[Illustration: Eng. by A. R. Ritchie.
yours affectionately
Henry Boehm
b. June 8, 1775--d. 1875.]
THE
PATRIARCH OF ONE HUNDRED YEARS;
BEING
REMINISCENCES,
HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL,
OF
REV. HENRY BOEHM.
BY REV. J. B. WAKELEY, D.D.
[Illustration]
With several additional chapters, containing an Account of the
Exercises on his One Hundredth Birthday; his Sermon
before the Newark Conference and the Addresses then
delivered; his Centennial Sermons in Trinity
Church, Jersey City, and in John-street
Church, New York, and
The Addresses made on
those occasions,
PHONOGRAPHICALLY REPORTED.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
NELSON & PHILLIPS.
CINCINNATI: HITCHCOCK & WALDEN.
1875.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
CARLTON & PORTER,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
TO
THOMAS A. MORRIS, D.D.,
AND
HIS COLLEAGUES,
THE
BISHOPS OF THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH,
THE
WORTHY SUCCESSORS OF THE APOSTOLIC ASBURY,
IS
THIS VOLUME
MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY
HENRY BOEHM.
PREFACE.
For many years, and by many persons, including bishops, editors, and
others, I have been importuned to publish the substance of my records
and recollections of the Methodism of my day. It was judged that my
great age, my intimate relations with Bishop Asbury, and my acquaintance
with other pioneers and fathers of the Church, would enable me thus
to preserve much desirable information which would otherwise soon be
forgotten.
In 1847 the New Jersey Conference took action on the subject, and
appointed a committee to confer with me in respect to my journals and
other papers, and aid in preparing them for publication. The committee
was a very competent one, but the members were too widely separated for
any effectual result. I had concluded to abandon the design, and this
volume would probably never have seen the light had not the Rev. J. B.
Wakeley come to my help.
For the materials of the work I had a manuscript journal of two thousand
pages. This we went over together, reviewing all my fields of labor, and
drawing additional particulars from the storehouse of memory, Brother
Wakeley performing the work of transcribing, arranging, and revising.
Thus the journal furnished the warp and recollection the filling of
what is before the reader in the shape of a book. In this way we were
employed, at different times, during a period of twelve years, so that if
the work has been poorly done it has not been through undue haste or the
sparing of labor or pains.
Next year is the centenary of American Methodism, and this volume is a
connecting link between the present and the origin of our Church, for
I have heard Robert Strawbridge, who laid the foundation of Methodism
in Maryland nearly a hundred years ago. From it the reader may get a
good idea of primitive Methodism, and learn how our fathers toiled and
“endured hardness as good soldiers,” and some, I trust, will catch their
spirit of labor and self-denial for Christ and the Church.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MY ANCESTORS AND MY EARLY DAYS 9
II. SKETCHES OF EARLY PREACHERS 19
III. BOEHM’S CHAPEL 30
IV. GENERAL CONFERENCE OF 1800 35
V. PHILADELPHIA CONFERENCE—GREAT REVIVALS—BARRATT’S CHAPEL 44
VI. MY FIRST CIRCUIT, DORCHESTER 57
VII. MY SECOND CIRCUIT, ANNAMESSEX, 1802 65
VIII. KENT, BRISTOL, AND NORTHAMPTON CIRCUITS 75
IX. PHILADELPHIA CONFERENCE, 1803—BRISTOL CIRCUIT 88
X. SHORT TOUR WITH BISHOP ASBURY, 1803 100
XI. DAUPHIN CIRCUIT, 1803-4 106
XII. BALTIMORE AND PHILADELPHIA CONFERENCES, 1805—ST. MARTIN’S
CIRCUIT 118
XIII. FIRST CAMP-MEETING ON THE PENINSULA, 1805 128
XIV. DOVER CIRCUIT, 1806—SICKNESS AND DEATH OF BISHOP WHATCOAT 137
XV. DOVER CIRCUIT—GREAT CAMP-MEETINGS 147
XVI. MISSIONARIES, 1807 161
XVII. DOCTOR ROMER AND THE GERMAN METHODIST DISCIPLINE 173
XVIII. GENERAL CONFERENCE OF 1808 180
XIX. FIRST ANNUAL TOUR WITH BISHOP ASBURY, 1808 186
XX. FIRST VISIT TO THE SOUTH 209
