Philippi Circuit contained at this time the following appointments:
Romines Mills, Gnatty Creek, Peck’s Run, Indian Fork, Mt. Hebron, Green
Brier, and Zeb’s Creek. Later I added two more—one on Big Run, and
the other on Brushy Fort, at the home of “Mother” Simons. Two of the
preaching places lay “beyond” the Middle Fork River—a rolling, dashing
stream, fresh from the mountains, and at times dangerous to cross. It
was so clear that a silver piece the size of a quarter could be seen at
a depth of several feet. The first time I attempted to ford it I put my
life in jeopardy. Because the bottom could be seen distinctly, I imagined
it was not deep, but after a few paces I was in mid-side to my horse,
and going deeper every step. Perceiving the danger I was in, I tried to
turn my horse about, and did so only after the greatest effort, owing to
the almost irresistible current which was gradually bearing horse and
rider downward. Going to a house near by I made some inquiry about the
stream, and was told that if I had gone ten feet farther I should have
been swept away by the swift running waters. How grateful I was to God
for the deliverance. During the following winter my life was endangered
by floating ice at the same crossing-place. Brother Moore about the
same time, perhaps a little later, seeing he could not ford the stream,
decided to lead his horse across the ice at a point below the regular
crossing, where there was but little current; but when twenty feet from
the shore toward which he was headed, the ice gave way, and the faithful
animal went under. Having hold of the bridle rein, however, he managed to
keep his head above the water until a passage way was broken through to
dry land.
One instinctively shudders as he recalls the dangers which at times
thrust themselves suddenly across the pathway of the early preachers of
the Virginia and Parkersburg conferences when the fields were so large
and travel so excessive. Brother Moore informed me, as we looked over
the charge, that I would have to take the “outsiders” for my support, as
the circuit only paid $300, and he could not get along on less and pay
rent. It struck me that he was about right, so I readily agreed to his
proposition. Then what? Well, at each preaching place I found a “sinner”
who agreed to serve as my steward, and these men did well, everything
considered. For the year I received $97, including an overcoat and
several pairs of yarn socks.
At one of the appointments an unfortunate episode occurred over my
salary. The steward one day stepped over the line, and got after some
of the church-members for money. He very well knew they were abundantly
able to help, but they flatly refused. This so upset him, so I was told,
that he expressed his opinion of them in language far more vigorous than
polite. It is a joy, however, to note in this connection that some of
these stewards soon became Christians, and active helpers in the Church.
Out of the pittance I received, possibly all, or more than I was worth,
I added to my little library, which could easily be put in one end of
my saddle-bags when I left home, the following books: “Bible Not of
Man,” “Conversation of Jesus,” “Jesus on the Holy Mount,” “Pilgrim’s
Progress,” “Dying Thoughts,” “Bible Text Book,” “Jacobus on John,” “God’s
Word Written,” “Paley’s Theology,” “Our Lord’s Parables,” “Webster’s
Dictionary,” “Bible True,” “Rock of Our Salvation,” “Companion to the
Bible,” “Dictionary of the Bible,” “Credo,” “Rise and Progress of
Religion in the Soul,” and “Hand of God in History.” This, of course, was
not a lavish purchase of books, but it did pretty well for one with a
cash income of not more than $75.
We had some good revivals that year. Ninety-nine were received into
church fellowship, while many more were converted. At Indian Fork we held
meeting in a little log cabin, about twenty feet square, with a great
fire-place in one side. It is surprising to see how many people can be
crowded into so small a place when they are anxious to attend a revival.
Night after night for weeks this little room was packed like a sardine
case. But the outcome was glorious. Some of the best citizens of the
community were reached and won to Christ.
After a few services were held, and it was seen how insufficient the
little room was to accommodate the many who wanted to come, we put
on foot the project of building a church, and immediately set about
the work. The plan was so unique that the whole neighborhood became
interested. Some felled trees; others “scored and hewed” the logs; those
who had teams volunteered to haul them, while others still made shingles,
or helped with the foundation; “for the people had a mind to work.”
Before the meetings closed the house was up and ready for use—an edifice
which served as a place of worship for many years.
