held the Communion. The bread and wine were placed upon the general or
main table—being set before the bishops—and were covered with a white
cloth.
Before the celebration of the ordinance there was read in German the
passage of Scripture upon which it is founded; and also, as it seemed
to me, the narrative of the crucifixion. The hymn now sung was an
English one, and the only one in our language that was sung by the whole
congregation during the two days’ meeting. It was,
“Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?”
Meantime, the assistant bishop divided the bread, or cakes, which were
unleavened and sweetened. He directed the members, while eating the
bread, to reflect upon the sufferings of the Saviour. His manner was
devout and impressive. As he and Bishop D⸺ passed around among the
women, distributing the bread, the former repeated several times, in a
sonorous voice, these or similar words: “Das Brod das wir brechen ist
die Gemeinschaft des Leibes Christi.” (“The bread that we break is the
communion of the body of Christ.”)
The wine, which smelt strong, was the juice of the grape, and was made
in the neighborhood. An aged bishop from another congregation made some
observations, and while speaking marked the length of something upon his
finger. Mrs. R. said that he was showing the size of the thorns in the
crown. She added, “They are there yet.” I looked at her in much surprise,
wondering whether she believed in the preservation of the actual
thorns; whereupon she added, “They grow there still. Did you never read
it in Bausman’s book on the Holy Land?—Bausman, the Reformed preacher.”
The simplicity of the surroundings upon this occasion were, it seemed
to me, in keeping with those of the original supper, at which sat the
“carpenter’s son” and the fishermen.
When meeting was over, as I did not see my escort to the public-house,
and as I had been told that I could stay here, I followed those who went
above-stairs, and received a bolster made of a grain-bag filled with hay
or straw. I shared it with Mrs. Murphy. Our bed was composed of straw
laid upon the floor, and covered, or nearly so, with pieces of domestic
carpet. We had a coverlet to lay over us. I talked with some of the other
women who lay beside us, and could not get to sleep immediately; but at
last I slept so sweetly that it was not agreeable to be disturbed at four
o’clock, when, by my reckoning, the sisters began to rise. When some
of these had gone down, I should perhaps have slept again, had it not
been for a continued talking upon the men’s side of the partition, quite
audible, as the partition only ran up to a distance of some feet, not
nearly so high as the lofty ridge of the building. The voices appeared to
be those of a young man and one or two boys, talking in the dialect. A
woman near me laughed.
“What is it?” said I.
“It’s too mean to tell,” she answered.
I surmise that the Dunker brethren had gone down and left these youths.
Although a baby was crying, I lay still until two girls in Dunker
caps—one ten years old, the other twelve—came with a candle, looking at
us, smiling, and making remarks, perhaps thinking that it was time for
us to be up.
I asked the eldest what o’clock it was.
She did not know.
“What made you get up, then?”
“I got up when the others did.”
Then some one explained that there were a good many dishes left unwashed
the evening before.
I was surprised to see such young persons members of the meeting, for I
supposed that the Dunkers, like the Mennonites, are opposed to infant
baptism. The former explained to me, however, that they thought such
persons as these old enough to distinguish right from wrong. I was told,
too, of one girl, still younger, who had insisted on _wearing the cap_.
The Mennonites baptize persons as young as fifteen. Both sects seem to
hold peculiar views upon original sin.
A Dunker preacher once said to me,—
“We believe that, after Adam, all were born in sin; but, after Christ,
all were born without sin.”
And a Mennist neighbor says,—
“Children have no sin; the kingdom of heaven is of little children.”
I continued to lie still, looking at the rafters and roof, and
speculating as to their being so clean, and clear of cobwebs, and whether
they had been laboriously swept; and then, gathering my wardrobe together
with some little trouble, I was at last ready to go down. As I went to a
window, I saw Orion and Sirius, and the coming day.
Going down to wash at the pump, in the morning gloaming, while the
landscape still lay in shade, I found two or three lads at the pump, and
one of them pumped for me. I was so ignorant of pump-washing as to wonder
why he pumped so small a stream, and to suspect that he was _making fun_;
but thus it seems it is proper to do, to avoid wetting the sleeves.
