Hessville Mission embraced portions of Harrison and Marion counties, and
was made up of the following preaching places: Quaker Fork, Glade Fork,
Indian Run, Big Run, Little Bingamon, Ballard School-house, Salt Lick,
Plumb Run, and Paw-paw. In all this territory we did not own a single
church edifice. By fall I had added Dent’s Run, Bee Gum, and Glover’s
Gap, making twelve appointments in all. At the last named place I held
a revival in a union church. The meeting was good, and telling most
favorably upon some of the best families of the town, when an unknown
miscreant at an early morning hour applied the torch and reduced the
building to ashes. All I lost in the conflagration was my Bible and
hymn-book. Moving into a schoolhouse near by, the meeting was continued,
and a class organized. By the middle of the winter there had been
sixty-five accessions, but from that on till spring I had to lay by on
account of measles.
At Little Bingamon we had a great meeting. The entire community was
deeply stirred. “Aunt Susan” Martin was my main helper and standby.
While devout in life, and strong in faith, she had a blunt, honest way
of saying things which often amused the people. At this meeting two of
her children made a start. One was a son of some fifteen winters. He
literally wore himself out by his night and day pleadings at the altar,
and became so hoarse that he could scarcely talk. His mother was greatly
agitated over his condition, and grew exceedingly anxious to see the
intense struggle terminated. One evening she bowed at the altar with him
that she might, through instruction, show him a better way. She did not
believe that bodily exercise could be made to avail anything in seeking
salvation. Finally, for a moment, she lost her patience, and said, “Now,
if you don’t quit this kind of praying you will kill yourself. Stop it,
I tell you, or I’ll box your ears good. The Lord isn’t deaf, that you
should ‘holler’ so loud.” Then turning to her husband who, at the time,
was a professed moralist, though faithful in attending and supporting the
church services, she said: “George, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Not a word have you for this poor child. Now come and talk to him. To
stand and look on is no way to do.”
The dear sister was right, not only in thinking that the father ought
to help the son, but in protesting against unnecessary physical
demonstrations in seeking religion. It is not the loud praying or
constant pleading that saves men, but faith in the world’s Redeemer. Rev.
H. R. Hess, one of the leading ministers in the West Virginia Conference,
was soundly converted and received into the church during this meeting.
What a good home I had while on this charge! Brother Daniel Mason, a
father in Israel, whose life was as pure as a sunbeam, took me to his
home and heart, and treated me very much as the Shunammite did Elisha.
He built me a little room on his porch, and put therein a bed, bookcase,
table, and candlestick. The worth of such a place to a young minister is
next to incalculable. Twice a day he read the Word and prayed. He was on
good terms with his Lord, and talked to him with the greatest assurance.
Some of the sweetest memories of my earlier ministry cluster about this
Christian home. The fruition of the upper and better life he now enjoys
as the reward of his faith, service, and devotion while here below.
The circuit agreed to pay me $100, and kept its contract. The first
quarter I received $14.81, the second, $18.35; the third, $17.75; and
the last $49.05. The conference added $50, which pushed my support up
to $150. With this salary, much above the average for a single man, I
could afford to pay $21.50 for a new suit of clothes, and $4 for a new
“two-story” silk hat.
On my way to conference a few days were spent with friends in the home
neighborhood. Rev. E. Lorenz, father of the music writer, was living
and preaching in Parkersburg at this time. He had organized a German
congregation, and held services in the lecture-room of our English
church. The Committee on Entertainment sent me to stay with him during
the conference session which was held in the city. Thoughts of that
superlatively Christian home linger with me to this day. I shall never
forget how parents and children bowed together in prayer, morning and
evening, and how each took part in the devotions. Too much emphasis
cannot be placed upon the importance of prayer in the home. Nothing else,
on the human side, so anchors the family and builds up character. The
fact that the fire has died out on so many domestic altars is, itself,
proof that family religion does not receive the attention it once did.
At this conference I was permitted to pass the second and third years’
course of reading, which put me in the class to be ordained. I can never
blot from memory the prayer offered by the lamented Doctor Warner at the
ordination service. He seemed to pour out his very soul in petition to
God for the young men being set apart to the work of the ministry. I wept
like a child while he thus prayed, and anew pledged to Jesus and the
Church the service of my life.
