Goes to Housekeeping. Discussions with Mr. Maddox. Attends Meeting. Is
Baptized by William Tharp. Double Damages for an Old Horse. Begins
Trading. Moves to Floydsburg. Description of the Place.
In the spring of 1857 we moved to a place on Currie's Fork, near
Centerfield, about a mile and a half from my former home and a little
farther from hers. So it will be seen I married only a few miles from
home. It may seem a little strange that we grew up in the same
neighborhood, and knew nothing of each other till a year before we were
married. But I rarely went to her church, and she as rarely went
anywhere else. Our religious proclivities led us in different
directions, and into different society. I had been taught to look upon
"Campbellism" as the most miserable of all heresies; and till I began
to visit at the Maddox house I was seldom in the company of "that
deluded people."
After moving to ourselves, we went nearly every Lord's day to the home
of my wife's father, and this for several reasons: she wanted to attend
her church, and this took her virtually home: this she enjoyed, and so
did I. The old folks could not visit us on that day without missing
church, and this they would not do. Mr. Maddox and I still engaged in
the investigation of Methodism, "Campbellism" and Infidelity. I could
feel the ground gradually giving way under me, but I was resolved upon
thoroughly testing every inch, and not yielding till I should become
satisfied as to the truth of all his positions. I would therefore study
all week and arrange my arguments with the utmost care, and when the
time seemed propitious I would present them as forcibly as I could. He
would never say a word till I was through; then he would say, "Well!
now let us test that." Then he would very calmly and pleasantly pick
the thing all to pieces, till I could see nothing but shreds. With a
mere touch, my carefully built structure would tumble like a cob house.
Thus the work went on for years. In the meantime I attended meeting
with my wife nearly every Lord's day, and heard much good preaching.
Every important point in the sermon would be afterward investigated,
and, like the noble Bereans, I searched the Scriptures daily, "to see
whether those things were so."
During these years several successful meetings were held at the church,
all of which I closely attended. One of these was conducted by John A.
Brooks, and another by the lamented Simeon King. At the latter I came
very near yielding to Christ, but persuaded myself that all was not yet
ready. I delighted to see others obey the Lord, and enjoy the blessings
of his religion, but I could not exactly see the way clear for myself.
In spite of a more enlightened judgment, I would find some of my old
erroneous notions clinging to me. I had a high regard for the church,
and loved the company of its good members, and only a supreme
carefulness, born of former blunders, kept me in disobedience.
In May, 1861, William Tharp and Wallace Cox were holding a meeting, and
at this I confessed Christ, and was immersed by Bro. Tharp. My doubts
as to the truth of the Christian religion and the way of salvation
therein, had all been removed; and to this day not a shadow of a doubt
has crossed my mind as to either. I now experienced a peace of
conscience that I had not known since my thought was first disturbed in
regard to the right way of the Lord.
I farmed for three years after marriage. The last year, we lived on the
railroad just below Buckner's Station, and while here I had a little
experience with the railroad company that teaches a lesson worth
learning. I had an old horse, of not much value, but useful to me; he
got out upon the road, and was killed by a passing train. I spoke of
going to Louisville, to see if I could not get pay for it. The
neighbors discouraged the idea, saying it would be useless. They cited
a number of instances where stock had been killed, and in no case had
any one obtained damages. But I went, found the Superintendent, and to
him I made my speech of about three minutes' length. At its conclusion,
he asked me if seventy-five dollars would satisfy me; and on my
replying that it would, he handed me the money. He then remarked that
the reason people got nothing in such cases, was because of the spirit
in which they came and the way they talked about it. I left him feeling
quite pleasant, for it was more than double the animal was worth. This
was before I became an adept in Christian ethics.
In the fall of 1859 I began trading, having obtained an interest in a
country store at a little place called Centerfield. We moved to the
place, and I began to haul country produce to Louisville. I had a team
which was said to be the best that came into the city, and I made
weekly trips, bringing back merchandise. This I continued for three
years, without the least regard to weather, and with scarcely a failure
during the whole time. This employment threw me into rough associations
in the city every week. Many engaged in like business from Kentucky and
Indiana stopped at the same tavern, and most of them were given to
dissipation. At home it was predicted that with my inclination to
wildness this would finish me; and while truth compels me to confess
that I often had "a jolly good time" with "the boys," the excess of
wickedness I saw had an opposite effect, and I came out at last a
preacher.
The next year we moved to Floydsburg, sixteen miles from Louisville,
because, as I did not stay in the store, but did the hauling back and
forth, it was a better location for us. It is an old town, in which my
maternal grandfather lived before I was born, in which I spent much
time before I was old enough to work, and around which cluster the
earliest memories of life. It was once a place of large business, on
the main road from Henry and adjacent counties to Louisville, and in
ante-railroad times a large amount of wagoning was done through the
place. At certain seasons great droves of cattle and hogs were driven
through it, and everything was lively; besides, it had a good trade
with the country around. But the Louisville & Lexington Railroad, which
runs within a mile of the town, killed it as dead as an Egyptian mummy,
because all this through business was taken by the railroad, and the
surrounding trade went to the stations or to the city. It is,
therefore, a quiet, undisturbed little place to live in, if one is not
dependent upon making his expenses there. Most of the old citizens,
business men of its prosperous days, have passed away, and the town has
the appearance of being at their funeral.
As far back as I recollect, and I know not how much farther, it had in
it one church, built of stone, small, and with a roof as sharp as the
best presentations of Methodism that were ever set forth in it. About
1850, this ancient structure was replaced by one of brick, of good
size, but poorly furnished. This is the only church that has ever been
in the place; and while the people have been unusually quiet and moral,
they have never been burdened with religion. There is a graveyard in
the rear of the house, opened, perhaps, when the first building was
erected, and in this silent spot sleep many of my friends and
relatives. I have never thought it made much difference where one is
buried--and in this I suppose I agree with most Protestants--but it is
one proof of the improved taste of the age to see the care now taken of
our cemeteries. Such places were unknown when I was a boy and where I
lived, and even yet, outside of our cities and larger towns, they are
too rare. Every village should have a neat and well-kept cemetery, to
take the place of the neglected old burying-grounds where,
"Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep."