Resolves to Go to College. Friends Oppose. Wife Decides It. Hard Living
and Hard Work. Impaired Health. Preaches for His Home Church.
Father-in-law Dies. "Frank, Be a True Man." House Robbed. "Scraps."
College Incidents. First Pay for Preaching. Holds Several Meetings.
Dishonest Preacher.
When I fully decided to devote my life to the ministry of the Word, I
felt an overwhelming desire for a better education, in order to do the
kind of work for the Master that his cause demanded. I had a good deal
of general information that I had acquired through years of reading and
study, but I was wholly ignorant of a number of things that I felt to
be necessary to reliable, satisfactory work for the Lord. I wanted to
devote my life to study, and I needed assistance in laying the
foundation on which to build in after years. I decided, therefore, to
quit business and go to college. This was vigorously opposed by all my
friends. The church insisted that I had education enough, and that all
I lacked was practice, to make me as good a preacher as there was need
to be. My relatives opposed it, because they could not see the
necessity, and it promised to wife and children only starvation. I had
had some reverses, and had got just fairly square with the world. The
flush war times had just come on. Trade was booming, money abundant and
prices going up. I was now prepared to make money as I had never made
it before, by five to one. To quit business just at that time, cut off
all source of revenue, and go with a wife and three children to
college, with but little money to start on, did, indeed, in one sense,
look like absolute recklessness. Indeed, some of the brethren thought I
was actually going crazy.
It was then argued that I should at least defer it a few years, till I
should make some money, which was then easily done, and thus provide
for the wants of my family while going through college. This looked
very plausible; but I was deeply impressed with the blunders I had
already made in trying to be a politician, then a soldier, and not
going at once to the work of the Lord. I was afraid to dally about the
matter any longer. I laid the case before the Lord and my wife. I knew
she was to be the greatest sufferer by the change, and her counsel
weighed more with me than that of all others. Considering what _might_
result from delay, the brave little woman said "Go." That settled it.
In August, 1862, I wound up my business, and prepared to enter Eminence
College. I rented an old, dilapidated house near the railroad, a mile
above town. The place had about three acres for cultivation, and the
same amount in grass. I kept a horse and buggy, a cow and several hogs.
My wife raised a large number of fowls. I cultivated the ground, making
it produce all it would, cut and hauled my fuel from the woods, and so
managed as to be at no great expense in living. But when going to a
city market every week, and feeling no embarrassment about money, we
indulged in a style of living that now had to be discontinued. This
went rather hard, but we tried to bear it bravely. The plainest and
hardest living of our lives, by far, were those years at Eminence. The
self-denial of my wife, for my sake and the gospel's, greatly
encouraged me to bear the cross.
I did double work during the whole time, reciting eight times a day.
This required intense application. I allowed myself eight hours for
sleep, and the other sixteen were given to study. Whether eating,
walking, working in the garden or chopping wood, I was boring into the
questions of the recitation room. I would occasionally take a little
turn with the boys on the playground at noon, but not often. I was fond
of it, but felt that I could not spare the time. This was a sad
mistake, confirmed by a life of broken-down health. But, like many
others, it was not discovered till the mischief was done. A determined
effort to crowd four years' work into two, under discouraging
circumstances, resulted in impaired health; which continued labor
beyond my strength kept impaired for the rest of my life. It is often
stated that preachers suffer more from overeating than overwork. This
is doubtless true to a large extent. But it was far from true in my
case. I was never a large eater after I was grown. And when my health
first failed me, want of a variety of good, nourishing food had no
little to do with it. And all through subsequent life, a trouble has
been to take sufficient food to meet the wants of the system.
I was the first married man that ever attended Eminence College. It was
considered quite a novelty by some. But a few months later, in the same
term, Bro. Briney came in. He and his wife boarded at the college. A
few years later Bro. George Bersot and wife came, and married
school-boys got to be quite common.
