_Plants the United Brethren Banner in Terre Haute—Prairieton
Pastorate—Difficulty with the Sons of Anak—A Prayer Without an
“Amen”—Another Community Redeemed—Going to the Wrong Doctor—A
Perverse Colt—An Unintentional Immersion—One Sermon That was
not Dry._
It was in April, 1864, when Rev. Mr. Newgent returned from the war.
His own conference did not meet until fall, but the Lower Wabash
Conference met in its annual session in Vermilion, Illinois, about
the time of his return. With the view to getting back on the firing
line at once, he attended the latter conference, and was appointed to
Terre Haute (Indiana) Mission. This was strictly prospective work, as
the mission was projected at this session. The conference at the same
session, following the example of the Upper Wabash Conference, decided
to change the time of its annual meetings from spring to fall, hence
the appointment was made for a period of only six months. During this
time Rev. Mr. Newgent devoted himself with characteristic zeal to laying
broad and deep the foundations of his church in this new Macedonia. That
his labors were fruitful is seen in the fact that he reported to the
fall conference an organized church on Second Street, with splendid
prospects of a prosperous future—prospects which subsequent history has
abundantly fulfilled. To him belongs the credit of first planting the
United Brethren banner in this thriving city, where the Church has since
steadily grown to a place of prestige and influence.
The Terre Haute pastorate was followed by a year at Prairieton, in Vigo
County, Indiana. Some experiences on this field are worthy of note. A
revival meeting was held in an unevangelized community at what was known
as the Battle Row School House, near the Wabash River. The school house
was a primitive log building with plenty of ventilation. The wide cracks
between the logs in the walls not only admitted a sufficiency of fresh
air, but were a source of temptation to the untamed sons of the natives
who were wont at critical times to inject missiles of various sorts
through them into the midst of the congregation, causing more or less
uneasiness and often confusion to the worshipers. It was not a place
where one could worship under his own vine and fig tree with no one to
molest or make afraid. During the early stage of the meeting reapers were
scarce, and to all appearances, were wholly inadequate to the demands
of the great, over-ripe harvest. The sons of Anak seemed to have a
perpetual title to the place, and showed no intention of evacuating it.
At one time, as Newgent was making an earnest plea for penitents to come
to the altar, he observed a company of ruffians in the rear of the room
in a rather impenitent condition, bantering one another to go forward to
the mourner’s bench. The quick wit of the preacher frustrated their evil
designs. Constant vigilance had to be exercised to prevent outbreaks and
demonstrations of a similar character. As the meeting proceeded converts
multiplied and the odds became more and more to the advantage of the
faithful.
There was one wheel-horse who was the pastor’s right hand man in the
great conflict with primitive elements. A splendid man he was, though his
droll manner was a subject of sport for the lewd fellows of the baser
propensities. A characteristic attitude when he offered public prayer was
to kneel facing the wall, with his back toward the congregation. Then
with his eyes closed and oblivious to all his surroundings, he would
soar to a high altitude in his eloquence and fervency of spirit. In such
surroundings, however, it would have been better had Father Scott, as he
was affectionately called, not forgotten his relation to this mundane
sphere, for the situation surely demanded watching as well as praying.
Especially would it have prevented an awkward hitch in the services one
evening when the interest and enthusiasm were at their greatest height.
Intense conviction was capturing and humbling proud and defiant hearts,
and victory was perching upon the banners of the loyal band.
But, as in the days of Job, when the sons of God went to worship, Satan
went also. Battle Row School House furnished a good demonstration of the
fact that,
“Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The devil’s sure to build a chapel there;
And ’twill be found upon investigation,
The latter has by far the larger congregation.”
While the worshipers were in the midst of great rejoicing, Satan’s hosts
were holding high carnival on the outside. Father Scott was called upon,
as he frequently was, at the most critical stage in the meeting, to lead
in prayer. As his custom was, he knelt with his face to the wall, and by
chance his mouth was dangerously near a huge crack. While sailing away
in the ether world, and the people were hanging breathlessly upon his
earnest and eloquent words, all unexpectedly, for some strange reason,
the machinery stopped. It was unusual for a prayer to be terminated so
abruptly without the conventional “amen.” All eyes were fixed upon Father
Scott. What could have happened? It was painfully apparent that he was in
distress. He was making a desperate effort to clear some obstruction from
his throat, get his breath, and regain his equilibrium.
