Missouri, the San Joaquin, the Sacramento, and many
other rivers. So I have knelt and prayed in homes along the shores of
the stormy Atlantic and the peaceful Pacific. Very often the inmates,
at first startled, and then delighted, by the strangeness of my
visit, have told me that my voice was the first ever lifted in prayer
beneath their roofs. Though in multitudes of such homes no member of
the family had ever learned a single letter of the alphabet of their
mother-tongue, and all were barefooted, and more destitute and ignorant
than the most of my readers will be able to conceive, they have
received me in their homes with a hospitality so hearty and cordial,
and have thanked me, and bidden me come again, with such warm words and
such abounding tears, that my own have welled and flowed responsive to
theirs; and as I have spoken my farewell words, so often final, and
ridden away with new impressions of the power of the Saviour's name and
love to touch and melt the rudest minds, my happy heart has found full
expression in the tender notes and sweet words of my favorite tune and
hymn:

  "Majestic sweetness sits enthroned
    Upon the Saviour's brow;
  His head with radiant glories crowned,
    His lips with grace o'erflow.

  "No mortal can with him compare,
    Among the sons of men;
  Fairer is he than all the fair
    Who fill the heavenly train.

  "He saw me plunged in deep distress,
    And flew to my relief;
  For me he bore the shameful cross,
    And carried all my grief.

  "Since from his bounty I receive
    Such proofs of love divine,
  Had I a thousand hearts to give,
    Lord, they should all be thine."

 Note.--Returning from one of my visits to Hayti, more than twenty-five
 years ago, I communicated to Professor Hastings, at his old home in
 Amity Street, New York, several of the facts related in this chapter.
 He then gave me the history of the tune as follows:

 "I was anxious to write just as simple a tune as possible, to be sung
 by children. I sat at my instrument, and played, until this tune was
 completely formed in my mind.

 "Not long after, a boy came from the printer with a note, saying he
 needed another tune to fill out a page or form. I sat down at my
 instrument, played it again, thought it would do, wrote it out, and
 sent it to the office, little dreaming that I should hear from it, as
 I have, from almost every part of the world."




CHAPTER XVI.

WORK ACCOMPLISHED IN THE SOUTHWEST.


I do not propose to give anything like a full account or even a summary
of the work accomplished in my special mission by all these long rides
and years of earnest and cheerful labor in the Brush. That has not been
my object. It has been rather to describe the manner of performing
these labors, the incidents connected with them, and to portray the
character, manners, customs, and peculiarities of the people who
received me so cordially, and with whom I mingled so freely in their
rude homes. But I should fail to give a full and true idea of their
social and moral condition, especially as indicated by their want of
education, and their destitution of Bibles, if I did not give some of
the results of these labors. I have described the manner in which I
explored different counties, organized or reorganized Bible societies,
and secured the appointment of distributors to canvass them.

One of these men, Mr. Guier, a well-known citizen of the county,
visited five hundred and fifty-eight families, of whom one hundred
and sixty--more than one fourth--were destitute of the Bible. They
contained four hundred and thirty-five persons. In sixty-four of
them either the husband or wife, or both (according to their own
statements), were members of some Protestant church. Sixty-two Bibles
and ninety Testaments were sold, amounting to one hundred and fourteen
dollars and eighty-five cents; and thirty-three Bibles and six
Testaments were given away, amounting to ten dollars and forty cents.
Mr. Guier communicated to me the following facts in connection with his
labors:

"I visited a man at his house, and asked him if he had a Bible. He said
no. I told him he ought to have one. He said he was not able to buy. I
told him that I could sell so cheap that any man could buy. He said he
had not paid for his land yet, and he had no time to read. I then took
up my saddle-bags to go, and offered him a Bible as a gift. He said:
'Stop, sir; I will pay you for it. I would not have my neighbor to know
that you gave me a Bible.'

"I found a poor widow at work in her garden, who told me she had no
Bible, and no money to buy one with. She was a church-member, and very
anxious to have a Bible, but she was not willing to receive one as a
gift. She said she had a kind neighbor, who would always lend her
money when he had it; but her little son was some distance from home,
at a blacksmith-shop, and she could not send for the money. As she was
so anxious to get a Bible, I found her son, and went with him to see
the neighbor, who loaned her one dollar and twenty-five cents to get
the Bible she wanted. May God bless it to her!

"I was one day taken so sick that I had to stop by the side of the road
a half-hour or more. I then rode on to a cabin, and told the lady I was
very unwell, and asked if she could let me have a bed to lie upon. She
seemed alarmed, and said she would have no objection if her husband
was at home. I told her I was very ill and could not ride, and that
I was distributing Bibles. She at once told me to get down and come
in, and she nursed me with the greatest care and attention until her
husband came. On his arrival I explained to him why I was there; and
he said they would take the best care of me they could, which they did
until the next morning. They told me they had no Bible and no money. I
offered to pay them for keeping me, but they would receive no pay. I
then gave them a Bible, which they received very thankfully. The lady
was a church-member, and I have heard that her husband has since been
converted and united with the church.

"I asked a man in a field if he had a Bible. He said he did not know,
but his wife could tell. I went to the house, and she told me they
had no Bible, but she was very anxious to get one. Her husband came
in, and I told him his wife had no Bible, and he ought to get her one.
He said he would like to have a Bible, as the leaves would make good
wadding for his gun; and made a good many other remarks of the same
nature in regard to the Bible. His wife sat and wept all the time, and,
as I thought it useless to talk with him longer, I prepared to leave,
and she handed me the Bible she had been looking at. I told her to keep
it. She said she could not--she had no money. I told her that made no
difference; the Bible Society would give it to her. She was greatly
rejoiced at receiving the unexpected gift.

"I found an old sailor who was plowing for a neighbor to get corn for
his family, who told me he had no Bible. He had been a member of the
church about two years, and seemed to be very religious. He was very
glad to see my Bibles, but said he could not buy one. He had no money,
lived on rented land, and could with difficulty support his family. I
told him that, if he was too poor to buy, he was not too poor to read,
and that the Bible Society enabled me to give him a Bible. He received
it with astonishment and joy, and praised God aloud that he had lived
to see the day when the poor were supplied with the Bible without money
and without price. I left him in the field, shouting aloud his praises
to God that he now had the blessed Bible to read.

"I saw a man about sixty years old, who had raised a large family and
was now living with his third wife, standing by his field and looking
at a lot of fine colts. I asked him if he had a Bible. He said, No; he
had no use for a Bible. I then asked him if he had ever had a Bible in
his family. He said, No; he had no use for a Bible. After doing my best
to sell him a Bible, I told him the Bible Society made it my duty to
offer him one as a gift. But he refused to receive it. I was told by
one of his neighbors that he did not think he had been at church for
years.