While attending school, I preached once a month for the old church at
home--Pleasant Hill. The distance was twenty miles, with a good dirt
road--when it wasn't bad. This afforded my wife an opportunity, during
favorable weather, to go to see her parents once a month. And her
father was now getting low with consumption. The church promised me no
specified amount for my preaching, and, as is frequently the case, most
of them considered the contract complied with when they gave me a
hearing. They were not in sympathy with my college enterprise, and were
not specially concerned about supporting it.
In May, 1863, my father-in-law died. In his death I lost one of my best
and dearest earthly friends. He was the only one who encouraged me in
my efforts for an education. While he could give me no material aid,
being himself embarrassed by years of affliction, his wise counsel and
deep sympathy helped me even more than money, badly as that was needed.
When he was gone, I felt as if the only bright spot in my horizon,
apart from my family, had faded into darkness. By nature he had a quick
temper, and was very impulsive. By Christian culture he came to be a
model in gentleness, patience and self-control. He was a wonderful
example of how men, by faith, "out of weakness are made strong." As we
stood around his bed of death, and his breathing indicated that the end
was at hand, he opened his eyes as I was bending over him, looked me
earnestly in the face, and composedly said, "Frank, be a true man." And
with these words his spirit took its flight. No other words that ever
fell from mortal lips ever so impressed me as these. The source whence
they came, and the circumstances under which they were uttered, gave
them peculiar significance. My soul, what is it for one to be a true
man--true to his friends and true to his foes; true to his family and
to her whose life is dearer to him than his own; true to himself and
his better nature in all that involves his honor as a man; true to the
truth, under all circumstances; and true to the Saviour and His cause,
to which he has dedicated his life? Ever in after years when tempted in
regard to a faithful discharge of its responsibilities, those sacred
words came from the sleeping dust of death--"Frank, be a true man."
Though dead, he yet speaks, and his words have been fruitful of good.
While attending his death and funeral, our house was broken into, and
almost everything we had was stolen. We had laid in meat and lard for
the year, and not a pound was left. All the flour, meal, sugar, coffee,
preserves, jams, jellies, and everything else, was taken. Not a pound
of anything to eat was left on the place. All the best cupboard ware,
and part of the bedding and my wife's clothing were taken. This was a
sorry plight to find ourselves in when we returned from the funeral.
The country was full of soldiers, and nothing was done towards
recovering the property. Thus we started on a darker and rougher road
for the rest of college life.
During the first year at Eminence there grew up a strong rivalry
between the two leading college societies--the Philomathean and the
Rising Star. Both were strong in numbers, and each had in it an unusual
amount of talent. I was appointed by the Philomathean Society to
criticise the Rising Stars. This was my special business. I prepared
what I called a scrap-basket. For this I would prepare notes from time
to time, as something would suggest them, and on the nights of public
exhibition, which were quite frequent, I would read them. These were
cuts at the young ladies and criticisms of their performances, as sharp
as I could make them. The result was, the whole Society soon got too
much out of humor to speak to me. They called me "Scraps." Even Sister
Giltner became offended, and was so for several months, till I was
brought down in sickness, and then her good heart conquered, and she
came to see me, bringing a load of delicacies to tempt and satisfy my
appetite. The "scrap" at which she became offended was about this:
Coming on the stage, the first scrap I took from the basket read: "We
do not expect many compliments for this dish of scraps, especially from
the young ladies of the boarding-house, as they are so used to being
fed on scraps, it will be no variety to them." Sister G. prided herself
on her good table. I knew it was good, and hence felt free to make the
jocular remark. Had it been otherwise, I should have felt some
hesitation in doing so.
President Giltner and I were in frequent conflict, and he came in for a
full share of notice from the scrap-basket. While I would not assent to
his views of things, which frequently caused disputation, on the whole
he was kind and generous, and did much to help me through those hard
school years. I have since met many of those young ladies in all parts
of the country, mothers of interesting families, but not one of them
had ever forgotten that scrap-basket.
