The Project Gutenberg eBook, Twenty Years on Horseback, or Itinerating in West Virginia, by W. M. (William Marion) Weekley This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Twenty Years on Horseback, or Itinerating in West Virginia Author: W. M. (William Marion) Weekley Release Date: March 9, 2021 [eBook #64765] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY YEARS ON HORSEBACK, OR ITINERATING IN WEST VIRGINIA*** E-text prepared by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) This ebook was created in honour of Distributed Proofreaders' 20th Anniversary. Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/twentyyearsonhor00week [1] BISHOP W. M. WEEKLEY, D.D. Twenty Years on Horseback or Itinerating in West Virginia By W. M. WEEKLEY, D.D. Author of “Getting and Giving,” “From Life to Life,” Etc. “Take thy part in suffering hardship as a good soldier of Christ Jesus.”—2 Tim. 2:3 Nineteen Hundred and Seven United Brethren Publishing House Dayton, Ohio ALL RIGHTS RESERVED [2] Preface It was not my purpose, in the preparation of this little volume, to make it an autobiography, but rather a narration of incidents connected with the twenty years of humble service which I tried to render the United Brethren Church among the mountains of West Virginia. These incidents present an all-round view, in outline, of the real life and labors of the itinerant preacher, a third of a century ago, in an isolated section, where the most simple and primitive customs prevailed. While some of the things related will doubtless amuse the reader, others, I trust, will lead to thoughtful reflection, and carry with them lessons inspiring and helpful. The introduction should first be carefully read by those who expect to be profited by a perusal of the pages which follow. That good may come to the church, and glory to our Redeemer through this unpretentious publication is the prayer of its Author. Kansas City, Mo., May 1, 1907. I have examined the manuscript of “Twenty Years on Horseback, or Itinerating in West Virginia,” and cheerfully submit this note of commendation. The author, Bishop W. M. Weekley, D.D., I have known for more than thirty years. He entered the ministry when young, with an undivided heart and determined purpose. During the years he served the Church in that State he traveled over almost the entire territory of the West Virginia Conference. The country then was extremely primitive; but simple as the mode of life was at that time, the field was an interesting, even an enjoyable one for a minister who could endure hardness as a good soldier of Christ. I am acquainted with nearly all the sections of the State referred to, and am therefore familiar with many of the places, facts, and persons mentioned, and can assure the reader that the author has given a faithful account of these in his book. No statement is overdrawn or warped for the sake of effect. W. W. Rymer. Columbus, Ohio, May 3, 1907. An examination of the following pages caused me to live my early life over again. Having spent twenty-three years in the ministry within the bounds of the West Virginia Conference, and having been intimately associated with the author of this volume during the most of that period, I am very familiar with many of the places, persons, and events mentioned, and can testify to the correctness of the record he makes, and to the faithfulness of the pictures drawn. This book will stir the thoughts and rekindle the fire within the old itinerants, and, as well, I trust, arouse the young to larger activities in soul winning. R. A. Hitt. Chillicothe, Ohio, May 4, 1907. The author of this book and myself were boys together. We were born and reared within four miles of each other, were converted in the same church, and for years were members of the same Sunday school and congregation. We were licensed to preach on the same charge, and spent the earlier years of our ministry in the same conference together. In many instances we traveled the same roads, preached in the same communities, and mingled with the same people. After having examined the contents of this volume in manuscript form, I am sure it contains a faithful description of the varied conditions which made up the life and experiences of the United Brethren itinerant minister of that time among the hills and mountains of West Virginia. A. Orr. Circleville, Ohio, April 30, 1907. [3] [4] [5] [6] Contents Preface Introduction 9 Chapter I 15 Chapter II 27 Chapter III 44 Chapter IV 58 Chapter V 70 Chapter VI 86 Chapter VII 100 Chapter VIII 121 [7] Illustrations Bishop W. M. Weekley (Frontispiece) W. M. Weekley at Twenty Years of Age W. M. Weekley at Thirty Years of Age Traveling a District House Where Bishop First Went To Housekeeping [8] Introduction The past lives through the printed page. The ages would be blank if books were not made recording the events and achievements of men. No form of history is more interesting and profitable than that which recites the career of those who, obedient to their divine commission, proclaimed to fellowmen the sweet message of Christ’s redeeming love. The completeness of their consecration, their undaunted courage and persistency in the face of many difficulties, and their marvelous success evidence in them the