XXI. NORTHERN TOUR—VIRGINIA AND BALTIMORE CONFERENCES 220
XXII. FIRST VISIT TO NEW YORK CITY—NEW YORK AND NEW ENGLAND
CONFERENCES 234
XXIII. SECOND ANNUAL TOUR—WESTERN AND SOUTHERN CONFERENCES 254
XXIV. TOUR TO VIRGINIA, BALTIMORE, AND PHILADELPHIA CONFERENCES 273
XXV. NEW ENGLAND AND GENESEE CONFERENCES OF 1810 289
XXVI. ANNUAL TOUR, 1810—WESTERN CONFERENCE 310
XXVII. TOUR TO SOUTH CAROLINA CONFERENCE 322
XXVIII. VIRGINIA, BALTIMORE, PHILADELPHIA, AND NEW ENGLAND
CONFERENCES 333
XXIX. BISHOP ASBURY’S FIRST VISIT TO CANADA 348
XXX. FOURTH WESTERN AND SOUTHERN TOUR—CONFERENCES OF 1811 363
XXXI. DEATH, FUNERAL, AND CHARACTER OF REV. MARTIN BOEHM 372
XXXII. THE UNITED BRETHREN IN CHRIST—SKETCH OF OTTERBEIN, ETC. 387
XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA AND GENERAL CONFERENCE OF 1812 394
XXXIV. NEW YORK, NEW ENGLAND, AND GENESEE CONFERENCES 399
XXXV. MY LAST TOUR WITH BISHOP ASBURY 405
XXXVI. SCHUYLKILL DISTRICT, 1813-14 416
XXXVII. CHESAPEAKE DISTRICT—GOVERNOR BASSETT’S DEATH AND CHARACTER 424
XXXVIII. GENERAL CONFERENCE—ASBURY’S FUNERAL, ETC. 430
XXXIX. BISHOP ASBURY—CHARACTER AND HABITS 438
XL. DEATH OF JESSE LEE—HIS CHARACTER 460
XLI. CHESAPEAKE DISTRICT—TOURS WITH BISHOPS GEORGE AND
M’KENDREE 466
XLII. DELAWARE DISTRICT, 1819-21—THOMAS AND EDWARD WHITE—JOSHUA
THOMAS—CIRCUITS 472
XLIII. LAST VISIT TO MY NATIVE PLACE—WESTERN TOUR 481
REMINISCENCES OF REV. HENRY BOEHM.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
MY ANCESTORS AND MY EARLY DAYS.
My forefathers were from Switzerland. There is romance in their
history as well as in the land of their birth. Jacob Boehm, my
great-great-grandfather, was a Presbyterian. His son Jacob learned
a trade. It was a custom in Switzerland for all who completed their
apprenticeship to travel three years through the country as itinerant
journeymen. The design was to make them finished workmen; and no man
could enter into business for himself, no matter how well qualified,
until he pursued this course.
In his wanderings Jacob fell in with a people called _Pietists_. In
many respects they resembled the Puritans. He was converted among them.
The change was so great when he returned home, his language so strange,
that his friends could not understand him. “The natural man receiveth
not the things of the Spirit of God.” His singular experience, his
exposure of formal religion, his boldness in reproving sin, raised a
storm of persecution. The minister withstood him, and denounced him as a
heretic. His answers were so pertinent that his father gave him a severe
reprimand, inquiring, “Boy, do you answer a minister in that way?” The
Church exercised civil as well as ecclesiastical authority, and young
Boehm was convicted of heresy, and sentenced to prison. An elder brother
was appointed to conduct him to the prison-house. He did not watch his
brother very closely, and as they were near the line that separated
Switzerland from France the prisoner crossed over, and was forever free
from his domestic and priestly persecutors.
He journeyed along the banks of the Rhine till he entered the Dukedom of
Pfaltz. This was the Palatinate bordering on Belgium. From this region
were the ancestors of Philip Embury. There young Jacob became acquainted
with a people called Mennonites. They took their name from Menno Simon,
who was cotemporary with Luther. They were a simple-hearted people, and
he united with them, and became a lay elder. He had several children,
of whom Jacob, the third, was my grandfather. He was born in 1693, and
emigrated to this country in 1715. Many of the Mennonites emigrated from
Switzerland and Germany.
My grandfather was induced to come to America from the glowing
description given of this country by Martin Kendig, one of the seven
families who had settled in what is now Lancaster County, Pa. He landed
in Philadelphia, from thence went to Germantown, then to Lancaster, and
finally settled in Pequea, Conestoga Township. Soon afterward he married
a Miss Kendig. My grandfather was a lay elder in the Mennonite Society.
