PIONEER RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCES AND INCIDENTS.
If we were to confine the word religion to its strict construction as
to meaning, we would cut off the pioneer actions under this heading
to a great extent; but, if we will think of the definition as applied
to morality, the duties of man to man, to character building—then
the field is rich. Many of the pioneers, necessarily cut loose from
church organizations, were not eager to enter again into their old
affiliations, though their conduct showed a truly religious spirit.
There were many who were outside the fold before they left their homes,
and such, as a class, remained as they were; but many showed a sincere
purpose to do right according to the light that was in them, and who
shall say that if the spirit that prompted them was their duty to
man, that such were not as truly religious as if the higher spiritual
motives moved them?
We had, though, many earnest workers, whose zeal never abated, who felt
it a duty to save souls, and who preached to others incessantly, in
season and out of season, and whose work, be it said, exercised a good
influence over the minds of the people.
One instance I have in mind—Father Weston, who came at irregular
intervals to Puyallup, whose energy would make amends for his lack of
eloquence, and whose example would add weight to his precepts. He was
a good man. Almost everyone would go to hear him, although it was in
everybody's mouth that he could not preach. He would make up in noise
and fervency what he lacked in logic and eloquence. Positively, one
could often hear him across a ten-acre lot when he would preach in a
grove, and would pound his improvised pulpit with as much vigor as he
would his weld on his anvil week days.
One time the old man came to the valley, made his headquarters near
where the town of Sumner now is, induced other ministers to join
him, and entered on a crusade, a protracted union meeting, with the
old-time mourners' bench, amen corner and shouting members. When the
second Sunday came the crowd was so great that the windows were taken
out of the little school house, and more than half the people sat or
reclined on the ground, or wagons drawn nearby, to listen to the noisy
scene inside the house.
A peculiar couple, whom I knew well, had attended from a distance, the
husband, a frail, little old man, intensely and fervently religious,
while the wife, who was a specimen of strong womanhood, had never
been able to see her way clear to join the church. Aunt Ann (she is
still living), either from excitement or to please the husband, went
to the mourners' bench and made some profession that led Uncle John,
the husband, to believe the wife had at last got religion. Upon their
return home the good lady soon began wavering, despite the urgent
appeals from the husband, and finally blurted out:
"Well, John, I don't believe there is such a place as hell, anyhow."
This was too much for the husband, who, in a fit of sheer desperation,
said:
"Well, well, Ann, you wait and you'll see." And the good lady, now past
eighty-four, is waiting yet, but the good little husband has long since
gone to spy out the unknown land.
I have known this lady now for fifty years, and although she has never
made a profession of religion or joined a church, yet there has been
none more ready to help a neighbor or to minister to the sick, or open
the door of genuine hospitality than this same uncouth, rough-spoken
pioneer woman.
I recall one couple, man and wife, who came among us of the true and
faithful, to preach and practice the Baptist Christian religion. I
purposely add "Christian," for if ever in these later years two people
embodied the true Christ-like spirit, Mr. and Mrs. Wickser did—lived
their religion and made their professions manifest by their work.
Mrs. Wickser was a very tall lady of ordinary appearance as to
features, while the husband was short and actually deformed. The
disparity in their heights was so great that as they stood or walked
side by side he could have gone beneath her outstretched arm. Added
to this peculiar appearance, like a woman and a boy of ten years
parading as man and wife, the features of the little man riveted one's
attention. With a low forehead, flattened nose, and swarthy complexion,
one could not determine whether he was white or part red and black,
Chinaman or what not; as Dr. Weed said to me in a whisper when he
first caught sight of his features: "What, is that the missing link?"
In truth, the doctor was so surprised that he was only half in jest,
not at the time knowing the "creature," as he said, was the Baptist
minister of the place.
But, as time went on, the strangeness of his features wore off, and the
beauty of his character began to shine more and more, until there were
none more respected and loved than this couple, by those who had come
to know them.
A small factory had been established not far from the schoolhouse,
where we had our Christmas tree. Some of the men from the factory took
it into their heads to play what they called a joke on Mr. and Mrs. W.
by placing on the tree a large bundle purporting to be a present, but
which they innocently opened and found to contain a direct insult.
The little man, it could be seen, was deeply mortified, yet made no
sign of resentment, although it soon became known who the parties were,
but treated them with such forbearance and kindness that they became so
ashamed of themselves as to inspire better conduct, and so that night
the most substantial contribution of the season was quietly deposited
at the good missionary's door, and ever after that all alike treated
them with the greatest respect.
I have known this couple to walk through storm as well as sunshine,
on roads or on trails, for miles around, visiting the pioneers as
regularly as the week came, ministering to the wants of the sick,
if perchance there were such, cheering the discouraged or lending a
helping hand where needed, veritable good Samaritans as they were, a
credit to our race by the exhibition of the spirit within them.
Take the case of George Bush, the negro, who refused to sell his crop
to speculators for cash, yet distributed it freely to the immigrants
who had come later, without money and without price. Also Sidney Ford,
another early, rugged settler, although neither of them church members.
Who will dare say theirs were not religious acts?
In response to a letter, the following characteristic reply from one
of the McAuley sisters will be read with interest, as showing "the
other sort" of pioneer religious experience, and following this, the
brother's response about the "mining camp brand." She writes:
"And now as to your question in a former letter, in regard to
religious experiences of pioneers. Tom had written me just before
your letter came, asking me if I had heard from friend Meeker
and wife. I told him of your letter and asked him if he ever
heard of such a thing as religious experience among pioneers. I
enclose his answer, which is characteristic of him. The first
church service I attended in California was in a saloon, and the
congregation, comprising nearly all the inhabitants of the place,
was attentive and orderly. I think the religion of the pioneers
was carried in their hearts, and bore its fruit in honesty and
charity rather than in outward forms and ceremonies. I remember
an instance on the plains. Your brother, O. P., had a deck of
cards in his vest pocket. Sister Margaret smiled and said: 'Your
pocket betrays you.' 'Do you think it a betrayal?' said he. 'If I
thought it was wrong I would not use them.' Here is Brother Tom's
letter:
"'Why, of course, I have seen as well as heard of pioneer
religious experiences. But I expect the California mining camp
brand differed some from the Washington brand for agricultural
use, because the mining camp was liable to lose at short notice
all its inhabitants on discovery of new diggings.'
"So, of course, large church buildings for exclusively church
purposes were out of the question as impossible. And the only
public buildings available were the saloons and gambling halls,
whose doors, like the gates of perdition, were always open, day
and night alike, to all, saint or sinner, who chose to enter,
and having entered, had his rights as well as his duties well
understood, and, if need be, promptly enforced."
John McLeod used to almost invariably get gloriously drunk whenever he
came to Steilacoom, which was quite often, and generally would take a
gallon keg home with him full of the vile stuff. And yet this man was
a regular reader of his Bible, and, I am told by those who knew his
habits best, read his chapter as regularly as he drank his gill of
whisky, or perhaps more regularly, as the keg would at times become
dry, while his Bible never failed him. I have his old, well-thumbed
Gaelic Bible, with its title page of 1828, which he brought with him to
this country in 1833, and used until his failing sight compelled the
use of another of coarser print.
I am loth to close this (to me) interesting chapter, but my volume is
full and overflowing and I am admonished not to pursue the subject
further. A full volume might be written and yet not exhaust this
interesting subject.