Doctor Russell was my teacher in Latin and the Sciences, and Prof.
Henry Giltner in Mathematics and Greek. The Doctor was a fine moralist,
but an unbeliever. He was a fine teacher, and very popular with the
boys.
In the public debates in our society, Bro. J. B. Briney and I were
always pitted against each other. We were the oldest and the nearest
equal in our advancement, especially in this line. We had quite a
number of public discussions.
Here, as elsewhere, many went through on the shoulders of others. As an
illustration of this, take two young men who were appointed on public
debate. Soon each came to me insisting that I should write his speech.
I refused both. The time was drawing nigh, and neither had done
anything. One evening one of them went home with me from school, and
compelled me, virtually, to write his speech. He was delighted with it.
The next morning, while he was asleep, I got up and wrote a reply, just
"tearing it all to flinders." The negative gained the decision, and
neither one knows to this day that I wrote the speech of the other.
During the winter of 1862-3 I went to Hendronsville, the old church
that now composes the one at Smithfield, to fill an appointment for
Bro. Giltner. I went to dinner with old Bro. Hieatt. On leaving, he
gave me a dollar--the first dollar I ever received for preaching.
In the summer of 1863 I held a meeting at Hendronsville, with Bro.
Giltner, for which I was liberally paid, all things considered, and
this was my first pay for a protracted meeting.
The same vacation, I went to South Fork, in Boone county, to fill an
appointment for Bro. Wm. Tandy. Bro. Jacob Hugley was to come on the
first of the week, and join me in a protracted meeting. Something
prevented him from coming. I soon ran out of sermons, the supply on
hand being small. In the meantime a fine interest had sprung up, and I
had no excuse for quitting. So I had either to face the music, prepare
and preach two sermons a day, or ingloriously surrender. The meeting
continued two weeks, with some eighteen or twenty additions. During the
same trip I held a meeting at a church near Walton, at which several
additions were made to the congregation.
I did but little preaching during the school term. Convenient churches
could not be obtained, and inconvenient ones took too much of my time
to be given for nothing.
At Eminence I first met Bro. I. B. Grubbs. He came to preach for a few
days, and spent a day at our humble home. I then formed for him a
peculiar attachment, which has grown and strengthened with the passing
years. Our minds ran close together in the channels of divine truth,
and they have never materially diverged. A disagreement between us in
the interpretation of Scripture has been very rare.
Old Bro. T. M. Allen preached for the church at Eminence while I was
there. His sermons were enjoyable, and possessed considerable power,
but they lacked logical construction, and I learned but little from
them.
In a few weeks after going to Eminence, in the fall of 1862, we were
blessed with the birth of a third daughter, and in the summer of 1864
the Lord took her to himself, and left us to mourn her absence.
In June, 1864, I went with Willis and Wallace Cox to Daviess county, to
hold some meetings. Wallace was not able to preach, but went along for
the enjoyment of the trip. He had labored there before, and was well
acquainted. We held a meeting at Owensboro, and one at a new church
some eight miles in the country. Both meetings were moderately
successful.
As an evidence of what some men can do, I shall speak of a meeting held
about this time, _without giving place or name_. The meeting had been
successful, and a fine interest prevailed. The night it was to close
there came a severe storm, and no one was out. We had to leave the next
morning, and on the next Lord's day the brethren raised considerable
money and gave it to the preacher to send to us. Some years after, the
brother who was with me in the meeting went back there to preach for
the church, and while there some one asked him whether he and I
received our money all right. This was the first intimation that any
money had been sent to us. The case was investigated by the church, and
the man confessed he had never sent it. The brother got his, and the
thief preacher promised to send mine, but hasn't done it yet. He is
still preaching, and on several occasions has come a long way to hear
me preach. What kind of a face and heart such a man can have, is a
mystery I have never been able to solve!