"The country I have visited is exceedingly rough and broken. It has
been very hard work to climb all the hills and knobs, and hunt up all
the people scattered over them, and up and down the valleys. But I have
endeavored to explore it faithfully, and leave no family unvisited,
and without the offer of a Bible. I have been in a good many families
and neighborhoods that had never before been visited by a Bible
distributor. I was born in this county, and when solicited to undertake
this work I thought it was entirely unnecessary. I had no idea that
twenty families could be found in the county without a Bible. And now,
before the work is half completed, the exploration reveals such facts
as these."

In the thorough exploration and supply of another county, Father
J.G. Kasey, the venerable Bible distributor, visited six hundred and
fifty-five families, of whom one hundred and twenty-seven--nearly one
fifth--were destitute of the Bible. Eight of the families supplied were
entirely without education; and six families refused to receive the
Bible as a gift. He sold in the county one hundred and forty-one Bibles
and Testaments, amounting to sixty-three dollars and ninety-one cents;
and gave away eighty-one Bibles and Testaments, amounting to twenty
dollars and seventy-five cents. Father Kasey's labors were eminently
of a missionary character. He sat down with the people at their
fire-sides, exhorted Christians to greater fidelity and zeal in their
Master's service, kindly warned and urged sinners to flee to Christ for
salvation, and then, bowing with them in prayer, humbly and earnestly
besought God's blessing upon them. What enterprise is more Christian,
or what work more blessed, than the distribution of the Word of God,
accompanied with such labors? He said:

"I have cause to rejoice for the success I have met with in supplying
the people with the Holy Bible, and imparting religious instruction. I
have been able to have religious conversation and prayer with almost
every family I have visited, and from all I could learn I was induced
to believe that it made a good impression on the most of them. I
found a comfortable home one night with a kind old brother, of the
Episcopal Church. After supper we sat in the parlor, and he went on
to speak of his efforts to train up his children in the fear of the
Lord; but none of them were yet Christians. He had become discouraged,
and seemed almost to give them up. I advised him to continue his
prayer and efforts, believing that God would bring them in--if not
in his day, when he was gone. Some of his children were present, and
my conversation and prayer seemed to make a good impression upon the
family. Some time afterward several of his children were converted and
united with the church.

"In my travels I called at a house where they had no Bible or
Testament, but gladly received one as a gift. After conversation and
prayer, I exhorted the woman to seek the Lord. She wept very bitterly
as I addressed her, and said she intended to do so. She was as deeply
affected as any person I ever saw, and as I bade her good-by she held
me by the hand several minutes, refusing to let me go. She said she had
not been in the habit of attending church, but she would do so from
that time. I pointed her to the Lamb of God, and she promised to seek
religion with all her heart. She said I must attend a meeting that had
been appointed to be held in the neighborhood. I did so, and found her
happy in the love of God, and she has since united with the Church of
Christ. I afterward saw her husband, who was a very wicked man. He
seemed deeply affected, and promised to seek religion; and I trust he,
too, may be converted.

"I called upon another family, where the man had previously had a
Bible, but had burned it. Afterward he became convicted, and was
anxious for another. I sold him a Bible, exhorted him to become a
Christian, and trust he will be a better man.

"I found another man who had lived to a good old age, and had twenty
children now living, three having gone to the eternal world. The family
was destitute of any portion of the Bible. I gave him the Word of God,
exhorted him to seek the Lord, prayed with him, hoping that the good
Lord would save him and his large family, as they were all irreligious.
He received my visit thankfully.

"I rode up to a very poor cabin, in a hollow, and found a woman plowing
with one horse. Several little children, very ragged, were playing near
her. I asked her if she had a Bible. She said she had not--she was very
poor; her husband was dead, and she had several children, none of whom
were large enough to help her, and she was trying to raise something
for them to eat. I asked her if she did not want a Bible. She said,
'Oh, yes, very much, but I am too poor to buy one.' I told her it was
my business to seek out the poor and the destitute, and supply them
with the Bible. I then gave her one, which she received with a great
deal of thankfulness. I told her the Lord had promised to be a God to
the widow and the fatherless, and exhorted her to put her trust in him.
As I rode away, she followed me with her thanks, and her prayers that
the Lord would bless me.

"There were many other interesting circumstances, that made a lasting
impression upon my mind. The good accomplished by the Lord, through his
humble servant, by this distribution of the Word of God, will not be
known in this world. My heart is in this work, for I know I am engaged
in a good work."

[Illustration: I gave her a Bible, and as I rode away she followed me
with her thanks and her prayers.]

Mr. Lutes was commissioned to undertake the re-exploration and supply
of a county where I had reorganized a society that had been inactive
for many years. During the first three months of his labor he visited
six hundred and thirty-three families, of whom one hundred and
twenty-eight--more than one fifth--were destitute of the Bible. He sold
two hundred and twenty-eight Bibles and Testaments, amounting to one
hundred and seventeen dollars and six cents, and gave away forty-five,
amounting to ten dollars and forty-nine cents. In speaking of his great
amazement at finding so many families destitute of the Bible, he said:

"Experience has taught me that a poor and very incorrect estimate
will be made in regard to this matter while we remain at home--while
we look upon our Bibles and say: 'How cheap such books are! Surely
everybody must have them.' I have found, to my great surprise,
fifteen families in which either the husband or wife, or both, were
members of some Protestant church, and had no Bible. I visited three
destitute families in succession: the first, a poor widow; the second,
husband and wife, both members of the church; the third wanted
_spiritual-rapping books_, but was finally persuaded to buy a Bible. I
gave a poor man a Bible, and next Sabbath he and his wife were both at
church, a very uncommon sight. I visited a school-teacher, a liberally
educated Irishman, but very poor. He said he had neither Bible nor
Testament, and that he should like a large Testament in his family. He
cheerfully paid me for one. I visited a poor widow, a church-member,
who had been a housekeeper many years, had children married and removed
to a distant State; but she had no Bible. Poor creature! I gave her
one, and she wished me to fill out the family record for her; but she
had neglected the matter so long that she had lost all trace of the
date of births, marriages, and deaths. In the next family the husband
seemed indifferent about the book, but the wife wanted it, which I
readily discovered. 'I'm poor,' said he; and his wife said, 'He was
unable to work during the summer.' 'I have Bibles for thirty cents.'
'Well, I haven't money enough to pay for one.' 'You can have it at
your own price.' 'I don't like to take a book that way.' 'It makes no
difference; I am authorized to make this offer to you: you can have it
for ten or fifteen cents.' 'Certainly; I'd give ten cents for a Bible
any time.' This saved his pride. He has been greatly pleased with his
Bible, and whenever I pass his house he comes out and asks me questions
relative to my success, and gives me directions how to pass over the
country, as if he were one of the 'Executive Committee.' I sold a Bible
to an Irish toll-gate-keeper. I had been on the pike about a mile, and
asked him the toll. 'Nothing, sir; are you a doctor?' 'No, sir, I am
a bookseller. Do you wish to buy?' 'I reckon not; I work six days on
the road, and on Sundays I read a newspaper.' 'Have you a Bible?' 'No,
sir.' 'Wouldn't you like to have one?' 'I believe I would, but I have
no money.' 'It makes no difference; if you have no Bible and want one,
I'll leave it.' 'I don't like to take it in that way.' 'No difference;
if you'll read it carefully, we shall be well paid.' 'Why,' said he,
when I told him the price was twenty-five cents, 'in Ireland the
binding would be more than that; and I'll pay you the first time you
pass this gate.' I went down a creek nearly a mile to see a family, and
came back. When some three hundred yards from the toll-gate, I saw the
keeper sitting upon the ground, leaning against the house, perfectly
absorbed in reading his Bible. He has since paid me for it, and he
and his wife are greatly pleased with it. Staid all night with a poor
family; wife a church-member, and no Bible; husband careless, but wife
anxious to have one. In the morning I took a thirty-cent Bible from my
saddle-bags and commenced filling out the family record. Said he: 'I
don't want you to give me that book. I don't charge you for staying all
night.' 'I find you destitute, and wish you to have a Bible.' He stood
for some time, then went to a drawer, and, finding a quarter, gave it
to me, saying it was all he had, and kindly invited me to call again.

