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."