Soon after his arrival he bought a farm and built him a house. He was
also a blacksmith, the first in all that region. His wife was very
industrious, and when necessary, she would leave her work and blow and
strike for him. I recollect him well. When I was five years old he walked
over the fields showing me various things, and trying to entertain me.
Not knowing anything about the infirmities of age, I wondered why he did
not walk faster. He died in 1780, aged eighty-seven. My grandmother was
an excellent woman, particularly fond of me because I was the youngest
grandchild. They had a number of sons and daughters. My father, Martin
Boehm, was the youngest. He was born November 30, 1725, and married in
1753 to Eve Steiner, who was born on Christmas day, 1734. Her ancestors
were from Switzerland, and settled near my grandfather’s.
My father inherited my grandfather’s beautiful farm, and in 1750 built
him a house, in which his children were all born, and where many have
been born again. He was a short, stout man, with a vigorous constitution,
an intellectual countenance, and a fine flowing beard, which gave him a
patriarchal appearance. He had strong common sense, and well understood
the science of family government. The order and discipline of the family
attracted the attention of the apostolic Asbury, and he made mention of
it in preaching my father’s funeral sermon.
Martin Boehm was first a Mennonite preacher, for he embraced the religion
of his fathers. He was made so by lot in 1756, for such was the custom of
this singular people. For some time he preached without a knowledge of
sins forgiven; but in 1761 he found redemption in the blood of the Lamb,
and then he became a flame of fire, and preached with the Holy Ghost
sent down from heaven. His success was wonderful, and the seals to his
ministry were numerous. Then the Mennonites expelled him for being too
evangelical. He then joined the United Brethren, and afterward became a
member of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
My mother was a noble woman, and to my parents I am, under God, indebted
for what I am on earth, and all I hope to be in heaven.
MY EARLY DAYS.
I was born in the old homestead, in the township of Conestoga,[1]
Lancaster County, Pa., on the 8th of June, 1775. This was immediately
after the battle of Lexington, and one year before the Declaration of
Independence. Thus I saw the birth of our nation, and have lived under
the first President, George Washington, and sixteen of his successors,
to Andrew Johnson. I was born nine years before the Methodist Episcopal
Church was organized, and have known all its bishops, from Thomas Coke,
the first, to Calvin Kingsley, the last elected. My memory goes back
over eighty years. I recollect when they traveled out West to Fort Pitt,
now Pittsburgh, on “pack horses.” The roads, if we may call them roads,
for they were mere paths through the wilderness, were so rough that they
could not be traveled any other way.
Like my father, I was the youngest child. There were seven older than
myself, and four of them had grown up to manhood before I was born. I
had a common school education. The old school-house and my schoolmaster,
Henry Rosman, I well remember. He went from house to house, and it was
a great occasion when he came to my father’s to board. He was quite a
character, a perfect original. He came from Hesse Cassel, and was one of
the Hessian soldiers taken prisoner at Trenton, N. J., when Washington
and his noble band crossed the frozen Delaware and surprised Colonel
Ralle and his troops and took them prisoners, while their commander was
slain. Many of the Hessians had come to this country contrary to their
own will to fight against America, and they preferred remaining here to
returning to Europe. A number of them were sent to Lancaster County, and
among the rest my old schoolmaster. He possessed many rare qualifications
for an instructor. He was a thorough German scholar, and had mastered the
English language. His school was kept in perfect order; every scholar
knew his place, and was obliged to keep it. The teacher prayed in school,
and taught the children short prayers. Like Ichabod Crane, he sung psalms
and hymns, and we learned to sing them. Some of the German hymns which
he taught me to sing over eighty years ago I still remember well. To him
I am indebted for my accurate knowledge of the German language, which
I learned before the English. Germans have often admired my correct
pronunciation of their vernacular. They said it was pure, and not mixed
with other dialects, like the Pennsylvania German. In after years it was
a great benefit to me when I preached in German. I was one of the first
among the Methodists that preached in that language. This I have done in
fourteen different states. Some things which I wrote in German over sixty
years ago I have preserved, and am surprised to find them so correct. I
was a great favorite with Mr. Rosman, and he took delight in giving me
instruction.