The people all over the circuit were kind and forbearing, and greatly
encouraged me by waiting on my ministry, and hearing what little I had
to say. I visited all classes of persons, rich and poor, and had all
kinds of experiences. In some homes I enjoyed the hospitality offered;
in others it was not so highly enjoyed, but keenly appreciated. At one
of the preaching points a certain brother insisted upon my going home
with him for dinner after the morning service, which I consented to do.
It was a rainy day. He lived in a cabin of one room on the hillside. On
either side of the dwelling was a shed. Under one of these he kept his
corn; under the other, where we entered the house, the hogs slept and the
chickens roosted. His only piece of regular furniture was a chair. As to
where and when he got it I did not inquire. Long poles reaching across
the room and fastened to the walls, with a forked stick under them in
the center, constituted a kind of double bedstead. When I entered the
door I observed a large “feather tick” piled upon these poles. Finally,
something moved under it, and then a boy of ten or twelve summers, almost
suffocated, crawled out and made for the door. His purpose, no doubt, was
to hide from the preacher when he saw him coming, but finding he could
not get his breath, decided to retreat to another place of concealment
where there was more fresh air. I did not eat much dinner. I told “mine
host” that I was not hungry, and, in fact, was not. They had only a
broken skillet in which to bake bread, fry meat, and “make gravy.” As
soon as possible I excused myself, and started for my next appointment.
Indeed, I was glad I had another one that day.
Many other amusing incidents occurred during the year. These always find
a place in the itinerant’s life, and it is well, perhaps, that they do,
as they offset in a measure his somber experiences. I am frank to confess
that it is easy for me to see the funny side of a happening, if it has
one, and to enjoy a joke though it be on myself.
In the early days of the West Virginia Conference, what was known as the
“plug hat” was much in evidence among preachers. Such “headwear” was a
distinguishing mark, hence no circuit-rider with proper self-respect, or
wishing to give tone to his calling, could afford to don anything else.
Being young, and somewhat ambitious to hold up the ministerial standard,
at least in appearance, I determined to secure one as soon as I could get
a few dollars ahead. However, the way opened for the gratification of my
wish sooner than I had expected. Brother Moses Simons had one he didn’t
care to wear, so I bantered him for a trade. It was in first-class
condition, but entirely too large for me. Even after putting a roll of
paper around under the lining, it came down nearly to my ears. What was I
to do? I must have a high-topped hat, but was not able to purchase a new
one. At last I decided to wear it, if my ears did occasionally protest
against its close proximity to them. It distinguished me from common
people for the next two years, and so answered well its purpose.
One day as I was riding up a little creek between two high hills I passed
a group of urchins who evidently were unused to preachers. They watched
me in utter silence till I had passed them a few yards, when one of them
piped out, “Lord, what a hat.” No doubt they had an interesting story to
relate to their parents when they returned to their humble cabin home.
Not long after this I met a gentleman, so-called, in the road, and bade
him the time of day, as was my custom. He returned the salutation with,
“How are you, hat?” and passed on without another word. To me this was
exceedingly offensive, for I was sure there was something in and under
the hat, and any such remark was an uncalled-for reflection upon my
dignity and the high calling I represented. I did not know the man, and
to the best of my knowledge have never seen him since, but to this day,
though removed from the event more than a third of a century, I harbor
the thought that if I ever do run across him I shall demand some sort of
reparation for the insult.
The annual conference met in Pennsboro, Bishop Weaver presiding. During
the year I had improved much in health, owing to my horseback exercise
and the great amount of singing I did, which doubtless had much to do
with the development of lung muscle.
At conference I went before the committee on applicants with eight
others, five of whom were referred back to their respective quarterly
conferences for further preparation. For some reason the examination was
unusually critical. One question propounded to each was, “Do you seek
admission into the conference simply to vote for a presiding elder?”
There was some doubt in my case on a doctrinal point, according to the
report of the chairman, Rev. W. Slaughter, an erratic old brother.
He said the boy was all right, except “a little foggy on depravity.”
Possibly I was, for I didn’t think much of that portion of our creed.
However, I see more in it, and of it, after all these years, than I did
then. In the light of my observations and experiences with men, I am not
inclined to deny the doctrine.
I was appointed by this conference to Lewis Circuit, an old, run down
field, embracing parts of three counties. Rev. Isaac Davis was sent
along as a helper “in the Lord.” We had grown up together in the same
neighborhood, and were members of the same congregation. He was a young
man of sterling moral qualities, and proved himself a loyal and valuable
coworker.
