A FAR JOURNEY
With God--over the sea;
Without him--not over the threshold.
--Russian Proverb.
At the time of which I write this, the fall of 1744, Prior Onesimus and
his three brothers were in the ascendency, and for a time it seemed as
though Brother Beissel would be completely overthrown in his rule by
these designing Eckerlings; but they who thought our superintendent easy
to overcome reckoned without their host, for while to the worldly minded
he had not the graces and attractiveness that marked our prior, our
superintendent, though harmless as a dove, had the wisdom and subtilty
of the serpent, and thus at this time, when the strain between these two
had increased from day to day, Prior Onesimus, no doubt for purposes of
his own, conceived the idea that we make a pilgrimage to the Sabbatarian
communities in Connecticut and Rhode Island. I recollect full well that
when he made his desire known to our superintendent, suggesting possibly
a short absence would tend to heal their differences, Brother Beissel at
once gave his consent.
But if our prior had thought to surround himself with his own followers
and thus make this enterprise redound solely to his credit he was
greatly mistaken, for the superintendent quietly suggested the prior
take with him his own brother, Jephune, and Brother Timotheus (Alexander
Mack), and myself as traveling companions, the prior being promised by
our superintendent that in the meantime he would attend to the prior's
duties at the meetings. This was not exactly to our prior's liking, but
Brother Beissel pointed out that these brethren were selected in order
to insure the success of the expedition as well as the welfare and
comfort of the party. Thus the prior would represent the Zionitic
Brethren and the Theosophists of the community; Brother Timotheus, the
secular congregation and the Baptists in general; Jephune, our mystic
and astrologer, would serve as the physician of the party; while I was
to be the theologian and interpreter.
Thus it was arranged and we at once began our brief preparations for the
journey: extra soles for our wooden sandals, the points of our pilgrim
staffs sharpened, a day's provisions for the inner man, a copy of the
"_Weyrauch's Hügel_," and a few of Brother Beissel's "_Theosophische
Episteln_" for the spiritual man. I have it on my records that this
occurred on the Friday of September 21, 1744, almost a year since our
dear sister had left us, on the night of which an unusually solemn love
feast was held in the _Saal_, at Zion, in our honor. The services lasted
far into the night, even the hours between the midnight prayers and the
dawn being passed in prayer. The next morning being our Sabbath we all
were present at the meeting of the congregation, where every one bade us
a most loving God-speed.
But in all these simple preparations and pious services I confess I had
nigh forgotten my Sonnlein, and when the thought of him came to me on
that Sabbath Day as to what he would do in my absence, I feared I should
have to seek my release from the superintendent, for I am proud to say,
never did boy hang to his mother's skirts more closely than did Sonnlein
follow upon my heels, so much so it became a byword in our little camp
that it could be depended on when one of us appeared, it would not be
long until you saw the other, and indeed we were inseparable. During the
day he would trot after me wherever my duties took me, whether in the
fields or in the printing room, or rambling in the woods for wild
flowers, and as he grew older he insisted upon attending the midnight
devotions, just as the grown-up Brothers and Sisters. With the exception
of my brief sojourn in Lancaster in the matter of the levies, we had
never been separated for more than a few hours at a time, and I knew if
I left him now for this long journey the poor boy would be utterly
disconsolate. I also knew full well that our Brother Beissel, though not
a hater of children, still had little patience with them, and I doubted
much whether he and Sonnlein could stand the trial of my long absence. I
called Sonnlein to me and told him I was about to go away for a great
many weeks. At once he danced and jumped about me in a most uncloistral
manner, apparently never doubting for a moment that, as in the past, he
would be with me; but when I said to him, "'Tis a far journey, Sonnlein,
too far for thee," I saw the tears in his eyes, though he tried to keep
them down as he asked:
"Am I not to go with thee, _Vaterchen_?"
"Nay, I fear not, Sonnlein; 'tis a long way over rough roads and through
tangled paths, through great, lonely forests, where there are wild
beasts, and then the wild sea to make thee sick. We know not what
hardships we may have to endure."
"But I can walk, _Vaterchen_; I am not afraid of the lonely woods, not
if I am with thee."
"But how about the sea?"
"Thou canst give me physic," he replied so innocently I could not
refrain from laughing, whereat he pouted and grumbled, "I'm not afraid
of the sea, and on land I can walk as well as 'Old Air-smeller.'"
"What!" I cried in amazement. "Whom dost mean by such irreverent name?"
I demanded.
"Brother Jephune," he confessed; "he sticketh his nose into the air when
he walketh about, so he falleth over everything."
"Is't needful you call him such name?"
"So the neighbors call him."
"Must do what foolish ones do?"
"Nay;" and then, looking up with repentance writ all over him, he said,
"May I go? I can walk and I won't mind the water. Thou knowest I am fond
of water," which was the truth, for when he was not with me he was
swimming or fishing in the Cocalico, or hunting in the woods when the
Cocalico was too cold.
Indeed, I doubted not he could endure the journey as well as most of us,
for he was a hardy, active boy, and with our healthful life had never
known a day of sickness. I liked no better to be separated from him than
did he, and had he quietly taken my suggestion to remain I had been
greatly disappointed; but when I broached the matter to my brother
pilgrims they at first demurred, and yet they loved my boy, for with
all his mischievousness he was always ready and willing to do the
bidding of any of them. Finally, upon my persuasions, they acknowledged
it would be safe for him to make the journey. Accordingly I prepared a
little pilgrim's staff for him and saw that he had a stout pair of
sandals, and with a little bag of provisions for him we started out at
six o'clock of that Sabbath evening on our journey, the assembled
Brotherhood and Sisterhood watching us from Mount Zion until we were out
of sight.