Here I met a pretty young sister, from Cumberland County,—fat and
fair,—whose acquaintance I had made the day before. Her cap was of lace,
and not so plain as the rest. There was with her at the pump one of the
world’s people, a young girl in a blue dress.
“Is that your sister?” I asked.
“It’s the daughter of the woman I live with,” she replied. “I have no
sister. I am hired with her mother.”
To my inexperienced eye it was not easy to tell the rich Dunkers from the
poor, when all wore so plain a dress. I was afterward much surprised on
discovering that this pretty sister did not understand German. Another
from Cumberland County told me that I ought to come to their meeting,
which was nearly all English.
After washing, I went up into the meeting-house, where the lamps were
still burning. A few sisters were sitting here, and two little maidens
were making a baby laugh and scream by walking her back and forth along
the empty benches. About sunrise the bishop had arrived, and a number of
brethren ranged themselves upon the benches and began to sing. Before
long, we, who had stayed overnight, had our breakfast, having cold meat
at this and the succeeding meal. I think it was at breakfast that my
pleasant friend with the silvery hair mentioned that there was still a
store of bread and pies.
The great event of the morning meeting was the “making the preacher.”
At my usual seat, at a distant window, I was so busily occupied with my
notes that I did not perceive what was going on at the preachers’ table,
until I saw a man and woman standing before the table with their backs
to the rest of the congregation. I made my way to my former corner of
observation, and found that there was another brother standing with them
(the sister in the middle), and these were receiving the greetings of
the family. The brethren came up, one by one, kissed one of the men,
shook hands with the sister, and kissed the other man. This last was the
newly-chosen preacher, the former brother, named Z., being a preacher
who, by the consent of the members (also given yesterday), was now
advanced one degree in the ministry, and was henceforth to have power to
marry and to baptize. The sister was his wife. She is expected to support
her husband in the ministry, and to be ready to receive those women who,
after baptism, come up from the water. This office and that of voting
seem to be the only important ones held by women in this society. Herein
they differ greatly from another plain sect,—Friends or Quakers, among
whom women minister, transact business, etc.[44]
After the brethren were done, the sisters came up, shook hands with Z.,
kissed his wife, and shook hands with the new preacher, whose wife, I
believe, was not present.
The bishop invited the sisters to come forward: “Koomet alle! alle die
will. Koomet alle!”
While this salutation was in progress, L., who spoke in English, made
some explanatory remarks. He told us that he had read or heard of two
men travelling together, of whom one was a doctor of divinity. The
latter asked the younger man what he was now doing. He replied that he
was studying divinity. He had formerly been studying law, but on looking
around he saw no opening in the law, so he was now studying divinity,
which course or which change met the approval of the reverend doctor.
“Now,” said L., “_we_ do not approve of men-made preachers;” a striking
remark in a congregation where a preacher had just been elected by a
plurality. But he went on to explain that he trusted that there was no
brother or sister who had voted for him who had just been chosen for this
arm of the church who had not prayed God earnestly that they might make
such a choice as would be profitable in the church. He went on to explain
that the newly-chosen preacher was now receiving from the congregation an
expression of unity.
There were various other exercises this morning,—preaching, praying,
and singing,—before the final adjournment. At the close we had dinner.
I made an estimate of the number who partook of this meal as about five
hundred and fifty. One of the men guessed a thousand; but we are prone to
exaggerate numbers where our feelings are interested.
Before we parted, I had some conversation with certain brethren,
principally upon the non-resistant doctrines of the society. In my own
neighborhood, not a great while before, a Dunker had been robbed under
peculiar circumstances. Several men had entered his house at night, and,
binding him and other members of the family, had forced him to tell
where his United States and other bonds were placed, and had carried off
property worth four thousand dollars. The brother had gone in pursuit
of them, visiting the mayor of our town, and the police in neighboring
cities (without recovering his property). I asked these brethren at
different times whether his course was in agreement with their rules.
They answered that it was not.
