The time of holding the annual conference having been changed from
spring to fall, the next session was held at the Simmons’ chapel, in
Lewis County. I was again made presiding elder, stationed on Parkersburg
District, and soon moved to Pennsboro, where my headquarters remained for
the next four years. My diocese extended from Parkersburg to Irondale, a
distance, east and west, of one hundred and sixteen miles, and from the
Ohio River on the north far interior to the south. The fields embraced
were Parkersburg Station, Parkersburg Circuit, Volcano, Pennsboro, Troy,
Middle Island, Littles Mills, Grafton, Irondale, Hessville, Tanner,
Sylvan Mills, and Smithton.
A vast amount of hard work, I soon discovered, would be necessary to make
anything like a commendable showing in a territory so large and difficult
to cultivate. The first duty with me was to care for my preachers. It
was my notion then, and my views have not changed in all these years,
that if a presiding elder wants his men to do good work he must, first of
all, do his best for them financially. If the salary was insufficient,
and it nearly always was, as I have shown many times over, it had to be
supplemented in one way or another. If the stewards were worthless, I
asked them to resign. If they did not know how to collect, I went along
and instructed them as best I could. In some cases we would canvass
the entire neighborhood with a two-horse team and wagon, and gather up
flour, corn, potatoes, chickens, meat, eggs, sorghum, butter—in a word,
anything and everything that could be used at the parsonage, or exchanged
for groceries. When nothing better could be done, I would load up my own
horse with flour and meat and lead him to the preacher’s home with his
precious cargo of provisions. Then what a good time we would have! Some
who are yet at work in the conference were helped in this way. I also
found it profitable to have the people on each field, if at all possible,
make the pastor a present of a new suit of clothes each year. The plan is
usually a popular one, and in most cases can be worked, if placed in the
hands of the right persons. It is the equivalent of just so much extra
cash to the preacher. But with some it may be a query as to how I managed
the indifferent pastor. Sometimes one way, and sometimes another. Every
presiding elder, I suppose, has his own methods. My plan was first to
aid and encourage him all I possibly could. I tried to prove to him, in a
substantial way, that I was his friend, and wanted to help him make his
work a success. If, after all this, he persisted in being a failure, I
frankly told him he would have to drop out. Such a step requires courage,
I know, but it must be taken once in a while. No railroad company
or any other business concern would think of employing inefficient,
untrustworthy men; such a policy would be suicidal; nor can an elder
afford to supply his fields with those who are utterly devoid of fitness
for a work so high and responsible.
A man may be a “good fellow” in many respects, and promise to support
his elder if continued in active service, but these things should have
no weight in the matter of appointments. The welfare of the church
should always be considered before that of the individual. If either
must go down, let it be the preacher. Why put him in a position to
chill, discourage, and perhaps wreck a whole charge? Nor should a man be
employed if inefficient by reason of age or poor health. The fact that a
minister was once successful is no reason for continuing him indefinitely
in the pastorate. A record of usefulness, I know, is a crown of glory to
any old, worn-out toiler, but with such glory he ought to be satisfied.
I have always hoped, and still do, that I may have sense and grace enough
to retire of my own accord before my conference is compelled to put me on
the shelf. The church, however, should provide a comfortable living for
her servants when they can no longer remain at the front. They deserve
such recognition, and to withhold it is to sin against them and the God
whose they are, and whom they have served.
With reference to the presiding elder, or superintendent, I will further
say that he is the most useful and important man we have if he does his
duty faithfully; otherwise he is the biggest bore in the church. He is
not a success if he does mere routine work and nothing more. He must
reach out. He must be larger than his district, yet strive all the while
to make it as big as himself. He must keep things going. If resourceful,
he will always find a way to inspire and profit his men, if there is
anything in them to respond to his efforts. If he is not a general, he is
not fit for the place. He must go panoplied with helmet and breast-plate,
shield and sword, ready to fight, preach, or die, on a moment’s notice.
How the church and pastor are to be pitied when compelled to suffer three
or four official visits during the year from an old, dry stick, destitute
of sympathy and enthusiasm.
The year was not without its incidents, both serious and amusing. During
one of my quarterlies held in the Big Fishing Creek region a fight
occurred among some of the toughs as they went from church on Saturday
evening. In an article to the county paper I took occasion to criticise,
rather sharply, such behavior, and emphasized the fact that the officers
of law ought to do their duty in all such cases. In fact, the derelict
officials were as severely arraigned as were the offending pugilists.