The little old school-house still remains, but where are the scholars
and the teachers? When, after an absence of many years, I paid a visit
to my native town in 1856, I inquired for my old schoolfellows, hoping
to find one with whom I could converse about by-gone days. I inquired in
vain. They were all gone, and I found myself alone and lonely. Dilworth’s
spelling-book, from which I learned English, and the knife and fork I
used when a very little boy, I have preserved as relics of my childhood.
Once in my early days I went to the theater in Philadelphia. I had
heard much of the theater, and I wanted to see what it was. I got
along very well until mimic thunder and lightning was brought in to
illustrate the play. When I saw and heard this I was shocked. It seemed
to me so irreverent and presumptuous that I thought the Almighty in
his displeasure would send real thunder and lightning to terrify those
imitators. I expected to hear the deep-toned thunder, and to see the
vivid lightning flash over my guilty head. I prayed, and promised God, if
he would only spare me to get out of the house and return safely home, I
would never enter such a place again. That was my first and last visit to
the theater.
RELIGIOUS EXERCISES.
My early advantages for religious instruction were great. I was “brought
up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” Morning and evening the
old family Bible was read, and prayer was offered. My father’s voice
still echoes in my ears. My mother, too, had much to do in moulding my
character and shaping my destiny. One evening as I returned home I heard
a familiar voice engaged in prayer. I listened: it was my mother. Among
other things, she prayed for her children, and mentioned Henry, her
youngest son. The mention of my name broke my heart, and melted me into
contrition. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I felt the importance of
complying with the command of God: “My son, give me thine heart.”
There lived in my father’s family a wicked man who had a peculiar
hatred against the Methodists, and he prejudiced me against them by his
misrepresentations. This had a soul-withering influence on me. I lost my
tender feelings, and neglected the means of grace. “One sinner destroyeth
much good.” Sinners enticed me to sin and I consented.
In the year 1790, when I was about fifteen, I went to learn the milling
business, and worked in a grist mill. There I had no religious counsel
or example. What a critical period it is when a young man leaves home!
I went into bad company, supposing my father would not hear of it; but
I was mistaken. He did hear of my conduct, and came to see me. When I
saw him I suspected his errand. A guilty conscience needs no accuser.
The plain, solemn, and affecting reproof he gave me at that time had a
wonderful effect upon me. His quivering lip, tearful eye, and tremulous
voice showed how deeply he felt for me. Shame crimsoned my cheeks. His
counsel was not lost, but it terminated in deep conviction for sin. My
soul was burdened, and, almost in despair, I prayed,
“Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive;
Let a repenting rebel live.
Are not thy mercies large and free?
May not a sinner trust in thee?”
When my father left I went into the upper loft of the mill, and on my
knees, in an agony of deep distress, I cried, “God be merciful to me
a sinner.” “Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.” I had a view
of the atonement of the Son of God. By faith I realized my interest in
it, and in a moment I felt my heart strangely warmed. My conscience was
assured of its part in the atoning blood, and God sent forth the spirit
of his Son into my heart crying, “Abba, Father.” This was in February,
1793.
I lived near the Lord, and enjoyed a great deal of comfort for some time;
but I fell into a sad error. As I was converted alone away from the
Church the enemy suggested that I could get along without uniting with
God’s people. I yielded, and this error was like to have ruined me. I
enlarge here because many have yielded to a similar temptation and been
lost to the Church and lost to heaven. The lambs of the flock cannot
too soon enter the fold. In apostolic times converts did not first try
the experiment whether they could get along without uniting with the
Church. On the day of Pentecost the three thousand who were “pricked in
their hearts” under the preaching of Peter were baptized and united with
the Church that day. So with the jailer; he was converted, baptized, and
united with the Church that very night in Philippi, when Paul and Silas
prayed, and sang praises to God. This was the course pursued in the days
of the apostles. I would advise young persons not to imitate my example.
Never try to see if you can get along without the Church. _The Church
can get along without you, but you cannot get along without the Church._
Place yourself under her care as soon as possible. Confess Christ before
men, and he will confess you before his Father and the holy angels.
The consequence of my error was that I lost my spiritual enjoyment. My
course was zig-zag. I ran forward, then stood still, then went backward.
I was not a member of the Church, therefore was not under her watch-care,
and I had no opportunity to improve the talents God had given me. I told
no one I was converted. Instead of letting my light shine before men I
resolved to hide it. Sad mistake! Thus I continued five long years. These
were lost years: lost to myself, lost to the Church, and lost to the
world. There is nothing in my early history I regret so much as the loss
of these five years; a loss that tears and prayers cannot recall, for
time once lost is gone forever.