"PETER THE HERMIT"
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like poetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give:
And I with thee will choose to live.
--Il Penseroso.
Within a few weeks after the events already narrated, Brother Beissel
made another visit to Dulpehackin with the intention of forming the
converts into a new congregation, with myself as leader. When this
proposal was made to me, I requested over night for reflection and
prayer. In my zeal I had thought my recent baptism had cleansed and
purified me from all fleshly lusts and from all such heaven-separating
vanities as pride and ambition; but that night witnessed within me such
a struggle between evil ambition on the one hand, and the desire to
surrender myself completely to my Maker on the other, as I shall never
forget.
To be elder of the as yet little band of followers of Brother Beissel,
what might it not lead to? For I doubted not at the time but that the
little band would eventually grow into a large congregation whose
influence should be far-reaching. Like the mustard seed it might grow
and increase until the whole world were living as one grand, consecrated
sisterhood and brotherhood.
Some such splendid temptation the Evil One dangled before my eyes during
that long night, but with the dawning my mind became clearer and the
last star had just closed its eyes when I felt stealing over me a
feeling of sureness that I would do what was right, and with that I felt
myself pervaded with a sense of ineffable peace.
When Brother Beissel saw me in the morning, anxious for my reply, I told
him I must decline his offer as I intended to withdraw into the
solitudes and live unmolested from the frailties and follies of the
world.
He acquiesced with a cheerfulness which I confess hurt the remnant of
pride in me and which, I fear, hath ever been imperfectly suppressed,
for I had hoped he would show his appreciation of me and what I was able
to do by expressing at least some regret. But that pride is ever the
forerunner of a fall is, indeed, true, and my chagrin was not relieved
any upon Brother Beissel's calmly announcing, as if it had all been
prearranged, that he would appoint as teacher, or elder, of the
congregation, Bro. Michael Wohlforth, whom I knew and respected for his
sturdy love of our cause, but who, by reason of the infirmity of a harsh
tongue and violent temper--and I regret to say it, though in
charity--was not too well fitted for an office that requireth a gentle
tongue, there being, as human flesh is made up, a limit even to
Christian forbearance.
At that time, in May, 1735, the Solitary Brethren and Sisters had
dispersed in the wilderness of Conestogas, each for himself, as hermits,
and I, following that same way, did set up my hermitage in Dulpehackin,
at the foot of a mountain, on a limpid stream; and that they who in
these days live in their large, comfortable houses may know what the
hermits' homes were like, I shall set forth how my own little hut, or
cabin, was built, as a great many cabins of the first settlers were
after the same pattern.
These be the dimensions of the proper model, which I set down in all
particularity, so that if there be of my readers who ever take
themselves to a life of solitude they may know how the true hermit
should be housed, for I know there be many that have not this knowledge
and thus are in exceeding danger of running after some vulgar variation
of the ideal model: Length, twenty-five feet; breadth, twenty feet;
height under joist, eight feet six inches. The measurements must be no
more, no less. The door should open toward the south to catch the sun,
and above the doorway must be a small overhead piece, or porch, six feet
from floor to ceiling. As I was fully six feet, if not more, my head and
my pride received at first many a hard knock whenever I forgot that a
hermit, at least if he be tall, must not walk with too haughty a stride.
For the foundation we, my faithful adherents and myself, took four large
stones, as flat and even as we could find, about a foot thick, and laid
them for the corners, so that the floors of our huts would be clear from
the damp ground; but, and this was not so desirable, not only the
smaller wild animals would creep underneath, but occasionally some
straying serpent would stick its repulsive head out at me and make me
regret that a hermit's hut must needs offer such attractions to these
monsters.
Upon the stone foundations the ground logs were laid. These were notched
at the ends and fastened with hickory pins. Smaller logs inserted into
these longer ones formed the floor joists, though in most cases a solid
log floor was laid. The cabin was then raised upon the ground joists,
the logs being run upon skids by the help of wooden forks, the corners
of the logs being notched so as to bring them as close together as
possible. In this work I could not give much help, for this notching and
fitting together was done by experienced ones, called the axe, or
cornermen. The less experienced of us carried the logs and ran them up
into place, the doors and windows not being cut until all the logs were
resting snug and secure in their places. But with all the care in
fitting the logs closely, there were cracks and crevices that had to be
filled with a mixture of loam and dry grass, so that the cabin might be
proof against rain or snow and not give too draughty ventilation. For
the rafters we took chestnut saplings, hewn flat on the top, and these
were usually covered with shingles of flat oak, although it sometimes
occurred that a temporary thatch or sod roof had to serve until the oak
shingles were prepared. Last of all came the fireplaces and chimneys.
Both of these were built of loam and stones outside, at one end of the
cabin. Thus from the simple materials that lay at our hands and
feet--the trees, the stones, and the earth--our cabins were built, and
though small and insignificant as the worldly-wise consider things, were
not too small to hold heads and hearts that thought and throbbed greatly
for God and man. No iron was used, for as at Ephrata, when it came to
be organized into a community, we ever regarded iron as an evil metal.
The temple of Solomon was built wholly without iron, and according to
the Rosicrucians, from whom we had learned much concerning the mysteries
of the Infinite, we were taught that no dwelling or building consecrated
to the Almighty could have iron in it, as that metal was the emblem of
darkness and destruction--nay, of the Evil One himself.