presence of superhuman power. It is the genius of Christianity to inspire and develop the unselfish and heroic in men. The splendid specimens of self-sacrifice and moral courage, which adorn the pages of Christian literature, charm the reader and inspire him to more Christlike endeavor. These life-stories constitute a rich, priceless legacy for present and future generations. In this admirable volume, Bishop Weekley has modestly removed the curtain from twenty years of his own strenuous ministerial life spent in the mountains and valleys of West Virginia, and given the reader a conception of what it meant to lift up the Christ and extend his kingdom in that rugged region. The book is biographical in character, but since “biography is the soul of history,” it is history in reality. The scenes and events which he presents suggest the character of the work which others had to do in laying the foundations of our Church in those sections. It would be difficult to find more striking examples of Christian altruism and heroism anywhere in this country than the godly men who preached the gospel among the mountains and in the valleys of the Virginias in the early years of our denominational history. These men embodied those elements of character and graces of the Spirit which are essential to success in Christian work anywhere. Having heard the call of God, and having felt the spell of the divine spirit, they yielded themselves unreservedly to the gospel ministry. They possessed strength of conviction, singleness of aim, earnestness of purpose, and concentration of effort. As a rule these pioneer preachers had but one business—that of the King. They were so absorbed in the saving of men and women, and in extending the kingdom, that they gave but little attention to present physical comforts and future needs. Many of them were without property, and when they sang, “No foot of land do I possess, No cottage in this wilderness,” there was a literalness about it which would have dismayed men of less faith and consecration. Without seeking to enrich themselves in material things they labored earnestly to bring the spiritual riches of heaven to the hearts and homes of others. They were busy men—men of action. They omitted no opportunities to do good. Intervals of rest were few and far between. The modern minister’s vacation was to them unknown. They met their “appointments” with surprising regularity. Neither storm, nor distance, nor weariness thwarted their plans. Their announcements were always made conditionally—“no preventing providence”—but they never calculated for providence to prevent them being on hand at the appointed place and hour. The strain of toil was constant, but their iron resolution, and the work itself, proved a strong tonic. The success of one service was inspiration for the next. Visiting from house to house, exhorting the people to faithful Christian living, distributing religious literature, and preaching week days as well as Sundays made their lives full of heavy tasks, all of which were performed with happy hearts. They possessed the glowing and tireless zeal of the preaching friars of the Middle Ages, and with many of them the clear flame of their zeal was undimmed until the fire was turned to ashes. They were men of thought as well as action. Their preparation was made in the college of experience, in which they proved themselves apt students. They studied few books and only the best. They cultivated and practised the perilous art of reading on horseback. They pored over books and papers in humble homes by flickering candle or pine-knot light long after the family had retired. It is remarkable what extended knowledge of the English Scriptures, methods of sermonizing, oratorical style and forceful delivery these men acquired. They knew well, and by that surest form of knowledge—the knowledge born of verified experience—all they proclaimed in message to the people. There was freshness of thought, aptness of illustration, and forcefulness of expression that was native to them. The majestic forms of nature in the regions where they toiled inspired in them the sublimest thoughts of God and his eternal truth. The marvelous results of the sermons of such men as Markwood, Glossbrenner, Bachtel, Warner, Nelson, Graham, Howe, Hott, and others proved them great preachers in the highest and truest sense. They were men of tact as well as thought, and adjusted themselves to the conditions. They preached wherever the people would assemble—in leafy grove, by the river bank, in the humble home, in the log schoolhouse, in the village hall, in the vacant storeroom, and in the unpretentious church-house. They did not always have the exhilarating and inspirational effect of great crowds, but they preached “in demonstration of the Spirit,” kindling the deepest emotions in their hearers, often arousing them to tremendous intensity and causing waves of overpowering feeling to sweep over them. Saints shouted the praises of God and penitents pleaded for mercy. These heralds of the Cross employed none of the familiar devices of modern times for securing crowds and reaching results. There were no specially-prepared and widely-scattered handbills, no local advertising committees, no daily newspapers with