On the present occasion I repeated the question as to what they would
have done on the previous evening if the disturbance had risen to a
great height. One of the brethren, in reply, quoted from the Acts of the
Apostles, where it is narrated that forty Jews entered into a conspiracy
to kill Paul. But Paul sent his nephew to the chief captain to inform
him of the conspiracy. The captain then put Paul under the charge of
soldiers, to be brought safe unto Felix the governor.
From this passage the Dunkers feel at liberty to appeal to the police for
their protection; but only once: if protection be not then afforded them,
they must do without it.
I further mentioned to these brethren a case which had been told to me
some time before by a Dunker preacher, of a certain brother who had
been sued in the settlement of an estate, and had received a writ from
the sheriff. This writ was considered by the Dunkers as a call from the
powers that be, to whom they are ordered to be subservient, and the
brother therefore went with some brethren to the office of a lawyer, who
furnished him with subpœnas to summon witnesses in his defence. But the
Dunkers argued among themselves that for him to take these legal papers
from his pocket would be to draw the sword. He therefore sent word to
his friends, informally, to come to the office of a magistrate; and, the
evidence being in his favor, he was released. “This,” said my informant,
“is the only lawsuit that I have known in our society since I joined the
meeting,” which was, I believe, a period of about seven years.
In repeating this narrative to the brethren at the Love-Feast, I
learned that they are now at liberty to engage in defensive lawsuits.
They have, as I understood one to say, no creed and no discipline,
although I believe that a certain confession of faith is required.
The New Testament, or, as they say, the Testament, they claim to be
their creed and their discipline. There is also much independence in
the congregations. But in some cases they have resort to a general
council, and here it has been decided that a Dunker may defend himself
in a lawsuit, but only once. Should an appeal be taken to another court,
the Dunker can go no further. This reminds me of Paul’s question to the
Corinthians, “Why do you not rather suffer loss than go to law?”[45] Does
it not seem hard to practise such non-resistance, to remain upright and
open-minded, and at the same time to acquire much wealth?
The Dunkers do not like to be called by this name; their chosen title is
Brethren.
* * * * *
The Love-Feast, above described, was held by the “Old Brethren,” who
originated in Germany about the year 1708.
It has been said that they originated among the Pietists; but a very
great resemblance will be found among them to our German Baptists of the
Mennonite or Anabaptist stock.
I afterward visited other Dunkers, belonging to a division called the
“River Brethren.” They originated near the Susquehanna River, but they
have now spread as far as Ohio, if not farther.
That these are of the old Baptist stock there is no doubt, as Jacob
Engle, their founder, was of a Mennonite family,—a family which boasts
that one of their ancestors was a prisoner in Switzerland, on account of
her faith. (See note, in “Swiss Exiles,” page 101.)
In coming to this country, about one hundred years ago, tradition tells
us that the Engle family joined with thirty others, who were upon the
same vessel, to remain bound together in life and in death. The young
infants of these families all died upon the voyage, except Jacob Engle,
whereupon an old nurse said, “God has preserved him for an especial
purpose.” He became a preacher, and this his friends regarded as a
fulfilment of the prophecy.
Jacob Engle, or “Yokely Engle,” as he was sometimes called, considered
that there was not sufficient warmth and zeal among the Mennonites at
that time. He became very zealous; experiencing, as he believed, a change
of heart.
Before he became a preacher, some joined him in holding prayer-meetings.
It was found that some wished to be baptized by immersion, and the rite
was thus performed (whereas the Mennonites baptize by pouring).
A common observer would see very little difference between these Brethren
and the Old Dunkers. The River Brethren allow all present to partake
of the love-feast, or paschal supper. Some of them have said that the
paschal supper is an expression of the love of God to all mankind, and
love toward all men constrains them to invite all to partake thereof. But
from the Lord’s Supper they exclude all strangers.
Their meetings are usually held in private houses, or in summer in barns.
Some of their preachers have been heard, upon rising to speak, to declare
that they intend to say only what the Spirit teaches them.