My little hut, so securely built, is still there, as are the old trees
in the orchard I planted in those early days. Sometimes in later life,
when even the Kloster wore upon me, I have resorted to this sequestered
spot, quietly and unbeknown to the others, there to renew my faith and
strength by undisturbed communion with God, reading and pondering with
never lessening delight upon this little page out of his wonderful book
of nature, for it was a lovely nook, an ideal retreat. The little
_Mühlbach_, clear and cold and sparkling and pure as the water of life,
came dancing joyously down the dale, kissing many a wild flower looking
at its mirrored sweetness as it hung over the bushy brink. Many a time
have I wandered along its wooded sides, drinking in, in all its fullness
and completeness, the solemnity, the holy stillness of the long aisles
of stately pine and heavy fir and balsam, with their fragrant odors
rising from this woodland temple like incense toward heaven.
The only sounds that broke the stillness were the murmurous song of the
stream, the chirp of insects, and now and then the choiring of the
feathered songsters of these delightful glades. Such was the
incomparable spot selected by me, now a recluse, for my probation and
retirement, and here I fondly imagined I might live in beatific and
solitary communion with Him; but I see now that this blissful idleness
was not to be mine; for his service means more than a mere folding of
the hands and pious meditation and contemplation of his beauty, his
goodness, and his mercy.
Here I lived in all the simplicity that seemed to me best comported with
the life of a hermit. My bodily wants, though oft clamorous, displeasing
me much as showing how close I still was to earth, had to be content
with exceeding little; my little cabin sheltered me from storms--a hard
bench to sleep on, a long cloak of most humble make and material to form
my covering; for drink, the pure water from a near-by spring, varied
sometimes by acorn coffee; and for bread and meat, a bread made from
acorn flour.
There may be those who care to know how this acorn coffee and acorn
bread were made, not only by me, but by Brother Beissel and others who
were leading lives of solitude; and lest some think we were utterly daft
in relying upon this for sustenance, it may be said that it was not
original with us; but we were taught that from the earliest days of man
the oak, wherever it grew, furnished him both meat and drink from the
acorn and contained all that was necessary for his nourishment.
For making bread the acorns were first soaked in water, or steamed, to
free the bitterness; they were then dried and ground into meal which was
afterward worked up in the usual manner. This bread, which we in German
called _Eichelbrod_, had as much sustenance as _Pumpernickel_ (a
favorite bread among the German peasants), but was wont to occasion more
trouble for the digestion.
As a substitute for coffee the largest and soundest acorns were
selected, only the thoroughly ripe ones being used. They were then
hulled and taken out of their cups, cut into quarters and scalded with
boiling water, after which they were drained and allowed to cool. After
being placed in a bake oven until they were thoroughly dry, they were
finally roasted and ground, in which state they were ready for use.
To make acorn coffee we would take about a drachm of the grindings for
every three cups of boiling water, which we poured over the powdered
acorns and boiled for about ten minutes. I must confess I never cared
very much for this concoction for it lacked both the taste and gentle
stimulation of the regular coffee. This acorn coffee was accredited with
wonderful medicinal and mystical properties and was supposed to drive
all hereditary taint or distemper from the system. Indeed, even now it
is frequently given to children afflicted with scrofula. I recollect
that afterward in the early days of our community life at Ephrata there
came to us one Jean François Regnier, a French-Switzer, whom we regarded
as a visionary, as he claimed to have been awakened in his seventh year
and professed great holiness. He was the special apostle of the acorn
diet, not only claiming it to be good for food and as a substitute for
coffee, but he also made a sort of vinegar from acorns and an excellent
sort of whiskey which we used only in illness, but never as a drink, for
our community never permitted the use of strong liquors to corrupt the
body and inflame the imagination. Brother Regnier also made a sort of
_Analeptikum_, or tonic, to be used after any serious illness. For this
purpose the acorns were to be buried when the moon was in a certain
quarter, I forget which, until they had lost their bitterness, after
which they were dried, roasted, and powdered and mixed with sugar and
certain aromatic herbs.
For myself I never could see much in this acorn diet, for I grieve to
say that all my life I have had a most unpriestly appetite. I fear I was
never made for scanty fare. Be this as it may, I know that the
Rosicrucians taught that the oak furnished the first food for mankind,
the acorn being the meat and the honey-dew (_Honigmüth_) the drink. The
Rosicrucians also taught that the rustle of the foliage of the oak
denoted the presence of the Deity and even at Ephrata the Zionitic
Brethren were wont to wander in the forest and appeal to the oracles of
the oak, as the Druids had done in Britain hundreds of years before. It
was also fully believed that when the time of the complete restoration
of brotherly love should come there would come with it the primeval
simplicity, when man's entire sustenance would be drawn from the oak.
All these things were exceedingly difficult for me to believe, and I was
even suspected of heresy because I could not subscribe to these
extravagant beliefs.
Thus housed and fed I hoped to live out my days; but how utterly foolish
is the boasted wisdom and foresight of man; for how true it is that we
never know what a day may bring forth! When I went to my rest one night
not many days after my retirement to this spot I had no thought but that
here in this quiet, peaceful retreat, far away from the distracting
cares and temptations of a gain-seeking, pleasure-loving world, I should
live a calm, serene life, consecrated by daily communion with Him who
filled it.
In this mind, while above the roof of my hut the night glowed with
stars, sown by my Creator as thickly over the blue fields of heaven as
the husbandman scatters his seed across his broad acres, I sank into
sweet, refreshing, dreamless sleep; and yet not wholly dreamless, for it
seemed to me, far in the night, I heard a light footstep near and saw a
woman's form filling the doorway that stood open as was my habit, night
and day, and then I thought I heard a cry--the cry of a child--but which
to my sleep-deadened ears was also like unto the scream of some wild
creature of the dense mountain forest behind my hut; for I often heard
such cries and occasionally detected the stealthy footsteps of the wild
beasts that prowled near my dwelling, under the dark mantle of night;
but dream or no dream, I heard nothing more and slept on undisturbed
until the light of the dawn shining through the doorway bade me arise.