flashing headlines and portraits, no great choral or orchestral attractions. What made these fallible men so forceful and successful in winning others? The explanation lies in the fact of their spiritual enduement. They wrought in the name of Christ and under the influence of the Holy Spirit. [9] [10] [11] [12] In no portion of our Zion have ministers made stronger and more lasting impression upon the people. Whenever present in a home they were the guests of honor. Their strong personalities and noble traits of character, as well as their calling itself, won for them the esteem of old and young. Parents named their children after them, and exhorted their sons to find in them their models for manhood. In thus honoring these noblemen of God they exalted the work of the ministry in the minds of the young, and prepared the way for the Lord to call them into his service. This may account, at least in part, for the great number who have gone into the ministry from these mountain districts. Let no one fancy that somber shadows rested continually upon the pathway of these ministers. There was a joyous side to their ministerial life. When together as a class, or among their parishioners, their stories and jokes were abundant, spontaneous, and of the purest type. When they met at institutes, camp-meetings, and conferences they enjoyed one round of good cheer and solid comfort. Their services of song drowned all dull cares. Their lives had shadows, but they refreshed themselves in the rifts and glorious sunbursts. The people to whom these men of God proclaimed the gospel were not, as a rule, rich in material things, but they possessed great hearts, in which love and kindness flowed as pure and refreshing as the streams of water that rippled down the mountain side. We rejoice that Bishop Weekley has given to the Church this book. Many aged ministers, who once toiled in the Virginias, will live over again the scenes of their lives as they read these pages. Young men will be stimulated to more earnest endeavor as they learn of the hardships and complete consecration of God’s servants in pioneer days. No one will weary in reading this excellent volume. The good Bishop has written in harmony with an established sentiment in book-making—“it is the chief of all perfections in books to be plain and brief.” W. O. Fries. Dayton, Ohio. [13] [14] CHAPTER I. The Virginias have turned out more United Brethren preachers, perhaps, than any other section of the same size between the oceans. These pulpiteers have ranged in the scale of ability and efficiency from A to Z. Some achieved distinction in one way and another; others, though faithful and useful, were little known beyond their conference borders. Nor have all remained among the mountains. Dozens and scores of them have gone out into other parts of the Church. At this writing they are to be found in no less than nineteen different conferences, and, as a class, they are not excelled by any in devotion to the Church, in unremitting toil, and in spiritual fervor and downright enthusiasm. Some— many who spent their lives in building up the Zion of their choice among the Virginia hills, have gone to glory. Among these heroes I may mention J. Markwood, J. J. Glossbrenner, Z. Warner, J. Bachtel, J. W. Perry, J. W. Howe, S. J. Graham, I. K. Statton, and J. W. Hott. Other names, perhaps not so illustrious, but just as worthy, are to be found in God’s unerring record. The historian will never tell all about them. Their labors, sacrifices, and sufferings will never be portrayed by any human tongue, no matter how eloquent, or by any pen, however versatile and fruitful it may be. Footsore and weary, dust covered and battle scarred, they reached the end of their pilgrimage and heard heaven’s “well done.” What a blessed legacy they bequeathed to their sons and daughters in the gospel! “Old Virginia” was, in part, the field chosen by Otterbein himself, and by his devout colaborers. This was more than a hundred years ago. In 1858 the Parkersburg, now West Virginia Conference, was organized out of that part of the mother conference lying west of the Alleghanies—a territory three hundred miles long, roughly speaking, by two hundred in width. In its physical aspects the country is exceedingly rough, and difficult of travel. But the people, though mostly rural in their customs and mode of living, and many of them poor, so far as this world’s goods are concerned, are warm hearted, genial, and hospitable. When a preacher goes to fill an appointment among “mountaineers,” he is not troubled with the thought that perhaps nobody will offer him lodging, or willingly share with him the bounties of his table. I have found things different in other parts of the country. W. M. WEEKLEY, Twenty Years of Age Traveling Circuit The new conference was organized at Centerville, in Tyler County, by Bishop Glossbrenner, in the month of March. Only a few ministers were present, but they were brave and good, ready to do, and, if need be, to die for their Lord. [15] [16] [17] Five miles from this historic place the writer was born on the eighteenth day of September, 1851. My parents, though poor, were honest and honorable, and toiled unceasingly to provide for and rear in respectability their ten