Grafton at this time was constituted a mission station, and made my field
for the coming year. The town then (1873) had a population of about three
thousand souls, and was located mainly on a steep hillside. In fact, it
stands about the same way yet, though containing several thousand more
people. We had no church-house, and no organization, though there were
a few members scattered through the place. Seventy-five dollars were
appropriated by the conference toward my support. A preaching-place
called “Old Sandy,” some twelve miles distant, was also given me. Here
we had a gracious revival. I later took up two more points—Maple Run
and Glade Run—and organized a class at each. At the close of the year
these country classes were formed into a separate charge, and became
self-supporting.
[Illustration: W. M. WEEKLEY, Thirty Years of Age
Presiding Elder]
At Grafton the work progressed slowly, and with some difficulty for
a time. A friend gave us, free of charge, the use of a church-house
which, by some means, had fallen into his hands. The first thing was to
organize a Sabbath school, which started off well. When certain church
partisans saw the outlook, they offered to take part in the school,
and adroitly got possession of the offices. When I discovered the real
situation, I determined to bring the matter of control to an issue,
and did. I deliberately stated that I had been sent there to organize
a United Brethren Church and Sabbath school, and proposed to carry out
my instructions. I was pleased to have teachers and other helpers from
sister denominations join in the work, I added, but the school would be
reported to my conference. The result is easily imagined. Our friends,
so-called, suddenly dropped out, and from that day to this the identity
of the school has never been questioned.
The seventy-five dollars appropriated by the conference was about all
I received, and twenty-five dollars of that went in a lump to the
centennial fund. If a kind family had not taken me in, free of cost, I
could not have remained the year through. For the second year the support
given was about the same. The third year there were two of us to support,
hence a special effort had to be made to increase the pay. Three hundred
and twelve dollars was the amount actually received, eighty dollars of
which was paid on rent; but we lived well; no such thing as want seemed
to be within a thousand leagues of our humble home. We were thankful for
cheap furniture and home-made carpet. Yea, more, we were happy. God’s
ravens carried us our daily portion.
In the early spring of 1875, we began the erection of a chapel which
cost, lot and all, $2,800. But a part of it had to be built the second
time. Just as the frame was up and ready for roof and siding, a storm
passing that way piled it in a promiscuous heap. This occurred on the
seventeenth of July. Immediately, however, the work of reconstruction was
undertaken, and the edifice was completed in early fall, and dedicated by
Doctor Warner. Such experiences try a young man’s nerve and purpose, but
invariably prove a blessing when the difficulties accompanying them are
overcome.
That year I took up an appointment at the Poe School-house, two miles out
of town, and organized a class. In those days the preacher was expected
to look around for new openings, no matter where he was or how large his
field; there is no other way to expand. My criticism of many of our young
preachers to-day is that they do not try to enlarge their work. They seem
never to look beyond the nest into which the conference settles them.
They will live on half salary, and whine about it all year, rather than
get out and look up additional territory. Under fair conditions, the
young man who is devout and active can secure a good living on any field.
Faith and purpose and push will win every time. The year closed with
fifty-three members, and ninety-five in the Sunday school.
The conference again convened in Parkersburg, with David Edwards this
time as bishop—the last session he ever presided over.
At this period the battle in the Church over the secrecy question was
waxing warm. West Virginia had lined up on the liberal side. The bishop,
being pronouncedly “anti” in his views, determined to enforce the rules
of the Church in the matter of admitting applicants into the conference.
A brother who appeared for license was known to belong to some fraternal
order, so the good bishop held him up. This brought on a crisis. All
was excitement. Some things, it was clear, would have to be settled
then and there, and they were. Doctor Warner arose, in the midst of the
flurry, and demanded that the young brother be sent to the appropriate
committee, which he said was thoroughly competent to deal with the
question. The bishop was on his feet also with the fire of determination
fairly flashing in his eyes. However, when he fully realized that, with
an exception or two, the entire body was against him, he gracefully
yielded, thus happily bringing the unfortunate conflict to a close. By
morning, matters had again assumed a normal condition, and the bishop
kindly requested that all reference to the controversy be expunged from
the records.
Notwithstanding Bishop Edwards’ somewhat radical position on the secrecy
question, he was greatly loved by all our brethren, and by none was
his death more sincerely mourned. On Sunday he preached on Elijah’s
translation; a few days thereafter he was himself translated.
From Grafton I was sent to New Haven circuit, in Mason County, one
hundred and sixty miles west. To get there I was compelled to borrow
twenty-five dollars. Dr. J. L. Hensley kindly entertained us until
a house could be found; for as yet there was not a parsonage in the
conference. This was considered one of the best fields we had. The
first year it paid me four hundred and sixteen dollars, and the next,
four hundred and twenty-seven dollars, with a few presents in the shape
of vegetables, groceries, and the like. Of course, I paid rent out of
this—thirty-six dollars one year, and fifty the other. I had only four
appointments—New Haven, Bachtel, Union, and Vernon, and these were close
together. During the two years, one hundred and thirty were received
into the Church.