Three months later I was in that section again; after the Sabbath morning
services, at Mt. Olive, I went to Laurel, some miles away, to fill an
evening appointment. After riding quite a distance along a high ridge,
which overlooks all the country around it, I turned down a little ravine
which lead to Laurelrun; but suddenly my cogitations were interrupted by
a big, burly sixfooter, who knew of my coming and was waiting for me.
Stepping in front of my horse, he blurted out, “Are you the feller what
wrote that piece in the paper about me?” I replied that I did not know
who he was, or what “piece” he referred to. “I’m one of them fighters
you wrote about in the _Star_,” he said, “but what you writ wasn’t true,
so I thought I would wait for you here.” In the meantime we were both
moving slowly down the hill, and he was at my side. If ever I did hard,
double-quick thinking, it was then. I knew what he was there for, and a
general mix-up seemed inevitable. I at once decided on a policy. I would
talk him out of any evil intent he might have, if it were possible to do
so; if not, and nothing else would suffice, I would get off my horse and
stay with him just as many rounds as I could, with the hope that somebody
might come along and help me out, if help was needed. I began to explain
how and where I got my information, and how I felt over such unbecoming
conduct on the way from divine worship. At this point he interjected the
remark that my informant was a liar, using adjectives and expletives
which would not look well in print. But I kept on with my speech,
using all the eloquence and fervor at my command. I expatiated on the
sacredness of worship, and portrayed in the most vivid colors possible
the beauty and praiseworthiness of the young man who honors the gospel,
and loves and lives in peace with all men. Though there was blood in his
eye at the start, I soon observed that I was gaining on him. By and by
he began to sanction what I said. It was clear that I had his attention,
so I kept on talking something good to him until he finally stopped me
as abruptly as when we first met, saying, “Wal, I guess I’le go back.
I kinder thought I’d like to ax you about it. Good-by.” What a feeling
of relief came to me as the fellow disappeared. A scrap, and possibly
something worse, had been avoided. I at once decided, however, that the
country editor thereafter would have to look elsewhere for information
when such brawls occurred. Such a narrow escape from—I did not know
what—convinced me that at least in that particular locality the work of a
newspaper correspondent was incompatible with that of a presiding elder.
It was on one of my visits to this same field that I made some of our
own dear people very cross over a little verse, purely original, which I
wrote on the blackboard. Nearly everybody used tobacco in some form. Many
of the women were snuff dippers, and smoked the pipe, while nearly all
the men either chewed or smoked, or did both. The stanza ran thus:
Who can chew the dirty stuff,
In the sacred place of prayer?
Who can smoke or rub snuff,
And feel that God is there?
Years afterward, I was told that some were still talking about that bit
of poetry.
The district paid a salary of $496.53 to the elder. Out of this he paid
for house rent and car fare, $110. The thirty-seven pastors of the
conference received an average of $140 each. The highest salary, $480,
was received by Rev. R. A. Hitt, on Parkersburg Station, $100 of which
was put into rent. The good Lord only knows how he managed to keep his
family in respectability, entertain his many visitors, and meet other
legitimate expenses, on the pittance of $380. And the same query may
be raised in the case of nearly all his colaborers; but they somehow
succeeded in making ends meet. As one of them expressed it, “When my wife
scrapes the bottom of the flour barrel, God always takes notice.” “This
is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.” In addition
to the aggregate salary received, the “presents” amounted to $1,276.28,
or about $34, upon an average, to each pastor. The net increase in the
membership of the conference was 564, an excellent showing. But the most
vexing problem was financial. Times were hard, money scarce, and the
people generally poor. Yet we believed and wrought in expectation of
larger things. Thank God, they are coming.
Pennsboro was the seat of the next conference session. Bishop Weaver
presided. Perhaps the most striking event of the occasion was the
presence of Dr. Lewis Davis, of Union Biblical Seminary. It was his
first appearance among us. Probably the wide difference between his views
and those of the conference on the secrecy question had kept him from
making an earlier visit; but his presence was highly appreciated by us
all, and in turn he greatly enjoyed the courtesies accorded him by the
brethren. As I bade him good-by at the train, he said, “Didn’t we have a
glorious time? I am glad I came. Wish I had come long ago.”