The proximity of Father Scott’s mouth to the opening in the wall was too
great a provocation for the unregenerates on the outside of the house
to forego. One of them had prepared a ball of mud, and with accurate
aim, threw it through the crack into the brother’s mouth, putting him
temporarily out of commission. There was, of course, confusion in the
midst of Zion, but Father Scott, whose battery had been silenced by this
unexpected maneuver, was soon able to resume operations, and the battle
was pressed with increased vigor.
[Illustration: A Prayer Without An Amen.]
There was another neglected community adjacent to this charge. It was
entirely without church services or religious influences of any kind. In
the community lived a well-to-do gentleman of the name of Owen, whose
wife was an invalid. Being of a religious turn of mind, and deprived of
church privileges, she desired to have a meeting held at her home mainly
for her benefit. Rev. Mr. Newgent was invited to conduct the service.
His Sundays being taken up by his regular work, the meeting was held
in a forenoon during the week. A goodly company of neighbors gathered
out of respect to the dear sister, and she enjoyed the occasion so much
that she invited them all back for a service in the evening. The evening
meeting proved still more interesting, and it was decided to continue the
services indefinitely. It developed into a grand revival which resulted
in many conversions, the organization of a church, and the building of
a church-house. Among the first to come to the mourner’s bench was Mr.
Owen, the generous host. He “came through” shouting and became a strong,
staunch, and stormy defender of the faith.
Among attendants at the revival were two brothers, “Dave” and “Joe”
Walker, notable characters in a local way. Both were proficient in the
use of the violin, or, in the vernacular of the day, they were great
fiddlers. Even if there was nothing else to place them under the ban
of pious sentiment, this in itself would have been sufficient, for the
fiddle had been so exclusively associated with bad company that it
was supposed to have absorbed something of the evil spirits of its
companions, and in the superstitious imaginations of many it possessed
invisible hoofs and horns, and a strange, infernal power that was to be
zealously avoided. Hence, Dave and Joe were regarded as typical “hard
nuts,” and it cannot be denied that they made an honest effort to live up
to their reputations. They were more familiar with the conventionalities
of the country “hoe-down” than with the atmosphere of a “big meetin’.”
Until the revival at the Owen home attracted their attention, they had
not been present at a church service since they were boys. They became
fairly regular attendants at the meeting, and in consequence, both got
sick. Their illness seemed to be of a peculiar character, as neither of
them could explain his symptoms or give any clue as to the seat of the
trouble.
Joe became much worse one evening and by midnight he began to think he
was being beckoned across the border. Dave, whose condition was not so
critical, was dispatched to Prairieton for medical aid. While he was
gone, Joe got religion. This proved to be all the treatment he needed.
All unfavorable symptoms disappeared, and he set out post haste to meet
his brother. Just before he reached the village, he met Dave on his way
home, when the following colloquy took place:
“Oh, Dave, I’ve got all the medicine I need. It ain’t pills we need, but
religion.”
“Bless the Lord, I’ve took the medicine, too,” said Dave. He had also
been converted on his return from the doctor’s office. It thus became
apparent that their malady was spiritual rather than physical, but being
unfamiliar with symptoms of that character, they were unable to diagnose
the case until the remedy had been applied. The two brothers were made
every whit whole, soul and body. They hung up “the fiddle and the bow,”
and their talents and energies were turned loose along more legitimate
channels.
Vermilion Circuit, in Illinois, was the scene of the next pastorate. Here
a memorable experience took place as he was making his second “round”
on the charge. Newgent, like other strong men, has always had some
hobbies, legitimate hobbies in his case, however, that were elements of
strength in his ministry. One of these is punctuality. He has always
been scrupulously punctual in meeting his engagements. He never misses
a train from the fact that he is far more likely to be at the station
three-quarters of an hour ahead of time than three-quarters of a minute
late. He is a strict believer in the maxim of the muse,
“Better be an hour early and stand and wait,
Than to be a moment behind the time.”