After spending a few days with our parents and friends, we started, early
in April, for the scene of toil to which we had been assigned for the
year. From the day we left home we ceased not to pray that the Lord of
the harvest would give us at least one hundred souls as trophies of his
grace, and to that end we labored constantly.
We found the following regular appointments: Glady Fork, Hinkleville,
Union Hill, Little Skin Creek, White Oak, Waterloo, Indian Camp,
Walkersville, Braxton, and Centerville. Soon we added two more, namely,
Bear Run and Laurel Run. The charge agreed to pay us $210, but fell a
little short, reaching only $170. Of this I received $90, and Brother
Davis the remaining $80. The assessment for missions was $25, and about
$10 for other purposes, which we regarded as a pretty high tax for
benevolences. Yet the entire amount was raised after a most vigorous and
thorough canvass of all the appointments. As I now remember, no one gave
more than twenty-five cents.
Our protracted meetings lasted more than six months, and resulted in
the reception of one hundred and one persons into church fellowship.
While in the revival at Hinkleville, a great shout occurred one night
over the conversion of some far-famed sinners, during which the floor of
the church gave way and went down some two feet. Before dismissing the
people, I announced that we would meet and make repairs the next day.
At the appointed time it seemed that nearly all the men and boys in the
country round about were on hand, ready to render what service they could
in repairing the house of the Lord.
This was a revival of far-reaching influence. The country for miles
around was thoroughly stirred. One of the leading men became interested
one night, and decided upon a new life. As he approached the church the
next day he heard us singing what was then a very popular song—“Will the
Angels Come?” The words and melody fairly charmed him, and kindled new
hope in a life that had been given over to sin. As he opened the church
door, the key of faith opened his heart’s door to the Savior, and he
rushed down the aisle to tell us of his wonderful experience. It was all
victory that morning. The conversion of such a man profoundly affected
the people, and led to many more decisions for Christ.
During this meeting my colleague arose one evening to preach. As he had
the test, with book, chapter, and verse all by heart, he did not open his
Bible, but began by saying, “You will find my text in Revelation, third
chapter, and twentieth verse.” Just then an apple fell through a hole in
his coat-pocket on to the floor. As he stooped to pick it up, another
fell out. Returning them to his pocket, he again started—“Revelation,
third chapter and twentieth verse,” when suddenly the two restless apples
dropped out again. After picking them up, he started in the third time,
“You will find my text in,”—but all was gone. He couldn’t even think of
Revelation. The audience was at the point of roaring, so in the midst
of his confusion he turned to me and said, “Brother Weekley, what is my
text? I don’t know what nor where it is.” I answered, “Behold, I stand
at the door and knock.” “Yes, yes,” he said, “I remember it now,” and
proceeded with his discourse, but did not recover that evening from the
knock-out blow he had received.
Preaching through such a long revival campaign was no easy thing, when
I had only a few sermons in stock, and these were all “home made.” I
think the material in them was all right, but the mechanical construction
was not according to any particular rule. I endeavored to give my
hearers plenty to eat, but I did not understand how to serve the food in
courses. It was like putting a lot of hominy, and pork, and cabbage, and
beans into the same dish, and saying to the people, “Here it is; help
yourselves.” But as a few sermons could not be made to last indefinitely,
I was compelled to apply myself to study, no little of which was done on
horseback. Every itinerant in West Virginia at that time had to do the
same thing. While this method of study was not the most desirable, it
nevertheless had its redeeming features. Ofttimes, after riding a dozen
or fifteen miles over rough, hilly roads, I would alight, hitch my horse,
and while the weary animal was resting, mount a log near by and practice
to my heart’s content the sermon I was preparing for my next appointment.
Again and again did I make the welkin ring as I preached to an audience
of great trees about me. Does this appear amusing to the reader? Do you
doubt that such experiences ever occurred? If so, ask some of the earlier
preachers of the conference who are yet living if they ever did such a
thing while circuit-riding among the mountains.
Did we ever feel lonesome as we traversed the forests or climbed the
hills? Not for a moment. It was an inspiring place to be. The birds sing
so sweetly there. The gurgling, murmuring streamlets are ever musical
as they steal their way along through gulches, over their rocky beds.
