indebted to the people called Methodists. The originator of the camp
meeting seems to have been Lorenzo Dow, who adopted this as a popular
method of reaching the people of England in the earliest years of the
nineteenth century. It was so successful that the early Methodists adopted
it with much advantage in the new and growing states of America. Others
partly adopted this method, but none could ever equal the success of the
Methodists in its conduct. It remained a popular institution till the
beginning of the Civil War.
Unique in many respects, the camp meeting rapidly won in popular favor.
Though religious, the camp meeting had the inviting side of an outing and
the dash of the picnic together, with the abandon attendant on a season of
religious worship in the woods. Its lack of restraint of formality and
conventionality, such as pertained to church worship, gave it a peculiar
tang of popularity. In the camp meeting there was a oneness of spirit,
with the total obliteration of favoritism where people could worship
without the fear of trenching on the rules of stilted propriety, and
without having to conform to style or aught else, but common sense
propriety. The preacher could preach as long as he might wish, and the
people could sing and shout without limit. The fresh, open air, the tented
grounds, social contact, and freedom of worship were the chief elements of
an old-time camp meeting. Certain points throughout the South became
famous as camp grounds, and remained so for full fifty years or more. That
the camp meeting was an occasion of vast good, no one familiar with it
would deny. To old and young alike it was always one of the prospective
focal points of genuine enjoyment. There was the zest of novelty of living
apart a week or ten days from the noisy world, in the midst of the most
congenial association. The approach of the season for the camp meeting
spurred the farmer to the time of "laying by" his crop, and excited the
diligence of the good housewife in hoarding eggs, butter and honey and of
fattening the turkeys and chickens, all for "the coming camp meeting." Nor
did the idea of denominationalism ever enter the minds of the people.
While it was a Methodist institution, those of other denominations shared
with equal interest in its promotion and success. The recreation afforded
was of the most wholesome type physically, mentally, socially, and
spiritually.
A level tract of land in close proximity to a large spring of water was
usually selected, cleared of its undergrowth and fallen timbers, in the
midst of a populous region, and with surroundings of abundance in order to
provide against any emergency respecting man or beast. The grounds were
generally laid out in regular order after the fashion of a camp, and any
who might wish to do so were invited to pitch their tents, and share in
the general enjoyment of the occasion. The only restriction imposed were
those of good order and the observance of decent propriety about one's
tent. Disorder of no kind was tolerated, and if discovered, was promptly
removed. There were no rigid rules, the law being that of common sense
based on decency and propriety.
The camp meeting was held at an annually stated time, and by the Christian
community was looked forward to with a sense of delight that must have
been akin to that of the ancient Israelites in their annual pilgrimages to
Jerusalem. For at least a week in advance of the beginning of the meeting,
there were those who were active in getting the grounds into condition for
the coming event, while those who were to tent on the grounds were engaged
in storing supplies and arranging for the comfort of the occupants of the
tents and cottages erected about the grounds. The tents were thickly sown
down with oat or wheat straw, and partitioned with curtains, in
accommodation to the different sexes.
The chief building on the grounds was the place of worship, or the
tabernacle. This was usually a pavilion with permanent roof and seats and
deeply overstrewn with straw. Sometimes it was an immense tent which was
erected each year. The worship began with a sunrise prayer meeting, to
which the audience was summoned, as it was to all occasions of worship, by
the blowing of a large cow horn. Four services a day were held, one at
sunrise, another at midday, a third in the afternoon, and another at
night. No limitation of time was imposed on the services. They were as
liable to last four or five hours, as one. The matter was settled by the
interest, and not by the watch. Often after midnight the services were
still in progress.
Near the center of the grounds was what was called the fire-stand, which
was a small platform four or five feet square, covered deeply in sand, on
which a fire was kept blazing by means of light-wood during the entire
night. This platform was supported by four strong supports, and the
resinous flame would irradiate all the grounds and surrounding forest.
About the camp, were the stalls for the stock, and the braying mules and
neighing horses served to remind one of the domestic conditions of the
camp.
These occasions were gala ones to the young folk who were seen perched in
buggies about the grounds discussing themes that "dissolve in air away,"
while more serious subjects were being conned under the roof of the
tabernacle. No class more gladly hailed the camp meeting than the
old-time, thrifty slave, who appeared on the scene with crude articles for
sale. The old black mammy was present with her coil of flaring bandana
about her head, and wearing her snowy apron, while she sold her long
ginger cakes, while the old uncle dispensed from an earthen jug good
"simmon beer," or corn beer, while others were venders of watermelons and
sugar cane.
Other organizations more formal and formidable have come to take the place
of the old time camp meeting, but it is doubtful that they accomplish the
same beneficent results. The camp meeting was a social cement which
blended most beautifully with that which was spiritual in a wide region,
and in its discontinuance there is occasioned a gap which nothing has come
to fill.