One of their most striking peculiarities is their opposition to the
use of lightning-rods. A preacher said to me, when talking upon this
subject, “If God wishes to preserve the building, he can preserve
it without the lightning-rod. If he does not wish to preserve it,
I am willing to submit to the result.” It has been thought that an
acquaintance with the laws of electricity would remove the objection
which they feel.
The Brinser Brethren were formed from the River Brethren some years ago.
They are popularly thus called, from an able preacher named Matthias
Brinser. They erect meeting-houses, in preference, as I understand,
to meeting in private houses. Their church has not opposed electrical
conductors, though some members feel conscientious in the matter.
The question of erecting meeting-houses seems to have caused considerable
trouble among the River Brethren. A gentleman of our county remarked to
me that the custom of meeting in private houses is traditional among our
people, and dates from times of persecution.
* * * * *
Since the foregoing was published, there has appeared in the _Century_
magazine, December, 1881, an article by Dr. Seidensticker on the Ephrata
Baptists. In this article the author states that the Dunkers number in
the United States (for they have also missions in Europe) about two
hundred thousand souls, with nearly two thousand ministers, none of
whom receives a salary. They have three collegiate institutions,—one in
Pennsylvania, one in Ohio, and one in Illinois.
He states that those who fail in business among the Dunkers are aided to
make a new effort, and such assistance may be lent three times [twice?].
After the third failure, they take it to be the will of God that the
unfortunate brother shall not succeed. Dr. Seidensticker says, too,
that in the holy kiss of the Dunkers, the first kiss among the women is
applied by the minister to the first sister’s hand, which differs from
the statement that I have made of the Love-Feast.
EPHRATA.
This quiet village in Lancaster County has been for over a century
distinguished as the seat of a Protestant monastic institution,
established by the Seventh-Day German Baptists about the year 1738.
Conrad Beissel, the founder of the cloister, was born in Germany, at
Oberbach, in the Palatinate, in the year 1691. He was by trade a baker,
but, after coming to this country, he worked at weaving with Peter
Becker, the Dunker preacher, at Germantown. He is said to have been a
Presbyterian, which I interpret to mean a member of the German Reformed
Church. According to the inscription upon his tombstone, his “spiritual
life” began in 1716, or eight years before he was baptized among the
Dunkers.
This may be explained by an article written by the Rev. Christian
Endress, who seems to have studied the Ephrata community, in connection
with their published writings, more than some others who have endeavored
to describe this peculiar people.[46]
Mr. Endress says, “The Tunkers trace their origin from the Pietists near
Schwarzenau, in Germany.”[47]
While they yet belonged among the Pietists, there was a society formed
at Schwarzenau composed of eight persons, whose spiritual leader was
Alexander Mack, a miller of Schriesheim.
The members of this little society are said to have been rebaptized (by
immersion), because they considered their infant baptism as unavailing,
and to have first assumed the name of _Taeuffer_, or Baptists.[48]
The Dunkers first appeared in America in 1719, when about twenty families
landed in Philadelphia, and dispersed to Germantown, Conestoga, and
elsewhere.
Beissel was baptized among them in 1724, in Pequea Creek, a tributary of
the Susquehanna. He lived for a while at Mühlbach, or Mill Greek, in
Lancaster County. Some time after this baptism, or in 1728, he published
a tract upon the Seventh Day as the true Sabbath. This tract caused a
disturbance among the brethren at Mill Creek, and Beissel and some with
him withdrew from the other Dunkers, and Beissel rebaptized those of his
own society.[49]
Not long after, says Endress, Beissel, who had appointed several elders
over his people, withdrew from them, and retired to live a solitary life
in a cottage that had been built for a similar purpose, and occupied by
a brother called Elimelech. This cottage stood near the place where the
convent was afterward built. Here we infer that he lived for several
years.
To live the life of cenobites or hermits, says Rupp, was in some
measure peculiar to many of the Pietists who had fled from Germany to
seek an asylum in Pennsylvania. “On the banks of the Wissahickon, near
Philadelphia, several hermits had their cells, some of them men of fine
talents and profound erudition.”