"One day I visited twenty-one families, eleven of whom were destitute
of the Bible. Another day I visited twenty families, and found ten
destitute of the Bible. During the spring I left a box of books at
the house of a magistrate, as a depositary, while I visited the
neighborhood. Said he, 'Do you think you will find anybody here without
a Bible?' 'I don't know, sir.' 'Some two years since,' said he, 'I
looked around and could not find but one man destitute, and him I
supplied.'

"I commenced my labors, and found his partner in a mill destitute;
then one of his hands, having a family; then an old neighbor, who was
a church-member. The squire gave it up, and said it was _necessary_ to
have colporteurs.

"In some of these destitute neighborhoods they told me that no person
had ever visited them before with Bibles and Testaments. They occupied
a very broken country; their houses were cabins scattered over the
hills and up narrow valleys, with very small patches of ground fenced
in around them, generally with no bars, and always with no gates. I
traveled among them, following the rocky beds of the streams, and
frequently led my horse up and down the steep hills, and pulled down
fences, till at night I was so tired I could scarcely walk. I have had
many discouragements, many taunts and sneers to bear from those who
had not the love of God shed abroad in their hearts; but then I have
had the smiles, the assistance, and the warm coöperation of Christians
to hold up my feeble hands, and cheer up my desponding heart. I have
found such families with six, eight, and ten Bibles in a single house;
I have found many who have thrown open their doors and bid me welcome
to the hospitality of their homes, who, by their kind words and their
questions respecting my work, caused me to forget the sneers and taunts
of others, and made me adore the Almighty for the success with which
he crowned the labors of his servants employed in his vineyard. May
the Lord inspire the minds of Christians with greater zeal for the
dissemination of his Word!"

In another county Mr. Temple visited seven hundred and three families,
of whom eighty-three were destitute of the Bible. His sales of Bibles
and Testaments amounted to ninety dollars and forty cents, and his
donations to the destitute to forty-three dollars and twenty-five
cents. The exploration of the county revealed a much greater amount
of poverty and destitution of the Word of God than he had expected to
find. The following are some of the incidents connected with his labors:

"A poor widow with five children had no Bible, but she had a small
Testament, which she got her children to read to her, as it was
difficult for her to read such small print. She had long been anxious
to get a Bible, and was delighted when I told her I had Bibles for
sale, but she feared she had not money enough to get one. She was
greatly pleased with the large Testament and Psalms, as she could read
the print. She gathered together all the money she and her children
had, and made up twenty-five cents, for which I gave her the Testament
and Psalms. In another neighborhood I was told by a good many persons
of a poor widow that had no Bible, who was very anxious to get one.
Her Bible had been wet and ruined in moving from North Carolina, and
she had been several years without one. She had been saving money from
the sale of eggs and chickens to get enough to buy a Bible. When I
reached the place, I found a poor cabin in an old field, and everything
indicating great poverty. A chair was standing in the door, which was
open, but there was no one at home. I wrote in a Bible, 'Presented by
the Bible Society,' and left it in the chair, and rode on.

"I heard of one old man who had nine grown children, and had never had
a Bible or Testament in his family. I was told that he was a skeptic
and very profane, and that I had better not visit him, as he would
treat me roughly. I found him plowing, and talked with him a long time
about farming, and at length about our dependence upon God for crops,
and finally told him I was selling Bibles. He invited me to dine with
him, and I went to his house and sold him a family Bible, and also sold
Bibles to a married son and daughter. The old man did not use a profane
word during my visit, and I was never treated better by any man. He
thanked me for my visit, and begged me to call on him whenever I passed
that way.

"I visited a house and found no one at home. As the family was
evidently very poor, and I had learned that they had no Bible, I wrote
on one, 'Presented by the Bible Society,' and left it between the logs,
near the door, where they would be sure to find it when they came home.
I rode on about two miles, and called at another house. As soon as I
showed my Bibles, one of the women said she was sorry she was not at
home, as she had no Bible and had long been anxious to get one. She
thought she had money enough to get a thirty-cent Bible, and if I would
go back with her she would buy one if she could. I then told her I had
left a Bible for her, and where she would find it, and she thanked me
very warmly for the gift.

"I visited another family that had no Bible, and sold them one. As the
children were looking at my books, I heard a little girl, about ten
years old, say that she wished she had money enough to buy one of these
Bibles; that her mother, when she talked with her before she died,
had told her she must get a Bible as soon as she could, and read it,
and be a good girl, and meet her in heaven. I inquired her history,
and learned that she was an orphan. I then gave her a Bible, and she
commenced reading it. Dinner was soon ready, but she could not be
induced to stop reading long enough to eat, and when I left the house
she was still reading her new Bible."

Father Eggen, a veteran Bible distributor, said: "One man told me he
had a neighbor who was very poor, who had no Bible, and I gave him
one to send to him. I afterward called on this family, not knowing it
was the same. The house was without floor or loft, and was inclosed
by nailing rough boards upon posts that were driven into the ground.
It had a stick-and-mud chimney on the outside, and was without floor
of any kind, the family living on the ground. The man followed making
split-bottomed chairs, and was very poor indeed, but he insisted upon
paying for the Bible that had been sent to him, and did so.

"In one neighborhood where there was a small supply of Bibles and
Testaments at a store, the man who had them, a professing Christian,
insisted that there was no necessity for employing a distributor to go
around; said that, if people wanted Bibles, they could easily come to
the store and get them. I, however, went through this neighborhood, and
found in one day fifteen families without a Bible. Some of them were
very large families, and had been destitute for many years."