But once fairly upon our way, we walked, as was our custom, bareheaded
and silently, in single file, Prior Onesimus at the head and myself at
the rear, all except Sonnlein, who neither kept silence nor in file,
almost exhausting me with his innumerable questions; at one moment he
would be ahead of us and the next in the rear, now stopping to gather a
handful of nuts that had dropped from the trees along our way or else to
pluck the wild grapes that hung in royal purple from the luxuriant
vines, and then rushing after me, tempting me to share his feast.
At first our course led us through the settlements of our German
brethren in the eastern part of Lancaster County; thence among our
English brethren in Nantmill, where we stopped for a few days and held
several missionary meetings. From the Falls of French Creek we took the
road among the German families; thence across the Schuylkill to the
German settlements along the roadside leading to Germantown. A somewhat
prolonged stop was made with our brother mystics on the Wissahickon,
among whom we found much solace and comfort; thence a short visit to the
brethren of the faith in the city of Philadelphia; thence our missionary
tour took us to the Pennepack.
Thus far our pilgrimage had taken us mainly among the brethren of our
own belief, and yet wherever we went our bare, cropped heads, long
beards, white cloaks and cowls, our silence and manner of traveling,
attracted considerable attention and even ridicule and grossest insults.
Sonnlein, however, being never late in informing the curious ones who we
were; and while I admonished him frequently against his too great
freedom with strangers, there is no doubt that by his frankness he saved
us much annoyance, for I have long ago learned that one will be forgiven
much if he only be open and candid, no matter how wicked he be; but if,
like a turtle, he keep within his shell and mind his own business like a
good, honest turtle, every idler and good-for-naught must hurl stones at
him to crack his shell.
After crossing the Neshaminy Creek at the falls we were ferried across
the Delaware--a wonderful sight to Sonnlein--and entered our sister
province of New Jersey. Arriving at Amwell, we were greatly rejoiced to
find the converts baptized some six years before by some of our brethren
still keeping up their organization and considering themselves a branch
of the parent community at Ephrata.
We remained here for some time and then parted from our dear brethren in
mutual sadness, for we knew not whether we should ever see each other
again.
And now our journey took us through long stretches of forest and for
miles and miles our way was but a narrow path among tall, solemn pines
so thickly grown and so crowded with brush and vines underneath as to
have a most gloomy and depressing effect even upon the most cheerful of
us. Now and then we came upon some little stream or pond that looked
almost black under the shadows of the bordering pines. These streams and
ponds were the only changes in the landscape excepting the occasional
sand hills, and the only sound to break the monotony would be the note
of some bird. Houses we saw not for hours and even for days, and many a
night we slept within the folds of these dark and gloomy forests, our
roof the thick, heavy branches of the pines, through which, on clear
nights, the stars smiled down cheerily.
But though the nights were already cold and frosty and I feared
exceedingly Sonnlein would suffer from the exposure, still with a fire
burning all night to keep us warm and to frighten away wild beasts we
minded not the hard, rough earth with the thin carpet of pine twigs and
needles any more than our hard benches in our _Kammers_. Sonnlein
invariably slept between me and Brother Timotheus, thus being sheltered
somewhat from the winds that even the thick forest could not entirely
keep from us.
After some days' travel in this wise we finally came to the region
between the Shark and Squan Rivers, where we found a little community of
about fifteen adult members, Sabbatarians, who had migrated from
Stonington, Connecticut, and Westerly, Rhode Island, and who had signed
a covenant binding themselves to live and walk together as Christian
people, although they had no church or pastor. A number of meetings were
arranged in our honor, and at these I preached and admonished them to
remain steadfast in their faith, so that I was gratified to note our
efforts resulted in a church's being organized, Brother William Davis,
the elder, although in his eighty-first year, being chosen pastor.
Leaving Shrewsbury, as this church is referred to in our records, we
wended our way southward until we came to a place on the west shore of
Barnegat Bay, almost directly opposite the outlet of this beautiful bay
into the ocean. Here was another settlement of New England
Sabbatarians, who were known as "Rogerines," a band of about twenty-one
persons. They received us with open arms and we were most hospitably
entertained by Brother John Culver--the most prominent among the
Rogerines--who had made several visits to Amwell and to Ephrata and upon
whose earnest invitation we had come to Barnegat. These good people
looked upon us as holy men, so that they brought their sick to us in the
hope that they might be healed by the very laying on of hands and
prayer, as our Rogerine brethren used no medicines nor would they employ
physicians, relying upon strictly scriptural means for relief from
illness. While we agreed not on all doctrinal points, still in so much
of our manner of life and belief we were in such perfect accord that our
stay was exceedingly refreshing to our souls, and it was through these
good people as much as anything else we extended our visit to New
England, stopping on our way to visit one John Lovell, an old
Pythagorean, who lived as a hermit in the dense woods about four miles
from Burlington, throughout the seasons, without fire, in a cell made by
the side of an old log, in the form of an oven, not high enough or long
enough to stand upright in or lie extended.
I mean not to be harsh or unjust to this surly hermit, who lived more
like a beast than man, but in his boyish straightness of speech
Sonnlein spoke out full well what was in my mind and I doubt not in my
brethren's also when he said, "Brother Lovell hath his soul from a pig
or else would he not be so dirty," for we did not believe that our Lord
any more than mortal man cared to look upon dirty, sour faces. We held
that a contented mind showed itself in a bright, cheerful face, and thus
it was our habit at Ephrata, with both Brother and Sister, always to be
satisfied and to bear ever a glad countenance, even though the
bitterness of death were upon us, and for this we have the Scriptures.