children, of whom I was the oldest. The neighborhood was far above the average in its religious life and moral worth. A man under the influence of liquor was seldom seen, and a profane word was hardly ever heard. The United Brethren Church was by far the leading denomination in all that country. The old log church in which we all worshiped stood on father’s farm, and our home was the stopping-place not only of preachers, but of many others who attended divine service. At times our house was so crowded that mother was compelled to make beds on the floor for the family, and not unfrequently for others as well. But to her it was a great joy to perform such a ministry for the gospel’s sake. Her loving hands could always provide for others, no matter who they were, or how many. For the third of a century father was the Sunday-school superintendent in the neighborhood, and, for a longer period, teacher of the juvenile class. Thus he saw little children pass up into other and older classes, and finally to manhood and womanhood, when by and by their children came in and were given a place in “Uncle Dan’s” class. At the age of fourteen I was born the second time, and united with the Church. The occasion was a great revival held by Rev. S. J. Graham, of precious memory. Seeing my oldest sister, Sarah, bow at the altar, greatly moved my young heart. A few moments later I observed father coming back toward the door, and thinking perhaps he was wanting to speak to me on the subject of religion, I immediately left the house. My state of mind became awful. The next evening I saw mother pressing her way toward me through the standing crowd. I knew what it meant, and sat down with the hope of concealing myself from her; but how vain the effort! What child ever hid himself away from a mother’s love? Putting her hand on my head, she said, “William, won’t you be a Christian?” I made no reply, but said to myself, “I can’t stand this; I must do something.” How her appeal, plaintive and tender, made me weep! It was really the first time she had ever come to me with such directness and warmth of heart. To this very moment I can feel the touch of her hand and hear her loving appeal. The next day I talked with other boys who were with me in school, and asked them to accompany me to the “mourner’s bench,” which they did. At that time the class, though in the country, numbered one hundred and seventy souls. Three months later, I was appointed one of its stewards, and with this office came my first experience in raising money for the Church. The next year I was elected assistant class-leader, and though young and inexperienced, I rendered the very best service I possibly could. My educational advantages up to this time had been only such as the common schools afforded, with the addition of a close application to study at the home fireside, aided by the historic “pine torch” and “tallow candle.” From the day of my conversion I could not escape the thought of preaching. The duty of being a Christian was never set before me more forcibly and clearly than was the duty of preaching; but I hesitated. My ignorance, and lack of fitness otherwise for such a high calling, appeared as insurmountable barriers. I could not understand why God should pass by others, better in heart and far more capable, and choose me. So the struggle went on. In the mean time I began to read such books as I could secure. The Bible, “Smith’s Bible Dictionary,” and “Dick’s Works,” constituted my library. The last named was rather heavy for a lad only in his teens, but I rather enjoyed such studies. The first book I ever purchased was “Religious Emblems,” which proved exceedingly helpful to my young life. When seventeen I preached my first sermon, or, perhaps I should say, made my first public effort. It was in an old log church on Little Flint Run, in Doddridge County. Brother Christopher Davis, a local preacher, was holding a meeting, and at the close of the morning services announced that I would preach at night. What a day that was to me! How I tried to think and pray! When I reached the church I found it full, with many standing in the aisle about the door. I felt so unprepared—so utterly helpless—that I immediately retired to a secret place, where I again besought the Lord for help. Returning, I started in with the preliminaries, but was badly scared. No man can describe his feelings under such circumstances. Many a preacher who scans these pages will appreciate my situation. I spent a good part of the first fifteen minutes mopping my face. I seemed to be in a sweat-box; but by the time I reached my sermon, or whatever it might be called, the embarrassment was all gone. I still remember the text: “And I will bring you into the land concerning the which I did swear to give it to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob; and I will give it you for an heritage. I am the Lord.” It was immense; but the most of young preachers begin just that way. At this distance from the occasion, I do not recall anything I said, and am glad I cannot. However, there was one redeeming feature about the effort, and that was its brevity. In twenty minutes I had told all I knew, and perhaps more. I have never been able to understand why the people listened so