It is now (August 1, 1881) more than twenty-three years since I
resigned my commission as an agent of the American Bible Society.
During the last week I have visited the Bible House, examined their
well-preserved files of letters, and read the correspondence between
Secretary McNeill and myself during the last months of my connection
with the Society. Some extracts from these letters will appropriately
close this brief review of "work accomplished in the Southwest."

  Louisville, Kentucky, _April 2, 1858_.

  Rev. James H. Mcneill, _Secretary of the American Bible Society,
  New York_.

 My dear Brother: Herewith you have my annual report.... My duties
 the last year, as well as all the other years of my agency, have
 involved a great deal of labor and self-denial. The field assigned to
 my supervision is very large, and, in order to accomplish thoroughly
 the great work of "home supply," it has been necessary for me to visit
 every county on horseback. I have thus ridden many thousands of miles,
 exposed to all the extremes of heat and cold, traveling over the
 roughest of roads, fording rivers, penetrating the wildest regions,
 eating the coarsest food, and sleeping in the worst of beds. But I
 have everywhere received a cordial welcome, and I wish here to record
 my testimony that such service in such a cause is a blessed service.
 I weep tears of gratitude that God has permitted me thus to labor for
 the dissemination of his Word. And now that his Spirit is being poured
 out so copiously all over our land,[5] I rejoice exceedingly that I
 have been permitted to coöperate with others in sowing so much "good
 seed" against these times of refreshing from on high. I pray that all
 the seed thus sown may bear abundant fruit.

  Yours cordially,
  H.W. Pierson.

  Louisville, Kentucky, _May 28, 1858_.

  Rev. James H. McNeill, _Secretary of the American Bible Society_.

 My dear Brother: I reached the city on my return from the western
 part of the State on Wednesday morning, after an absence of more than
 six weeks. The tour was one of the most successful and gratifying
 I have ever made. I find here letters and papers that have been
 accumulating during my absence, and have been exceedingly busy in
 posting myself up, and getting square with the world. All your
 anniversary excitements have come off while I was in the Brush, and
 I have been trying to find out where you have left the world. I have
 read the "Christian Intelligencer's" full report of the meeting of
 the American Tract Society. I should have been delighted to be an
 eye-witness of the fight.[6] On my last tour I learned that, of nine
 hundred and twenty-five families visited in G---- County, one hundred
 and sixty had _no part_ of the Word of God in their houses--not a leaf
 or a letter! Oh, it is a burning shame to American Christianity, and
 especially to the American Bible Society, that such facts as these can
 be reported in the forty-third year of its history! But I am speaking
 warmly, nevertheless truly.

 I leave the city to-day, and expect to spend the Sabbath at Paducah,
 Kentucky, and go on to Princeton early in the week. I have been
 unanimously elected President and Professor of Mental and Moral
 Philosophy in Cumberland College, at Princeton, Kentucky, and the
 terms are so very liberal, and the people are so very earnest to have
 me accept the appointment, that I am going down to see them and give
 them my answer. The probabilities are, that I shall accept, and send
 you my resignation, to take effect as soon as I can close up the work
 in several counties where it is nearly completed. I will thank you not
 to make this matter public until I resign formally. I write now in
 order to have you take steps in regard to my successor. I feel a good
 deal of solicitude to have one appointed who will carry on the work as
 I have been prosecuting it. I think there will be a general solicitude
 on the subject over the field. I have, therefore, kept this college
 matter a secret here, in order than you might have more time for
 considering the subject before my resignation is known to the public.
 I will cheerfully render any advice or aid in my power in the matter.

  Yours _ut semper_,      H.W. Pierson,
  _Agent of the American Bible Society_.

  Bible House, Astor Place, New York, _June 28, 1858_.

  Rev. H.W. Pierson.

 My dear Brother: ... But what shall I say of the announcement of your
 purpose to leave this good work? Only that I regret it most deeply.
 I stated to the Agency Committee your intention and its reasons. Of
 course, they could not oppose your wishes, and directed me to inquire
 for your successor. I am anxious to find a man who will carry on the
 work as you have been doing. Can you name any one? Do so if you know
 the man. But I trust you have ere this reconsidered the matter, and
 will withhold your resignation. In my opinion, your present position
 is one of far more usefulness than the presidency of Cumberland
 College, if that were the greatest college in the land. Let me hear
 from you soon.

  Cordially yours,      James H. McNeill,
  _Corresponding Secretary of the American Bible Society_.

  Louisville, Kentucky, _July 9, 1858_.

  Rev. James H. McNeill, _Secretary of the American Bible Society,
  New York_.

 My dear Brother: Since my last report I have completed my annual
 exploration of the seven counties lying west of the Tennessee River,
 and known as "Jackson's Purchase"--from the fact that General Jackson
 was the agent of the United States Government in buying it from the
 Indians. I have been greatly delighted at what I have learned, in all
 these counties, of the progress that has been made in the good work
 of Bible distribution during the past year. A little more than a year
 ago I organized the Paducah and Vicinity Bible Society, including
 McCracken, Marshall, Calloway, and Graves Counties. I immediately
 visited and preached in all those counties, secured colporteurs sent
 them Bibles, and made full arrangements to have them thoroughly
 explored and supplied. I have already ordered more than fifteen
 hundred dollars' worth of books for this Society, and the good work
 has progressed most encouragingly. One of the distributors reports:
 "I have been laboring in one part of the most destitute portion of
 the county. The part of which I speak is a slope in the northeast
 corner of the county, embracing, perhaps, a hundred families. In this
 whole slope there can scarcely be said to be any church. Most of the
 people are uneducated, there having been no schools. I one day visited
 seventeen families, nine of whom had no Bible, and several of whom had
 no book of any kind in their houses."

 It is impossible to give to any one who has not a personal knowledge
 of the country thus visited any adequate conception of the good
 accomplished by these labors. Less than half the county has been
 explored, but I have made arrangements with Father Gregory, the
 distributor, to continue the work until every family has been visited
 and all the destitute supplied.

 After completing my work in these counties I went to Columbus,
 Kentucky. Here I found a very noble work had been accomplished. I have
 ordered for them during the year more than seven hundred dollars'
 worth of Bibles. I next visited Hickman, Fulton County. The society
 that I organized there last year has not been able to secure a
 colporteur, but hope soon to make arrangements to have their county
 supplied. I have already ordered about twenty-five hundred dollars'
 worth of Bibles for the "Purchase," and more than one thousand
 dollars' worth more will be needed to complete the work that is in
 such successful progress. The friends of the cause in all these
 counties are astonished and delighted at what has been accomplished
 already, and the bright prospects for the future. _Laus Deo._

  Your brother in Christ,      H.W. Pierson,
  _Agent of the American Bible Society_.

