“THE MAN WHO SPEAKS, MAY, IF HIS MESSAGE IS GREAT ENOUGH, AND GREATLY
DELIVERED, RANK ABOVE THE RULERS OF HIS TIME.”
It seems that a love for the ministry, was inherent in the Carr
family, and it is also a noticeable fact, that few, if any of them,
have departed from the Baptist faith; beginning with Uncle Horace,
and descending to his two sons, Altheus and William, on down to his
grandson, Rev. Thomas Carr, of Kansas, son of the late Calvin Carr, of
Cheatham county.
Altheus, the fourth son of Uncle Horace, and Aunt Kitty, was born near
Port Royal, Tenn., in the early 50’s. He was obedient to his parents
from his early childhood.
While a day laborer on the farms around Port Royal, he manifested a
thirst for knowledge, and while his plow team rested their noon hours
rest, he was not idle. He could be seen lying around under the shade
trees, either with a book in his hand or a pencil and paper.
By saving his wages, and receiving financial aid from friends, he was
enabled to take a theological course at Fisk’s University, Nashville,
Tenn.
He was a negro of commanding appearance, and polite address, and after
the death of his father, September, 1877, he was pastor of Mount Zion
Church continuously for nine years. In his early twenties he was
married to Miss Lou Gaines, daughter of Aunt Eliza Gaines, of whom I
shall speak later.
After his marriage, he purchased five acres of land adjoining the Mount
Zion lot, on which he built a comfortable three room cottage. It was
here that he and his thrifty wife raised a large and interesting family
of seven daughters, all of whom died young.
In his cottage he had his private study, in which he prepared some
very able sermons, and after he thought he had his subjects well in
hand, he often went to a valley near his home, on Sulphur Fork Creek,
and delivered them, with the fine old elms and sycamores his silent
listeners.
His funeral orations were hard to beat, several of which I had the
pleasure of hearing. The first being that of William Northington, the
trusted foreman for years on Miss Ellen Yates’ farm. William was
highly esteemed as a colored citizen of the community, and Miss Ellen
sent out for her white friends to attend his funeral. They occupied
seats on the back porch, while the colored congregation sat under the
shade of the tall locust trees, and listened with rapt attention. After
taking his text, and making a few appropriate introductory remarks, he
quoted effectively from Longfellow’s Psalm of Life:
“Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.”
William and Jack Northington were brothers, owned by Mr. Henry
Northington, one of the pioneer settlers of Middle Tennessee.
Mr. Northington was a large slave owner, and not needing William and
Jack on his farm, he kept them hired out.
After they were freed, they said, “We will go back to the old home,
and help take care of Mars Henry the remainder of his days,” and they
did. Mr. Northington died June, 1877, but they still stayed on the old
plantation, working as long as they lived for Miss Ellen Yates, Mr.
Northington’s adopted niece.
Two summers later, August, 1883, I heard him preach the funeral of Aunt
Lucy Parks Northington. For several years before her death, Aunt Lucy
had cooked for Mrs. Lawson Fort. She had been a faithful servant in the
Dancy, Parks, and Fort families all her life, originally belonging to
William E. Dancy, of Florence, Ala.
She was beloved by her white people, who tenderly cared for her during
the last two years of her life, in which she was unable to work. And
when the last sad rites were to be paid her remains, her casket was
placed on the front gallery of the pretty Fort home; white friends sat
in the parlor and sitting room; the colored congregation occupied seats
leading from the steps to the front gate. As Rev. Altheus Carr stood at
the head of the casket, and ’neath the shadows of the imposing columns
of that old colonial home, it was a scene to touch the tenderest chord
of a Southern heart. On the casket was a wreath of spider lillies, that
grew in a valley near the cabin home of the deceased, when she lived at
the old Parks homestead near Port Royal. Every summer, for years, she
had admired that lily bed at blooming time, and the writer remembered
it.
He took for his text, “Well done good and faithful servant,” etc., and
started out by saying: “The nearness of this casket to the mansion
door, and the pure white lillies that shed their fragrance over the
heart that is forever still, attest the truth of my text. Yes my
hearers, this means something. It speaks appreciation of a life, whose
ending deserves more than a passing notice.
“Sister Lucy Parks Northington was sixty-one years of age, and
forty-one years of this long span of life were spent in the Master’s
vineyard.
“She was a quiet worker, caring not for the praise of the world, but
striving always to perform duties pleasing to the eye of Him who seeth
in secret places.
“Too well I know, that my feeble words can do but scant justice to the
life of such a departed sister, but I feel like we should hold high the
light of such lives, that others may follow their brightness.
“My mother was often with Sister Lucy during her last days; they sang
and prayed together, and she left every evidence that she was ready for
the kingdom.
“Her last night on earth, she said to the friends keeping watch, ‘Sing
to me, sing the good old songs of Zion.’ No doubt, but she, like the
saints of old, wanted music to charm her last on earth, and greet her
first in heaven.
“We shall miss her at the church she loved so well, but she has left
her light on its altars, and if we would see her again, let us find
her footprints, and follow them. They have not been blotted out. We
will find them leading from her doorway to those of affliction, to the
church door, or wherever her gentle spirit was needed.
“This quiet Summer’s evening we will lay her tired body to rest on the
hillside overlooking Red River; time for her is no more, but a home not
made with hands, is hers to enjoy, though an endless Eternity.”
The service was concluded with a song and prayer, after which the
orderly funeral procession passed up the lane, and on down to the
colored graveyard, where so many of the Fort colored people have been
laid to rest.
There was a certain dignity and refinement about Rev. Altheus Carr that
was noticeable, and which he manifested on occasions when white people
attended his services.
As for instance, at the large baptizings which followed his successful
revivals, when the good singing was especially inspiring, several
emotional members of his church were in the habit of shouting, and at
times, they were noisy in their demonstrations. When he realized that
they had reached a limit, he usually in an undertone, spoke some kind
word of admonition.
Often they understood a gesture from him, and all would be quiet. He
wielded a subtle influence over his people that was remarkable.
It is a fact worthy of mention, that only one member was publicly known
to rebel at the new rules set up in Mount Zion church after he became
its pastor.
His father, during his nine years charge of the church, had accepted
for his services only what the members saw fit to pay him. His idea
being that God did not intend for a price to be set on the preaching of
the Gospel.
Neither did he advocate, or allow, church suppers as a means of raising
funds for religious purposes.
But the world moves, and church conditions forced his successors to
adopt new methods.
Altheus being the first to follow his father, was forced to
have systematic means of raising church money, by assessing the
members according to their supposed financial ability. Uncle Arter
Northington, a reasonably prosperous colored tenant living on Mr. Felix
Northington’s premises, was assessed $2.00.
He thought it was too much, and appealed to his employer, in whose
sense of right and justice he had great confidence. The latter told him
he thought fifty cents would be enough.
When the contribution box was handed round on the next collection
day, Uncle Arter dropped in his fifty cents. After preaching was over,
Rev. Carr approached him privately, and quoted appropriately from Paul
regarding certain religious obligations.
Uncle Arter was very black, very positive, and talked through his nose.
Straightening himself up, he spoke defiantly, and said: “Brer Carr, I
keers nothin’ ’tall ’bout what PAUL said. Mars Felix is smart enough
for ME ter go by, an he says fifty cents is plenty fer me ter pay, an
that’s all I’m gwine ter pay.”
The incident was related at the village store, and in a spirit of
amusement some one exclaimed, “Hurrah for Paul!” and from that time on,
till his death, twenty-five or thirty years afterwards, Uncle Arter was
known far and wide as “Paul.”