THE STOLEN SLAVE
Rev. Dr. I. T. Tichenor, who was for many years pastor of the First
Baptist Church of Montgomery, later the president of the Polytechnic
Institute at Auburn, and still later corresponding secretary of the Home
Mission of the Southern Baptist Convention, relates the following story of
cruelty as connected with his pastorate at Montgomery. It was the habit of
Dr. Tichenor to preach to the slaves of Montgomery, every Sunday
afternoon, during his long pastorate in that city.
Among the many hundred slaves who came to the service was a large,
muscular, yellow man, well advanced in years, whose infirmity was
supported by a large hickory stick, the peculiar thump of which always
signalized the coming of this old man into the church. The pastor was
sympathetically attracted to the old man because of his devotion, marked
silence, and physical infirmity. This particular slave rarely smiled, and
when the pastor would call on him to pray, which he sometimes did, Jesse
Goldthwaite, the crippled slave, would respond with a fervency rarely
heard.
When the emancipation of the slaves came as a result of the close of the
war, there was much jubilation, but it seemed not to affect Jesse
Goldthwaite. Conscious that his end was near, freedom could be of but
slight benefit to him. The distinguished white pastor noticed that the old
man was not the least cheerful, in the midst of the wild demonstrations of
racial joy, and the shadow of the sorrow under which the aged slave lived
never disappeared. After the slaves had been free for some time, Jesse
came one day during the week into the study of Dr. Tichenor, and
addressing him as "master," as he was in the habit of doing, wished to
know if he would be good enough to write some letters for him.
Dr. Tichenor assured him that it would be a pleasure to serve him. With
difficulty the old ex-slave took a seat that was offered him, and leaning
on his big stick began by saying that when he was stolen from his home in
Maryland, his father, mother, three brothers and a sister were then living
in a thrifty village in that state, the name of which village was given.
But this was just fifty-two years before. Jesse indulged the hope that
some of them still lived, though he had not heard from them since he was
kidnaped at the age of eighteen.
Never having heard his story, Dr. Tichenor encouraged him to give it.
Jesse's father and his family were free. The family lived on the outskirts
of a Maryland village where the father owned a good home and a small farm.
Having occasion to send Jesse on an errand to the shores of the
Chesapeake, the stalwart youth of eighteen, muscular, large, active and
bright, was seized by some slave traders, and forcibly taken on board a
small vessel and carried to Richmond, where in the slave market he was
sold on the block. He protested that he was free, and was forcibly brought
hither, but no attention was given to his defense. From Virginia he was
brought to Montgomery, and bought by the Goldthwaites, in which family he
had been for more than fifty years. On being sold at Montgomery he again
protested, but was answered by the statement that he had been bought in
good faith, and the fault was not that of his present owners. This, he
said, destroyed all hope, and he knew that he was doomed to a life of
slavery, from which condition there was no possible appeal. This made him
desperate, and he resolved on a course of perpetual rebellion. His
mistress sympathized with him in his condition, after she learned his
story, and sought to show him every possible kindness, but his refractory
disposition brought him under the stern discipline of his master, who
sought to subdue him at any cost. While he was forced to succumb, he was
not reconciled to his fate, and resisted in every way possible. He was
notorious as a thief, liar, and profane swearer, and in his desperation he
resolved to drown his troubles in drunkenness. Exposure on cold nights,
while drunk, induced the rheumatism and impaired his sight almost to
blindness.
The years wore wearily on, and when he was brought under the influence of
the preaching of Dr. Tichenor, Jesse became a Christian, and thenceforth
he sought to lead a subdued and submissive life, but his frame was now a
wreck. Advancing age had bent his form, and it was with difficulty that he
could see. While submissive, Jesse was never cheerful, but lived under the
burden of a wrong enforced, from which there was no possible deliverance.
Now, at the age of seventy-two, he came to Dr. Tichenor to request that he
write to Maryland, and if possible, to learn whether any of his relatives,
who never knew of his fate, were still surviving. Letters were written,
one to the postmaster of the village, and to others known personally to
Dr. Tichenor, at Baltimore, and elsewhere.
For several weeks the old man would trudge with difficulty to the pastor's
study to learn of the result of the letters, but no favorable answer came.
In order to cheer the old man, and to prolong hope, Dr. Tichenor would
write to yet others, but nothing could be learned of the whereabouts of
any of those sought by Jesse Goldthwaite. The aged ex-slave would leave
the presence of the pastor with a heavy groan each time, and express the
hope that when he should come the next time he might be able to learn of
his loved ones of the long ago. Finally the old man ceased to come. It was
thought that continued discouragement had checked his visits, but when Dr.
Tichenor sought to learn of the strange absence of Jesse, he ascertained
that he had been dead for weeks. In a negro cabin he had died in
Montgomery, and had been quietly buried by his own people in the pauper
graveyard.