  Bible House, Astor Place, New York, _July 15, 1858_.

  Rev. H.W. Pierson.

 My dear Brother: I have just received yours of the 9th instant, giving
 an account of your visit to the seven counties lying west of the
 Tennessee River, and known as "Jackson's Purchase," where you have
 the satisfaction of observing decided and gratifying progress in the
 good work of Bible distribution during the past year. In reading your
 report of what has been accomplished, I was almost as much "delighted"
 as you could have been in seeing with your own eyes the progress of
 the good work.

 And, now, can you reconcile it to your own heart and conscience to
 abandon such a field and such a work? I confess I do not see how you
 can, and I hope to receive very soon your ultimate decision declining
 the call to the college at Princeton. Did you receive my last at
 Louisville? Since writing it I have had a letter from our friend Rev.
 W.F. Talbot, of Columbus, Kentucky, _protesting against your being
 allowed to leave the Bible work_, and urging us to do all in our power
 to retain you. I answered him that I hoped you would not be tempted
 to leave us by any considerations other than those of clear and
 imperative duty; and, as your own mind had not been fully made up when
 you last wrote, I thought it most likely that you would continue in
 the Agency.

 Now, let me again, in behalf of our committee, in behalf of the great
 work now in progress in that field, and in behalf of the future
 interests of the Bible cause there, protest against your desertion!
 Think of the _many friends_ whom you have gained for yourself
 personally, while you were securing their affections and coöperation
 for the Bible Society, who will be in great danger of falling back
 into their former indifference and inactivity, should they lose your
 active support. In fact, I do not see how we can let you go! If you do
 go, it will be in the face of our remonstrances, and those of every
 friend of the cause in your field. Please let us hear from you at your
 earliest convenience.

  Cordially yours,
  James H. McNeill,
  _Corresponding Secretary of the American Bible Society_.

Notwithstanding the earnestness of these entreaties, I felt compelled
to retire from this work. No one could appreciate its importance more
highly than, from my personal knowledge of its needs, I did. But for
more than ten years since my graduation from the theological seminary,
I had been constantly "on the wing." As stated in my opening chapter,
I had spent five years as an invalid wanderer. I had roamed over the
Southern States nearly a year, had made two visits to the Island of
Hayti, and spent a second winter in the South. I had then entered upon
these itinerant labors, in which I had spent nearly five years more. I
was not weary of the work, but I wanted change; I sighed for rest and
an opportunity to study--to commune again with my beloved books that
had remained unopened during all these years. In addition to these
personal desires, my labors had revealed the imperative demand for the
liberal education of as many as possible of the young men in the wide
region I had so thoroughly explored; and a large number of my "many
friends" had signified to me their strong desire to place their sons
in the college should I accept the appointment. I therefore wrote my
resignation, as follows:

  Louisville, Kentucky, _July 12, 1858_.

  Rev. James H. McNeill, _Secretary of the American Bible Society,
  New York_.

 My dear Brother: I have already informed you that I had been elected
 President and Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy in Cumberland
 College, Princeton, Kentucky.

 After mature and prayerful consideration of the whole subject, I
 have decided to accept the appointment; and I therefore resign my
 commission as Agent of the American Bible Society for Western Kentucky.

 It is not without deep emotion that I thus sunder my official
 connection with this noble institution. For nearly five years I have
 labored to promote its interests, and during this entire period all my
 correspondence and intercourse with its different officers has been
 of the most pleasant character. I can not recall a single word or act
 that has marred the harmony of our relations.

 The field assigned me is very large--with meager facilities for
 traveling--and on this account my duties have been very laborious.
 I have again and again _ridden on horseback_ over all the counties
 southward from this city to the Tennessee line, and westward to
 the Mississippi River. I have preached repeatedly in all of them,
 solicited donations, secured colporteurs, ordered Bibles for them, and
 made full arrangements to have all the families visited, and every
 destitute household supplied with the inestimable Word by sale or
 gift. I have thus ridden thousands of miles over the roughest roads,
 exposed to every variety of weather.

 But, though laborious and self-denying, I have found this a blessed
 service--rich in _physical_ as well as spiritual rewards. Commencing
 with lungs diseased, and a body enfeebled by years of ill health, I
 have rejoiced in an almost constant sense of returning strength and
 vigor, up to the present moment--until now there are few that can
 endure more physical toil than I can.

 My numerous reports have furnished abundant yet very inadequate
 evidences of the rich spiritual rewards that have crowned these
 efforts to scatter the "good seed" of the Word. Again and again the
 sower and the reaper have rejoiced together. Hundreds and thousands
 of families, that were living without the sacred volume, are now
 rejoicing in its blessed light; and other multitudes that are still
 destitute will soon receive the heavenly boon. And God's blessing will
 surely attend his own Word. "For as the snow cometh down, and the rain
 from heaven," etc., etc.

 Be assured, my dear brother, I shall ever cherish a profound and
 lively interest in the operations of the American Bible Society.
 Though Providence seems to call me to another sphere of duty, I shall
 ever rejoice to do all in my power to promote its interests. I shall
 ever cherish the most pleasant recollections of my connection with it,
 and especially of my correspondence and associations with you.

 Praying that God may richly bless you, and all its officers, agents,
 and friends, I remain

  Yours in the best of bonds,
  H.W. Pierson.

In the following October I mounted my horse at Princeton, Kentucky, and
rode to Hopkinsville to attend the Louisville Annual Conference, as I
had regularly done so many years before. In a copy of the "Hopkinsville
Mercury," October 20, 1858, now before me, I find the following notice
of my address, and the action of the Conference upon that occasion:

 The Rev. H.W. Pierson, of the Presbyterian Church, having labored for
 a number of years, with eminent success in this State, as an agent
 of the American Bible Society, appeared in Conference on Tuesday
 morning and announced that he had resigned the office in the discharge
 of which he had made the acquaintance of nearly all the Methodist
 ministers in Kentucky, as well as those of other churches. His
 remarks, in which he expressed the deep regret and pain with which
 he took this step, were very appropriate, simple, and touching, and
 were responded to in very handsome terms by Bishop Kavenaugh, and
 other members of the Conference. The following resolution was then
 unanimously adopted:

 _Resolved_, That we express our high appreciation of the faithfulness
 and efficiency of Rev. H.W. Pierson, A.M., as agent of the American
 Bible Society in Western Kentucky; that we most cordially reciprocate
 the feelings of brotherly love which he has this day expressed, and
 that we fervently pray the blessings of the great Head of the Church
 upon him, wherever his lot, in the providence of God, may be cast.

  A. Brown,
  Thomas Bottomly,
  R. Dearing.

  Cumberland College, Princeton, Kentucky, _October 12, 1858_.