The next conference was held at Bachtel, which gave me my first
experience in caring for such a body. Bishop Weaver presided and preached
the word mightily on Sunday. He had been popular even since his first
visit to that section, in 1870. By request of Hon. George W. Murdock, a
wealthy business man in Hartford City, three miles west, he went down
there and preached in our church on Sunday evening. Mr. Murdock was an
ardent admirer of the bishop. Six years before he had entertained him in
his home, and was charmed by him as a preacher and conversationalist.
After spending the first hour with him, he slipped into the kitchen and
said: “Wife, he is the most wonderful man I ever met. Do come in and hear
him talk.” The old gentleman never forgot the bishop’s sermon on Sunday.
For weeks afterward he would talk about it in his store, and elsewhere,
sometimes in tears, nearly always ending with the observation, “He is a
wonderful man.” It might not be out of place to note here that the good
bishop more than once shared the benefactions of his wealthy friend.
During my second year on this charge, a peculiar and most trying
experience came to our home. A great revival was going on at the Union
appointment. The altar was nightly crowded with earnest seekers, some of
whom belonged to the best families in the community. Early one morning a
young man came hurriedly to the place where I was stopping, and calling
me out, said, “Mr. Weekley, I have been sent to tell you that your babe
is dead.” Hastening home I found the faithful mother watching at the side
of the withered flower, and anxiously awaiting my coming. How loving the
ministry of friends had been; nor did their tender interest abate a whit
until the little lifeless form was put away to sleep in the cemetery on
the hillside, in the family lot of Dr. Hensley.
The reader may be anxious to know what I did under the circumstances.
There was but one thing to do, that was to seek the guiding hand of
duty. Our little one was gone. Just as the thoughtful florist takes his
tender plants into their winter quarters before the frost appears, or
the chilling winds sweep the plains, so a wise, loving, merciful Father
had plucked up the little vine which had rooted itself so thoroughly and
deeply in our hearts, and transplanted it in his own heavenly garden.
Yes, Charley was safe; so I returned to my meeting with a tender spirit,
and the work continued with great power.
More than one preacher who reads this incident will recall the time,
or times, when he, too, passed under the cloud, and walked amid the
shadows. Again and again I have been made to feel that some people do
not sympathize with the minister and his wife, as they do with others,
when the death angel tarries and lays his withering hand upon a young
life. Somehow they seem to think that the cup, when administered to
the preacher’s family, is not so bitter—that the thorn does not pierce
so deeply. But I know better, and so do a thousand others. It is said
of Dr. Daniel Curry, a great man in Methodism in his day, that he was
so grieved over the death of his little boy that after returning home
from the cemetery he went into the back yard, and observing his little
tracks in the sand, got down on his hands and knees and kissed them.
Words cannot express my sympathy for the faithful pastor and his family,
and my admiration of that faith, devotion, and heroism which in so many
instances are necessary to keep them in the work.
Mason County was one of the first fields occupied by the ministers who
crossed the Alleghanies westward. Among these were G. W. Statton, J.
Bachtel, and Moses Michael. However, prior to this, preaching had been
kept up on the Virginia side by pastors of the Scioto Conference. The
main one was Jonas Frownfelter, whose name deserves a place alongside the
heroes enumerated in the eleventh chapter of Hebrews. On one occasion,
when the Ohio River was out of its banks, and too dangerous for the
ferryman to venture across, he plunged in a little below the town of
Syracuse, swam his horse across, and came out at Hartford City, a half
mile below, singing like a conqueror:
“From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat,” etc.
All honor to those who put their sweat, and tears, and blood into the
foundations of the conference, thus enabling others to build safely and
successfully.
Early in the fifties a paper known as the _Virginia Telescope_, was
started in West Columbia, ostensibly in the interest of the whole Church,
but later developments proved that the object was to organize a Southern
United Brethren Church, making the slavery question the basis of the
separation. When the presiding elder, G. W. Statton, became aware of its
purpose, he threw his official influence against its continuance, and
succeeded, by the aid of others, in eliminating it as a disturbing factor.
The reader will pardon me for taking up these early historical threads,
woven long before my day as an itinerant, but I have done so with the
view to preserving in permanent form interesting facts not generally
known, and nowhere written into the history of the Church.