In filling appointments he observes the same rule. He finds it helpful to
be on hand sufficiently early to meet and shake hands with the advance
guards of the congregation. It affords a tonic for his wits and puts him
in a mood to be at his best.
On his new charge was a church known as Prairie Chapel. As usual, in his
introductory services he exhorted his people to be punctual in their
attendance, stating that he made it a point to be on time, and that if he
at any time was not strictly “on the dot,” they might know that something
was wrong. It so happened that at the very next service the scrupulously
punctual preacher was behind time, and it also happened that something
was desperately wrong.
As a sort of background to the scene to be here presented, it would be
well to state that he was clad in a new suit, as preachers usually were
at the beginning of the year. The new suit consisted of a complete outfit
from boots to hat and gloves, including also that luxury which not every
circuit rider could afford, a fine shawl. It should further be explained
that he was riding a colt, not the nineteen-year-old variety with which
he traveled his first circuit, but a genuine three-year-old, with all the
fire and perverseness of its kind. It might also be in order to add, by
way of parenthesis, that the Illinois roads after the rains and frosts of
September began their maneuvers, were no respecters of new clothes.
Just before reaching Prairie Chapel, the road crossed a slough some three
hundred feet wide. At this point the road was covered by about three
feet of water, or perhaps, as it was difficult to tell just where the
water left off and the mud began, it would be more exact to say that
it was three feet from the top of the water to the bottom of the mud.
It was covered with a thin coating of ice. Newgent, being the first to
pass that way on that Sunday morning, had to break the ice as he went.
The colt did not like the task to begin with, but as this was the only
road to the church and was fenced on either side with a picket fence, a
straightforward course was the only alternative.
The colt proceeded reluctantly until it reached the middle of the slough.
There it became possessed with the spirit of Balam’s beast and refused
to go farther. Its purpose seemed to be fixed as all the entreaties of
the rider were unavailing. The church was in plain view, and, like the
wedding guest of Coleridge’s immortal “Rime,” the preacher could see
and hear the people as they were assembling, while he was transfixed to
the spot. Finally giving up hope of going forward, he tried to turn the
colt’s head in the opposite direction, when, lo, he found that it was as
averse to turning back as it was to going forward. Just what the beast’s
plan for the future was, could not well be divined, for, to be in the
middle of a lake with no purpose of going either forward or backward was,
to say the least, a position difficult to explain or defend. The final
bell rang for the morning service, and the preacher began to realize that
his reputation for punctuality was in danger of being water-soaked. A
final desperate effort was made to induce locomotion, but to no avail.
It was a real Slough of Despond. The reverend’s heart sank to the bottom
of his new boots when he found that his only chance was to dismount. This
he proceeded to do, supposing that he could at least lead the beast out
of the water. The water was by no means comfortable, the mud filled his
boots, and apprehensive thoughts concerning the unpresentable appearance
he would make at church, and the damage being done to his new suit, and
at the same time the humiliation of being beaten out by a perverse colt,
all together did not tend to a devotional frame of mind.
[Illustration: An Unintentional Immersion.]
Taking the rein, he waded forward, expecting the colt to follow, but it
had no disposition to be led; he gave the rein a sharp pull, but the
animal also had scruples against being pulled. He then gave the rein
a jerk, putting all of his physical strength, and possibly a bit of
his temper into the jerk, when, lo! the rein broke, and the preacher,
not thinking of such a contingency, went splash into the water, being
completely submerged. Things were rapidly going from bad to worse. It
was of no use under the circumstances, to try to maintain ministerial
dignity. Gathering himself together, he made his way to the fence, and,
loosing a picket, he got behind the animal, and with a few strokes where
they would do the most good, and unministerial maneuvers, he got it
started, and by an aggressive follow-up campaign, they reached the shore
without further ceremony or delay.
He hastened on to the church. The people were waiting for the belated
pastor, and when he arrived, they saw at once there had been a valid
excuse for his tardiness. There were four other ministers present,
and Newgent tried to get one of them to preach in his stead, but all
declined. So he went on with the regular program, and preached with his
usual zeal while the water was still dripping from his new suit. It was
one time at least when the congregation was not bored with a dry preacher.
After service he went home with one of his members, borrowed some dry
clothes, and proceeded to fill his other appointments for the day.