  Rev. James H. McNeill, _Secretary of the American Bible Society,
  New York_.

 My dear Brother: ... I have had a very pleasant time at Conference.
 The "Bible Committee" presented a most flattering resolution in regard
 to my agency labors. I made the Conference a valedictory address, and
 the Bishop and others responded to it in the kindest manner. Another
 resolution, commending my labors, etc., was then offered, and the
 members were requested to vote upon it by rising, when the whole
 Conference arose to their feet. I could but be deeply moved by their
 expressions of kindness, and many tears were shed by them. I confess
 I am amazed and astounded at the kind words I have received on every
 hand. I had no idea that my labors had made such an impression upon
 the public mind. To God be all the praise!

  Yours, as ever,
  H.W. Pierson.


CONCLUSION OF BIBLE WORK.

To see what I have seen, and to know what I have known, of the good
accomplished by my labors, have been abundant compensation for all
my travels and for all my toils; and I await, with bright and happy
anticipations, the fuller revelations and rewards of a blissful
eternity.


LABORS FOR THE COLLEGE.

I entered upon my duties as President of Cumberland College, at
Princeton, Kentucky, the second Monday in September, 1858. Of the
commencement of my labors there I wrote as follows:

  Cumberland College, Princeton, Kentucky, _October 12, 1858_.

  Rev. James H. McNeill, _Secretary of the American Bible Society,
  New York_.

 My dear Brother: I have been very anxious to write you ever since I
 reached here, but have been so very busy that I could not get the
 time. I have had a great deal to do here in the commencement of my
 duties, and then I have been absent every Sabbath, and a portion
 of each week, attending presbyteries, synods, etc., to promote the
 interests of the college. Its friends are very sanguine in regard to
 its prospects. They think they have not been as good for many years.
 All the religious bodies that I have visited, the newspapers, and the
 public at large, seem interested in my success, and are doing all that
 they can for the college. I hope that I may do a great deal of good in
 this work.

  Yours as ever,
  H.W. Pierson.

My labors here until 1861 were not less exhausting than they had been
since I entered upon my Bible work in 1853. In addition to my duties
in the college, I traveled extensively, "electioneering" for students,
as was the custom in that region. Their numbers increased to such
an extent that we needed an additional building. I appealed to the
people of the village and the county, and they responded most nobly by
subscribing twenty thousand dollars, and erecting a college edifice,
with a large assembly hall, library, recitation and all other needed
rooms. I had the pleasure of taking my esteemed friend, the Right
Rev. B.B. Smith, D.D., Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in
Kentucky, through the building, on one of his annual parochial visits
to the village, and he pronounced it the most perfect and beautiful
specimen of architecture in the State.

The attack on Fort Sumter, and the events that followed it, compelled
the suspension of this, as they did of nearly or quite every other
college in the Southwest and South, and terminated my labors there.
Wishing to engage in similar educational work elsewhere, I asked for
testimonials from a few of my friends, including Bishop Smith. He
kindly gave the following, with which, as I at that time terminated
my labors in the State, I will close this very personal volume,
descriptive of my always pleasantly and gratefully remembered life and
labors in the Southwest:

  Louisville, Kentucky, _September 19, 1861_.

 ... I first knew Dr. Pierson (then Mr. Pierson) when acting as Bible
 agent in the waste places of Kentucky, and our hearts were strongly
 drawn toward each other in consequence of our having been "companions
 in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ"--I
 having labored and suffered in behalf of the same class of persons
 as Superintendent of Public Instruction, traveling for the greater
 part of two years over the roughest portions of Kentucky. To elevate
 our fellow-creatures so that they can read the Bible for themselves,
 and then to give to all such a Bible in their own tongues, is a noble
 work, and great suffering may well be cheerfully endured in the
 prosecution of it.

 His exertions in behalf of the college at Princeton have attracted
 more of my attention, and elicited my most cordial admiration, beyond
 anything of the kind in this State for thirty years. The difficulties
 to be overcome were of no common kind, and the means at his disposal
 very limited; the skill with which he met the one, and the wisdom and
 energy with which he drew forth the other, have rarely been exceeded.
 And I have it from the lips of the most intelligent persons in the
 village, during my periodical visits, that no person they ever knew
 could have awakened equal enthusiasm in so good a cause. For myself,
 I should have looked upon the task of raising half the sum of twenty
 thousand dollars in such a village, for such a purpose, as altogether
 impracticable; and yet Dr. Pierson seemed to succeed with perfect ease.

 The teaching he was, of course, obliged to devolve in great measure
 upon others. But it has come to my knowledge that he was considered
 the animating spirit of the whole concern. And it is only necessary to
 converse with him, from time to time, to become impressed with a sense
 of his literary attainments, fine taste, genial nature, and earnest,
 unaffected piety.

 His loss to the college, should he leave it, will be irreparable, and
 long will it be before his place will be made good to the general
 cause of education in the Commonwealth, and in the esteem and
 affection of

  His and your friend, etc.,
  B.B. Smith.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: The great revival that followed the financial revulsion of
1857.]

[Footnote 6: On the slavery question.]

THE END.







RELIGIOUS WORKS.


The Life and Words of Christ.

 By Cunningham Geikie, D.D. A new and cheap edition, printed from the
 same stereotype plates as the fine illustrated edition. Complete in
 one vol., 8vo, 1,258 pages. Cloth, $1.50.

 This is the only cheap edition of Geikie's Life of Christ that
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 "A work of the highest rank, breathing the spirit of true faith in
 Christ."--_Dr. Delitzsch, the Commentator._

 "A most valuable addition to sacred literature."--_A.N. Littlejohn,
 D.D., Bishop of Long Island._

 "A great and noble work, rich in information, eloquent and scholarly
 in style, earnestly devout in feeling."--_London Literary World._


From Death unto Life;

 Or, Twenty Years of My Ministry. By the Rev. W. Haslam. With
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 "The whole narrative is unique--in the origin, methods, and
 results of a dispensation so extraordinary--and quite worthy
 the study of Christian ministers in all churches, liturgical or
 non-liturgical."--_Lutheran Observer._


Scotch Sermons, 1880.

 By Principal Caird--Rev. J. Cunningham, D.D., Rev. D.J. Ferguson,
 B.D., Professor Wm. Knight, LL. D., Rev. W. McIntosh, D.D., Rev. W.L.
 M'Farlan, Rev. Allan Menzies, B.D., Rev. T. Nicoll, Rev. T. Rain,
 M.A., Rev. A. Semple, B.D., Rev. J. Stevenson, Rev. Patrick Stevenson,
 Rev. R.H. Story, D.D. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.

 This volume originated in the wish to gather together a few specimens
 of a style of teaching which increasingly prevails among the clergy
 of the Scottish Church. Its publication has caused almost as much
 commotion in the Scotch Church as "Essays and Reviews" did in the
 Church of England some years ago.