In the annals of the horrors of slavery no story can perhaps excel that of
the doom of Jesse Goldthwaite. Born a free man, and stolen in the prime of
his robust youthhood, manacled and sold into slavery, he lived more than a
half century in this condition, and when he died, he was buried in a grave
of poverty.
HAL'S LAKE
In the fork of the Alabama and Tombigbee Rivers, about fifty miles above
Mobile, is said to be a lake, beautiful and clear, which is called Hal's
Lake. The name is derived from an incident that occurred in the days of
slavery. A runaway slave from a Mississippi plantation found refuge and
secretion in this dismal resort, and hither he lured other slaves, all of
whom lived in the region of the lake for an unknown time.
Having run away from a plantation in Mississippi, Hal, a stalwart slave,
made his way across the Tombigbee, and on reaching the swamp of big cane,
tangled underbrush and large trees, he found his way into it with great
difficulty, where he discovered that the bears of the swamp had regular
paths, the tall canes on the sides of which being worn smooth by their
fur. For a day or two the runaway subsisted on the wild fruits of the
swamp, but on exploring further toward the north, he found that there were
plantations on the opposite side of the Alabama River, and by means of the
use of a piece of wood to support him in swimming across, he made his way,
a hungry man, to a plantation at night, where he told his story and
procured food.
Hal soon became an expert forager, as was indicated by the loss of an
occasional pig, lamb, goat, or turkey from the plantation. Not content
with his own freedom, he determined to bring his family to this swampy
retreat. Making his way back to his distant home, he succeeded at night in
mounting his family on two or three choice horses, and being familiar
with the country in that region, he chose to travel during the first night
along plantation paths, and the next morning after leaving the home, he
and his were fully thirty miles away. The horses were turned loose, and
the remainder of the journey was pursued at night, while the fleeing
slaves would sleep during the day. When the Tombigbee was reached, he
succeeded in conveying his family over by lashing some logs together.
After a perilous passage, they finally reached the swamp, and set about
providing a temporary home on the lake, by constructing a booth of canes
and saplings, covering it with bark.
In his trips to the neighboring plantations across the river for
necessaries, Hal induced other slaves to join him in his safe retreat.
After a time, he had a colony in a quarter where white men had never gone,
and on the shores of the lake chickens crew, turkeys gobbled, with the
mingled notes of the squealing of pigs and the bleating of goats.
Hal was the sovereign of the tiny commonwealth, and in due course of time
he found it unnecessary himself to go on foraging expeditions, and would
send others. Still the population of the colony grew, as an occasional
runaway slave would be induced to join it. In those days of "underground
railroads," the continued absence of a slave from a plantation would be
taken to mean that he had fled by some of the numerous means of escape,
and after a period, search for the missing would be given up. Not only was
there a mysterious disappearance of slaves, but that of pigs, chickens,
sheep and other domestic animals, as well. The secret of this slave haunt
was well preserved, and the news of its security became an inducement to a
large number of slaves, some from a considerable distance, to join Hal's
colony beside the lake.
Not only was Hal autocratic in his immured fastness between the rivers and
in the jungle of cane, but he became tyrannical, which in turn, provoked
revolt. A burly slave refused to obey his dictation, and Hal straightway
expelled him from the colony, and exiled him. Bent on revenge, the exile
made his way back to his master, surrendered and told the story fatal to
Hal's colony. The mysteries of several years were thus cleared up to
planters along the rivers. The exile became the guide to the retreat where
was ensconced the slave colony, and with packs of dogs and guns, the
stronghold was surrounded and the slaves captured. But slight resistance
to the dogs was offered, and the submissive black men and their families
were conveyed across the river, the ownership of each ascertained, and
each was sent, under guard, to his owner. As for Hal and his family, the
sheriff notified the owner on the distant Mississippi plantation of their
capture, and he came, in due time, proved his chattels, and they were
taken back to their original home.
How long they might have remained in this secure retreat, but for the
intolerance of the original leader, it is impossible to say. Hal was not
unlike many another with advantages vastly above his--power made him
top-heavy, and soft seductions were turned into tyranny, all of which
reminds us of the comment of Artemus Ward on the conduct of the Puritans
of New England. Artemus said: "They came to this country to worship God
according to their own consciences, and to keep other people from
worshipin' Him accordin' to their'n."
The capture of Hal and of his party led to the discovery of this
phenomenal body of clear water in that interior retreat not only, but to
the discovery of bears, which fact made it the hunting ground for big game
for many years. It is said that much big game is still to be found in that
region between the two great rivers.
How much of truth there is in the details of this story which comes to us
from the old slave days, none can tell, but it reveals to us one of the
features of slave life. That the story has its foundation in fact, there
seems to be no doubt, and it still lingers as a tradition in that quarter
of the state.
Transcriber's Note:
Text on page 530 is misprinted in the original. This error is presented in
this version as it is in the original.
Gen. William Henry Harrison having resigned as major general in the
regular army was disbanded, and the troops returned home. him.