About this time an incident of peculiar interest took place. The Rev.
Mr. Q---- had invited me to visit the town of C----, and I had set a
day to be at his house. Late in the evening of the day appointed, I
arrived in the town; and while driving along the street, looking for
his house, I saw him standing on his portico, beckoning me to him.
As soon as I had alighted from my buggy, he gave me a cordial shake
of the hand, and said, “You have come just in time to see and hear
one of the greatest dignitaries in the state of Virginia.” I observed
that I was perhaps a little different from many others; that I would
not go a square to see a great man, unless he was a _great good man_.
“Well,” said he, “he ought to be a good man; he’s the bishop of the
Roman-catholic church for this state; and as he is the first live
bishop of the _Holy Catholic_ church who has ever been here, he is
attracting a great deal of attention. He preached in the court-house
this morning, and it was crowded; and he is going to preach here for
several days and nights. He has one or two priests with him, and they
have come to plant a church here. Will you go and hear him?” “Yes,”
said I; “if you go, I will go with you.”
As soon as tea was over, we went to the court-house, and it was
crowded. In a little time the bishop arose, and without any
introductory services, gave out his text: “Thou art Peter, and upon
this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not
prevail against it.” He went on to define “the gates of hell” as the
various Protestant sects, and wound up by trying to prove that Peter
was the first pope, and got the keys, and that the successors of Peter
still held the keys, and no one could enter heaven without going
through the Catholic church. His sermon was delivered with earnestness
and eloquence, and made a deep impression, as very few of all present
were well informed on those matters.
He made much for his cause out of the denominational strifes with which
that region had been afflicted, and I heard many say “Amen” to some of
his thrusts. He announced that he would preach the next morning from
the text, “Search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal
life, and they are they which testify of me.”
We returned to brother Q----’s, and sat to a late hour consulting what
we had better do. Here was a man of Jesuitical cunning, misrepresenting
Protestantism before a community ill qualified to form correct
opinions. I urged Mr. Q---- to contradict some of his false statements;
and after praying over the matter, we retired.
The next morning, at the appointed hour, the house was crowded, though
there were not one dozen Roman-catholics in the community. Owing to the
crowd, Mr. Q---- and I got separated. I lost sight of him, and for want
of a seat elsewhere, got up into a window. In a little while the bishop
announced the text, “Search the scriptures,” and also announced that he
would preach at night from the text, “These were more noble than those
in Thessalonica, in that they searched the scriptures daily.”
The ground taken in this sermon was, that searching the scriptures by
the common people had led to all the religious heresies in the world,
and had raised up more sects than there were chapters in the Bible.
That there was but one true church, and out of all only one could be
right. That Protestants called Luther a great reformer, and he was told
there were no Lutherans in that town; consequently, if Luther was right
they were all wrong; and if they were right, Luther was wrong, and
could not be a great reformer.
He said the Catholic church could not be wrong; that she was
infallible; she was “the pillar and ground of the truth.” He pictured
the quarrels among Protestants in the most hideous manner, and
described a heaven full of such uncongenial characters, till the
picture was ridiculous; and I saw that many present were delighted with
it.
At the close of his sermon, or tirade against the Protestant religion,
he sat down. I rose up in the window, much excited, to see if the Rev.
Mr. Q---- would not call him to an account, when I was much gratified
to see the meek and gentle form of Mr. Q---- slowly rising about the
middle of the house. Said he:
“Bishop, you said in your sermon last night that there were now two
hundred millions of faithful Catholic children in the world, against
which the gates of hell could not prevail. Will you be kind enough to
tell us where they are?”
The bishop rose with a half-courteous and half-disdainful smile, and
said, “You need not ask me such a question as that; the regions they
occupy are all marked on your own Protestant geographies; your little
boys in the streets can point you to them, where they have been marked
in black lines,” and took his seat.
“Well,” said Mr. Q----, “I would prefer you would name the countries to
which they belong.”
He rose again with a most indignant frown. Said he, “I suppose it would
be rather humbling to one who calls himself a preacher to go to the
little boys for information, so I will name some, at least, of the
countries that are Catholic: France, Austria, most of Germany, Hungary,
and Poland; and we shall soon have England, as part of the church there
is only separated from us now by name; and Spain and Mexico are ours
entirely;” and he took his seat again.
“Well,” said Mr. Q----, “do you think we should gain any thing as a
nation by changing our Protestant religion for that of Mexico and
Spain?” and he took his seat.
The bishop arose still more indignant in manner, and said, “I really
cannot understand what you mean, sir, unless you refer to your boasted
liberties in this country; but if that is what you mean, sir, I can
tell you I would rather go to heaven from Mexico or Spain, than to hell
from the midst of all your boasted liberties.”
By this time the audience had become intensely interested. Said I,
“Mr. Bishop, I want to ask you a few questions by way of gaining
information. If I understood you right last night, you said your church
was infallible; that it never had erred, and never could err.”
He replied very indignantly, “I said, sir, that the Catholic church
never had erred, and never could err.”
“Well, sir,” said I, “it was once right to put Protestants to death for
their religion, and of course it is still right.”
He replied, “That is a Protestant falsehood, sir; the church never put
any one to death.”
Said I, “Sir, I can prove what I say by the faithful records of
history.”
“Protestant authority--we could not admit such testimony, sir.”
“Well,” said I, “whether you admit it or not, the blood of martyred
millions is crying for vengeance, and the day of divine recompense will
erelong come.”
After a number of questions from Mr. Q---- and myself of similar
import, Mr. Q---- said, “The general opinion is that General Washington
and General Jackson died good men and went to heaven. What is your
opinion, bishop?”
He replied contemptuously, “Why, sir, we don’t pretend to know whether
they are in heaven or not; those are the secret things that belong to
God.”
“Stop, bishop,” said I, “you said last night that you held the keys
of the kingdom of heaven in your church, and that to you it was
given to open and shut the door; and I now demand of you as one of
these door-keepers, to tell us whether you have let in the immortal
Washington or not.”
In a few moments the call was coming from every part of the house,
“Tell us whether you have let Washington into heaven or not.”
The bishop tore his surplice off in a rage, and put out of the house
with one or two priests after him--the crowd following him, and calling
out, “Come back and answer the question about our beloved Washington.”
But he went on, ordered his horse, pronounced a curse on the place,
closed his meetings, and left the town. The excitement of the crowd was
most intense.