Of some of these hermits, and of the monastic community afterward settled
at Ephrata, it is probable that a ruling idea was the speedy coming of
Christ to judge the world. It is stated that after the formation of
Beissel’s “camp” midnight meetings were held, for some time, to await the
coming of judgment. Those who remember the Millerite, or Second Advent,
excitement of the year 1843, can appreciate the effect that this idea
would have upon the minds of the Dunkers, and how it could stimulate them
to suffer many inconveniences for the brief season that they expected to
tarry in the world.[50]
While Beissel was dwelling in his solitary cot, about the year 1730, two
married women joined the society, of whom the Ephrata Chronicle tells us
that they left their husbands and placed themselves under the lead of the
director (or _vorsteher_, the title applied to Beissel in the Chronicle).
He received them, although it was against the canon of the new society.
One of these was Maria Christiana, wife of Christopher Sower, him
who afterward established the celebrated German printing-office at
Germantown. She escaped in the year 1730, and was baptized the same
fall. In the beginning she dwelt alone in the desert, “and showed by her
example that a manly spirit can dwell in a female creature.”[51]
While Beissel was still in his hermitage, discord and strife arose among
the brethren of his society, news of which reached him by some means, for
in the year 1733 he cited them to appear at his cottage.
They met, and some of the single brethren agreed to build a second
cottage near that occupied by their leader. Besides this, a house was
also built for females, and in May, 1733, two single women retired into
it.[52]
In 1734, a third house for male brethren was built and occupied by the
brothers Onesimus and Jotham, whose family name was Eckerlin.[53]
Soon after, says Endress, they all united in the building of a bake-house
and a storehouse for the poor. And now the whole was called the camp
(_das Lager_).
The early history of the society is quaintly narrated by Morgan Edwards,
the Baptist historian. They had, he says, their existence as a society
in 1724, when Conrad Beissel and six others were baptized in Pequea
River by Rev. Peter Baker. The same day these seven incorporated into a
church, and chose Conrad Beissel to be their minister. After this they
continued some time at Mill Creek, and then, removing about three miles
northward, pitched on the land of Rudolph Neagley, in Earl Township. Here
they continued about seven years; and hither resorted many to see them,
some of whom joined the society. Here they began their economy, the men
living by themselves on the fore-mentioned lands, and the women also by
themselves on the adjoining lands of John Moyly.
Here Conrad Beissel appointed two elders and a matron to preside over his
church in the wilderness, binding them by a solemn promise (and at the
same time giving to each a Testament) to govern according to the rules
of that book. Then he withdrew, and made as though they should see him
no more. This was done in the year 1732 or 1733. He travelled northward,
till he came to the spot where Ephrata or Tunkerstown now stands, and
with his hoe planted Indian corn and roots for his subsistence. But he
had not been long in the place before the society found him out, and
repaired to his little cot, the brethren settling with him on the west
bank of Cocalico, and the sisters on the east, all in sight of one
another, with the river running between them. The next year they set
about building their village, beginning with a place of worship.
Endress tells us that about the time of the formation of the camp there
was a revival in Falconer Swamp, in consequence of which many families
took up land round about the camp, and moved upon it. Another revival on
the banks of the Schuylkill drove many more into the neighborhood; by it
the sister establishment gained accessions; but only two, Drusilla and
Basilla, remained steadfast. “A further revival in Tolpehoccon,” 1735,
brought many to the society. Hereupon they built a meeting-house, with
rooms attached to it for the purpose of holding [preparing?] love-feasts,
and called it Kedar. About the same time, a revival in Germantown sent
additional brothers and sisters to the camp.[54]
It was in 1735, during the revival at Tulpehocken, that Peter Miller was
baptized[55] or rebaptized. Miller, in one of his letters (see Hazard’s
Register, vol. xvi.), speaks of several persons who, as it appears, were
baptized with him; namely, the schoolmaster, three _elderlings_ (one of
them Conrad Weyser), five families, and some single persons. This, he
says, raised such a fermentation in that church (by which I suppose he
means the Reformed Church, which they left), that a persecution might
have followed had the magistrates consented with the generality.