The scenery is sublime. Nature’s book stands wide open, and abounds with
richest lessons and illustrations. No wonder Glossbrenner and Markwood,
Warner and Howe, with a host of others, could preach! The very mountains
amid which they were born and reared conspired to make them lofty
characters, and majestic in their pulpit efforts. While Union Biblical
Seminary, and our colleges generally, are grand, helpful schools, let it
not be forgotten that “Brush College” is not without its advantages, and
should be given due credit for the inspiration and rugged manliness it
imparts to its students.
My home this year was with Brother James Hull, on the headwaters of
French Creek, fully forty miles from the nearest railroad station. Mother
Hull was one of God’s noble women. She professed sanctification, and
lived it every day. I can never forget her helpfulness to me, a mere
child in years and service. I must see her in heaven.
If I returned home after each Sabbath’s work, it required one hundred
and fifty miles travel to make one round of the circuit. My associate
also had a good home on another part of the charge; but unfortunately
for him, and for some others as well, his zeal led him into trouble.
Brother Mike Boyles, with whom he stayed, was a good, true man, and was
ever delighted to have a preacher with him. One Sunday he went to see a
friend a few miles distant, and innocently carried home on his horse a
large, nice, well-matured pumpkin. His purpose, no doubt, was to prepare
a special dish for his guest; but his preacher was not pleased with such
an infraction of the Sabbath law. A short while after this he discoursed
in the neighborhood church on the text, “I stand in doubt of you.” Among
other things, he said he stood in doubt of a church-member who would go
visiting on Sunday and carry “pumpkins” home with him. Brother Boyles
very naturally made the application a personal one, and ever afterward
refused to be reconciled.
During the year I married two couples. One of the men was a horse
buyer, and was considered “away up” financially. Of course I expected
no insignificant sum for my services; it ought to have been ten dollars
or more; but let the reader imagine, if he can, my disappointment,
if not disgust, when he handed me forty cents in “shinplasters.” By
“shinplasters” I mean a certain kind of currency which circulated
during our civil strife in the early sixties, in the form of five, ten,
twenty-five and fifty cent certificates.
Speaking of this wedding recalls the fact that it was on this circuit,
while visiting my uncle the year before, that I married my first couple.
I remember, too, that I approached the occasion with great trepidation.
It was an awful task. But the eventful hour finally came. The parsonage,
so called, where the nuptials were to be celebrated, was a log cabin of
one room. The kitchen, which stood several feet from the main building,
was the only place offered in which to arrange the toilet. At last
I stood before the young couple and began the ceremony, which I had
committed to memory. Yes, I had it sure, as I thought. I had gone over
it twenty times or more. In practising for the occasion I had joined
trees and fence stakes, and I know not what all, together; but at the
very moment when I needed it, and couldn’t get along without it, the
whole thing suddenly left me. There I was. After an extended pause and a
most harrowing silence I rallied, and began by saying, “We are gathered
together.” Just then my voice failed me; it seemed impossible to make
a noise, even. I fairly gasped for breath, for that was the one thing I
seemed to need most. At last the effort was renewed. How I got through I
never knew. I seemed to be in a mysterious realm, where the unknowable
becomes more incomprehensible, and when all the past and future seem to
unite in the present. Finally I wound up what seemed to be long-drawn out
affair, and pronounced the innocent couple man and wife. I am glad they
always considered themselves married. I have but little recollection of
what I did or said during the ordeal. In fact, I do not care to know,
since I am so far away from the occasion. Yes, that was my first wedding.
The year was not without its material enterprises, for we completed the
churches at Glady Fork and Waterloo, repaired one at Indian Camp, and
started a new one at Laurel Run. Some of these stand yet as moral and
religious centers, and, at times, through the intervening years, have
been the scenes of great spiritual awakenings.
Conference was held at New Haven, in Mason County, with Bishop D. Edwards
in the chair. While our report was thought to be fairly good, I asked for
a change, believing that I could do better work on another field. The
favor was granted, and Hessville Mission assigned me as my third charge.
At the close of this year there were thirty-one ministers employed in
the conference, whose aggregate salary was $4,551.77, or an average of
$147 each. The three presiding elders received, all told, $843.83. These
figures indicate something of the sacrifices made by the men who gave
themselves to the early work of building up the Church in the Virginias.
Greater heroism of the apostolic type was never displayed by any of
the sons of Otterbein, nor can any part of the country show greater
achievements for the work done.