 "Perhaps the most remarkable book on religious topics in the year
 past."--_Springfield Republican._

 "By its publication a direct challenge has been given to the Church,
 which must either recognize the new ideas or cast them out. In any
 case a crisis has been precipitated."--_The Nation._


Fifteen Sermons,

 By William Rollinson Whittingham, Fourth Bishop of Maryland. 1 vol.,
 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

 "The late Bishop of Maryland destroyed many of his sermons before his
 death. It was very difficult to make a selection from those remaining,
 but, at the urgent, repeated request of his friends, twelve have been
 chosen, and three already published, but now out of print, added by
 special desire, to form a single volume.... It was thought best to
 include as many on general topics as possible, and to put in none
 strictly doctrinal."--_Extract from Preface._


_D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 3, & 5 Bond St., New York._


Sermons preached on Various Occasions.

 By James De Koven, late Warden of Racine College. With an Introduction
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Studies in the Creative Week.

By Rev. George D. Boardman, D.D. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.

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Studies in the Model Prayer.

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Epiphanies of the Risen Lord.

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 in their order: 1. To Mary Magdalene; 2. To the other Women; 3. To
 the Two; 4. To the Ten; 5. To Thomas; 6. The Epiphany in the Galilean
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Studies in the Mountain Instruction.

By Rev. George D. Boardman, D.D.

 "Replete with the Christian spirit, and the genius and learning for
 which the speaker is noted."--_The Christian Union._


The Endless Future of the Human Race.

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Notes on the Miracles of Our Lord.

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Notes on the Parables of Our Lord.

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Twelve Lectures to Young Men on Various Important Subjects.

 By Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. Revised edition. 12mo, cloth, $1.50.


History of Opinions on the Scriptural Doctrine of Retribution.

 By Edward Beecher, D.D., author of "The Conflict of Ages." 12mo,
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The Comprehensive Church;

 Or, Christian Unity and Ecclesiastical Union in the Protestant
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 Bishop of Kansas. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.


The Book of Job:

 Essays and a Metrical Paraphrase. By Rossiter W. Raymond, Ph. D. With
 an Introductory Note by the Rev. T.J. Conant, D.D. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.




_Critical, Explanatory, and Practical Notes on the_

OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT.

Designed for the Use of Pastors and People.


 By Henry Cowles, D.D. Complete in 16 volumes, 12mo, uniformly bound in
 cloth. Price, for the complete work, $25.00; or separate volumes may
 be had at the prices given below.


The Old Testament.

 The Pentateuch, in its Progressive Revelations of God to Men. 1
 vol. Cloth, $2.00.

 Hebrew History. From the Death of Moses to the Close of the
 Scripture Narrative. 1 vol. Cloth, $2.00.

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 Isaiah. 1 vol. Cloth, $2.25.

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The New Testament.

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 Revelation of St. John. 1 vol. Cloth, $1.50.

 For sale by all booksellers. Any volume sent by mail, post-paid, to
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_Critical, Explanatory, and Practical Notes on the_

OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT.

Designed for the Use of Pastors and People.


 By Henry Cowles, D.D. Complete in 16 volumes, 12mo, uniformly bound in
 cloth.

"I learn that this series--including the entire Scriptures in sixteen
volumes--is now completed. It is a great work and a great success.

"When the first volume appeared, it was widely recognized as a work of
special ability and excellence. It was an undeniably 'good thing come
out of Nazareth.' Volume after volume has been marked with the same
excellences.

"The work is a treasure to the Christian Church and the world; among
the very best contributions to the interpretation of the Word of God,
enriched, but not overloaded or obscured, by learning.

"No one but a sound and erudite scholar could have written these
commentaries, but they are quite free from ostentatious display of
learning. Most admirable good sense and discriminating judgment reign
throughout the whole. The English style is very remarkable for its
unaffected simplicity and crystal clearness. I do not believe there can
be found one attempt at fine writing in these volumes, but they are
often beautifully and affectingly eloquent.

"As an expositor, Professor Cowles aims honestly to explain
difficulties and bring out the very soul and spirit of the sacred
writers. I doubt if our language furnishes a safer, surer guide.

"It would rejoice my heart to see Professor Cowles duly honored in the
use of his commentaries by all whom it has been my privilege to count
among my pupils. I most cordially commend to all intelligent Christian
men and women the careful perusal of these learned, instructive, and
deeply spiritual commentaries. The possession of them would be a
priceless treasure to any family, minister, or Sabbath-school teacher.

  "John Morgan.

"Oberlin, Ohio, _December 23, 1880_."




THE BIBLE READERS' COMMENTARY.

The New Testament,

Complete in two volumes, 8vo.


Vol. I. THE FOURFOLD GOSPEL:

 A Consolidation of the Four Gospels in one Chronological Narrative;
 with the Text arranged in Sections; with Brief Readings and Complete
 Annotations, selected from the "Choice and Best Observations" of more
 than Two Hundred Eminent Christian Thinkers of the Past and Present.
 With Illustrations, Maps, and Diagrams.


Vol. II. Containing the ACTS, the EPISTLES, and the REVELATION.

 With the Text arranged in Sections. Brief Readings and Complete
 Annotations, selected from "the Choice and Best Observations" of more
 than Four Hundred Eminent Christian Thinkers of the Past and Present.
 With Illustrations, Maps, and Diagrams.


  PREPARED BY
  _J. Glentworth Butler, D.D._

  _Each volume, cloth, $5.00; library sheep, $6.00; half morocco,
  $7.00; full morocco, $10.00._

 "I am thankful for an opportunity to recommend this remarkable work
 by Dr. Butler to everybody with whom my words can have the least
 weight--clergy or laity, man or woman, persons of much or little
 reading. It is difficult to think of any class of minds too high
 or too low to be quickened and instructed by it."--_Rt. Rev. F.D.
 Huntington, Bishop of Central New York._

 "I find the plan to be unlike that of any other with which I am
 acquainted, and the execution very successful. I am confident that
 it will take its place with students by the side of the ordinary
 commentaries, and will be esteemed a very valuable addition to the
 religious reading of Christian families."--_Noah Porter, D.D.,
 President of Yale College._




HOMILETICAL INDEX:

A HAND-BOOK OF

Texts, Themes, and Authors, for the Use of Preachers, and Bible
Scholars generally.

_Embracing Twenty Thousand Citations of Scripture Texts, and of
Discourses founded thereon, under a Twofold Arrangement._


I. Textual.

In which all the Principal Texts of Scripture, together with the
various Themes they have suggested, are quoted and set forth in the
order of the Sacred Canon, from Genesis to Revelation; to which is
added a list of Passages cited from the Old Testament in the New.