The second year on the district was more trying and laborious than
the first. The preacher placed in charge of Volcano Circuit resigned
before the holidays, and not being able to secure a suitable supply,
I decided to keep up the work myself in connection with the duties of
the district. The nearest point was ten miles from my home, and the
farthest twenty-five; this gave me seven preaching-places; namely, Zion,
Volcano, St. Paul, Long Run, Big Run, Harmony Grove, and Freeport. I
could give the charge only an occasional Sabbath, hence was compelled
to do my preaching and visiting among the people on week days. I held
three revivals, preached eighty-three sermons, and collected all the
conference benevolences; for this extra service I received $150. Serving
as pastor and presiding elder both, kept me from home nearly all the
time. It was no uncommon thing to reach home late at night, and then
leave early the next morning; but to work was a pleasure and joy; I did
not mind the loss of sleep. There was not enough terror in the storm,
or “warring elements,” to prevent the filling of my engagements. No day
was too cold, or night too dark to travel, if, by so doing something
could be done toward lifting up the district. I hope there is no egotism
in what I here say. _There is none._ I simply state the facts. I lay no
claim to superior devotion over my brethren who worked at my side, and
were loyal to the core. No others but brave, true men can succeed among
the mountains, or anywhere else for that matter; but in some places more
faith and courage and sacrifice are necessary than in others.
How I pitied my family. They were alone almost constantly year in and
year out. Under such circumstances it was impossible for me to know my
children well, or for them to know their father. This statement may be a
revelation to many. If any are in doubt as to its correctness, let them
ask the opinion of those who have done district work for years at a time.
I never left home without first commending my loved ones to the care of
the sleepless Eye; nor did I at any time while absent forget them in my
devotions.
Too much cannot be said for the faithful wife of the itinerant. But
alas! her worth, I fear, is not appreciated by the church as it
deserves to be. People watch and criticise her, to be sure, as they do
but few other women, but as a rule she is not accorded a very large
place in the achievements of her husband. Indeed, I sometimes fear the
minister himself does not realize her true relation to his success in
soul-winning. God only knows her anxiety and heart-yearnings as she
struggles with the problems of the home in the absence of her husband.
What a care the children are to her! But she toils on, as best she can
with the means, sometimes sadly limited, at her command.
The fact is, many a successful preacher to-day would be out of the work
but for his devoted wife. When ready to quit, and turn aside to some
other occupation more lucrative, she put her womanly heart up against
his, and urged him on to duty.
Said one of these noble helpers: “Husband, I know we are poor. Our
carpets are old and faded, and our furniture is scant and plain. I know
our dear children are barefooted, and can’t go to school; but I want
you to keep on preaching.” With a faith unfaltering, and a courage
invincible, she was willing to stay in the field—ready to serve, ready
to sacrifice, ready to die, and, thank God, ready for heaven.
Her interest in her husband, God’s servant, knows no abatement. Day and
night she is before the throne in his behalf; and are not her petitions
heard? If not, whose will be? We must not deceive ourselves. She has a
divinely-appointed place in the work of redemption, and one of tremendous
significance—_a helper in soul-saving_. Her reward is sure. As she stands
by her husband’s side on coronation morning, she, too, will hear heaven’s
“well done” for the loyal, royal part she has taken, and the service she
has rendered in the “ministry of reconciliation.”
In the earlier days of the conference, district work was exceedingly
laborious, because of the vast mountainous territory to be traversed. If
some of the circuits embraced from ten to twenty appointments, extending
over portions of three or four counties, it is evident that the presiding
elder had his hands full in superintending twelve or fifteen of these
fields. The journeys on horseback were long and fatiguing; it was no
uncommon thing to change horses at the end of a twenty-five mile ride
through the mud, or over the frozen roads. In the midst of one of these
long trips, Dr. Warner once stopped a few minutes in Pennsboro, at the
home of Mrs. Caroline Sigler, one of God’s jewels, and after putting
his tired animal away, mounted a fresh one and started on toward his
appointment, eating a piece of cold corn-bread. As the good woman looked
after him she could not keep the tears back. She knew something of the
hardships which had fallen to his lot; yet those hardships were borne
with a martyr’s courage for the sake of the Church he loved, and in which
he died.
On a certain Friday morning I was to leave for my second quarterly on
Littles Mills charge, a circuit with which the reader is already familiar
because of the happenings I have related in connection with it. The
distance was some thirty-five miles. The day brought with it a fearful
snow-storm, which seemed to make it unwise for me to attempt the trip
on horseback; but I meant to hold the meeting. Wife and children said,
“Don’t go this time.” Others interjected: “You are foolish. Nobody will
expect you.” But they were mistaken. The people did look for me. Taking
the train in the evening I went to Parkersburg, forty miles, and the
next day to New Martinsville, fifty-seven miles, and then walked sixteen
miles, partly Saturday evening, and the balance of the way the next
morning, arriving in time for the 10:30 services. I was glad I went The
pastor needed me, and anxiously awaited my coming. I should never have
felt right over the matter if I had disappointed him.