II. Topical.

In which Bible Themes, with reference to Texts and Authors, are
classified and arranged in Alphabetical Order, forming at once a _Key_
to Homiletical Literature in general, and a complete Topical Index of
the Scriptures on a New Plan. With valuable Appendices.

  _By J.H. Pettingell, A.M._

  With an Introduction by GEORGE E. DAY, D.D., Professor of Biblical
  Theology, Yale College.

  _1 vol., 8vo, cloth, $3.00; the same, interleaved, cloth, $4.00._


SKETCHES AND SKELETONS OF 500 SERMONS.

 By the author of "The Pulpit Cyclopædia." 1 vol., 8vo. Cloth, $2.50.


PULPIT CYCLOPÆDIA AND MINISTER'S COMPANION.

 1 vol., 8vo. Cloth, $2.50.


BURNS'S CYCLOPÆDIA OF SERMONS.

 Uniform with "The Pulpit Cyclopædia." 1 vol., 8vo. Cloth, $2.50.


CRITICAL, EXPLANATORY, and PRACTICAL NOTES ON THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT.

 Designed for the Use of Pastors and People. By Henry Cowles, D.D.
 Complete in 16 volumes, 12mo, uniformly bound in cloth. Price for the
 complete work, $25.00; or separate volumes may be had at the regular
 catalogue price.




EARLY CHRISTIAN LITERATURE PRIMERS.

Edited by Professor GEORGE P. FISHER, D.D.


These Primers will embody, in a few small and inexpensive volumes,
the substance of the characteristic works of the great Fathers of the
Church. The plan recognizes four groups of works:

 1. The Apostolic Fathers and the Apologists of the Second
 Century, A.D. 95-180.

 2. The Fathers of the Third Century, A.D. 180-325.

 3. The Post-Nicene Greek Fathers, A.D. 325-750.

 4. The Post-Nicene Latin Fathers, A.D. 325-590.


NOW READY:


I.

The Apostolic Fathers and the Apologists of the Second Century.

By Rev. GEORGE A. JACKSON.

One volume, 18mo, price, cloth, 60 cents.

Contents: Introduction--The Earlier Patristic Writings--The Apostolic
Fathers--Clement of Rome--Sketch, Epistle to Corinthians, and
Clementine Literature; Ignatius--Sketch, and Epistle to Romans,
Ephesians, and Polycarp; Polycarp--Sketch, and Epistle to Philippians;
Barnabas--Sketch, and Epistle. _Associated Authors._ Hermas--Sketch,
and the Shepherd; Papias--Sketch, and Fragments.

The Apologists.--Introductory Sketch--Notice, and Epistle to Diognetus;
Justin--Sketch, First Apology, and Synopsis of Dialogue with Trypho;
Author of Muratorian Fragment, and the Fragment; Melito--Sketch, and
Fragment; Athenagoras--Sketch, Chapters from Mission about Christians,
and Final Argument on the Resurrection.

 "Judging from this opening volume, we heartily recommend the
 series."--_New York Independent._


II.

The Fathers of the Third Century.

By Rev. GEORGE A. JACKSON.

One volume, 18mo, price, cloth, 60 cents.

Contents: Progress of Christianity in the Third Century; Greek Writers:
Introduction--Irenæus, Sketch of Life and Summaries of Works, with
Extracts--Hippolytus, _do._--Clement of Alexandria, _do._--Origen,
_do._--Gregory Thaumaturgus, _do._--The other Greek Writers;
Latin Writers: Introduction--Tertullian, Sketch, Summaries, and
Extracts--Cyprian, _do._--The other Latin Writers.

 "This little volume is one of the best hand-books of Christian history
 for that century in the English language."--_Christian at Work._




The Old Testament

IN THE JEWISH CHURCH:


 Twelve Lectures on Biblical Criticism, with Notes. By W. Robertson
 Smith, M.A., Recently Professor of Hebrew and Exegesis of the Old
 Testament, Free Church College, Aberdeen. 1 vol., 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.

"Professor Robertson Smith's book is exactly what was wanted at once
to inform and to stimulate. Written by one of the first Semitic
scholars of our time, it is completely abreast of the most recent
investigations, and pervaded by a thoroughly scholar-like spirit. His
easy mastery of the subject and his sense of which are the really
difficult points and which the settled ones are apparent on every
page. What is more surprising is the skill wherewith these resources
are used. Although scientific in the sense of being thorough, exact,
and business-like, the book is also popular--that is to say, it is
perfectly intelligible to every person of fair general education
who has read the Bible. For clearness of statement, for cogency of
argument, for breadth of view, for impartiality of tone, for the
judgment with which details are subordinated to the most interesting
and instructive principles and facts, it is a model of how a great
and difficult subject should be presented to the world."--_Pall Mall
Gazette._

"Speaking after mature deliberation, we pronounce Professor Robertson
Smith's book on Biblical Science one of the most important works
that has appeared in our time. It justifies, in a convincing and
conclusive manner, what we have from first to last maintained regarding
him--namely, that he was engaged in an enterprise auspicious to the
Christian Church; that he was not assailing the faith, but fortifying
it. He has not abandoned one jot or one tittle of his principles, but
he now for the first time states them comprehensively, and points
out their natural and logical applications."--_The Christian World_
(London).

"In his studies the author has made a careful use of the studies of
the great critics of England and Germany. But his work is marked by
a spirit of intrepid independence and an individuality which refuses
to surrender at discretion to anybody. He refuses to be lifted from
his feet on the solid rock of Christian faith, by any passing wave
of skepticism. As an introduction to the Old Testament for the use
of teachers, and a vigorous, scholarly statement of the principles
and results of conservative Biblical criticism, as related to the Old
Testament, these lectures will be found specially serviceable and
interesting. And they are certainly remarkable as an indication of a
liberal movement in the Scottish Church."--_New York Evening Express._

"Heresy is a difficult charge to prove nowadays, and when proved to the
satisfaction of the religious court seems to advance a man's reputation
rather than injure it. Here is Professor Robertson Smith, who was
found too heretical to be allowed to address the students at Aberdeen,
Scotland, on the Hebrew language and literature, who is received in the
larger world with something of the prestige of a martyr. Influential
laymen, both in Edinburgh and Glasgow, have requested him to deliver
in both cities a course of lectures on the present state of Biblical
criticism. These lectures have now been delivered, and are published
not only in England, but in this country also."--_New York Times._

"How far Professor Smith's conclusions may coincide with those of our
own best Biblical scholars we shall not undertake to say, but his work
is so able and accurate, so scholarly and devout, that it will be read
with interest by American clergymen and students, and will stimulate
all who read it to make further researches in the same field."--_The
Christian-at-Work._

Sent, post-paid, to any address in the United States, on receipt of the
price.




APPLETONS'

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*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73379 ***