patiently. They really seemed to be interested, but why, or in what, I have never known. I have not tried that text since, and I do not think I ever shall. It is too profound to even think of as the basis of a discourse to common people. Dr. J. L. Hensley, when pastor of Middle Island Circuit, early in the sixties, had a somewhat singular experience in this same log church. While preaching one Sabbath morning in midsummer from the text, “The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head,” the people at his left suddenly became excited, and looking around quickly for the cause, he observed a snake, about two feet long, crawling in a crevice of the wall near the pulpit. Reaching for his hickory cane, which he always carried, he dealt the wily creature a blow which brought it tumbling to the floor, remarking at the same time, “The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head.” Thus in the midst of his discourse he was furnished an illustration which made a profound impression upon his hearers, and aided greatly in bringing the truth home to their hearts. [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] The presiding elder, Rev. S. J. Graham, my spiritual father, by authority of a quarterly conference held at the Long Run appointment, October 23, 1869, gave me a permit to exercise in public for three months. Shortly after this I was prostrated with lung fever, which soon developed the most alarming aspects. Though the ailment was outgeneraled, the process of recovery was slow. In fact, one of my lungs was so impaired that consumption was feared. A noted physician, after carefully diagnosing my case, frankly told me that nothing could be done for my lung; but I did not believe a word he told me. I had decided that I would make preaching my life work, and believed that God would give me a chance to try it. It might be noted here that ten years later this same doctor was in his grave, while I was a better specimen of physical manhood than he ever was. “Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass.” What will he bring to pass? The right thing, and in the right way. Such has been my observation and experience in all the years that have come and gone since the hand of affliction was so keenly felt. December 25, 1869, I was granted quarterly conference license in a regular way, and attended the annual conference which met in Hartford City, Mason County, the following March. Much of the time while there I was not able to walk from my stopping-place to the church, though not a half dozen blocks distant. Some of the brethren feared that I would not live to get back home again. But I wanted a circuit. With that end in view I had gone to conference, and no amount of persuasion could turn me aside from the one great purpose that had taken complete possession of my soul. I was entering the work with a full knowledge of what it meant. I had heard the brethren talk of their privations and abundant labors, and, as well, of their victories and joy of heart. The report of the year then closing was most suggestive. The eighteen fields of the conference contained one hundred and sixty-seven preaching places, and had paid twenty-four men a little less than $140 each upon an average, not counting outside gifts. West Columbia Circuit paid its two pastors, Revs. W. B. Hodge and I. M. Underwood, $400. The next highest was $339.19, and was paid the brace of pastors who served the Glenville charge—Revs. W. W. Knipple and Elias Barnard. The other sixteen pastorates ranged from $267.15 down to $35, the last named amount having been received by Rev. J. W. Boggess, on Hessville Mission. The Parkersburg District paid Elder Graham $227.87, while West Columbia District only reached $152.85 for its superintendent, Rev. J. W. Perry. To the support of each of the districts, however, the parent missionary board added $100. When the Stationing Committee reported, my name was read out as the junior preacher for Philippi Circuit, with Rev. A. L. Moore, pastor in charge. This appointment was given, as more than one assured me in later years, simply to satisfy my mind. No one expected me to go to it. As the field already had a man, my failure to reach it would make no difference in any way. Returning home I told father what had been done, and that I must have the necessary outfit for a circuit-rider; namely, a horse, a saddle and bridle, and a pair of saddle-bags. No matter what else a man had, or did not have, in those days, these things were essential to efficiency among the mountains of West Virginia. At once I began preparations for leaving home. Mother was thoughtful enough to make me a pair of leggings which buttoned up at the sides and reached above the knees. No one article made with hands was ever more valuable to a Virginia itinerant than leggings. Philippi Circuit was seventy-five miles distant among the mountains, and would require, owing to the bad roads, two and a half days of hard travel on horseback to reach it. At the appointed time, April 11, 1870, early in the morning, I rode out of the old lane and up the hillside. All I had of earthly possessions was in my saddle-bags. One end contained my library, (Bible, Hymn-book, “Smith’s Bible Dictionary,” “Binney’s Theological Compend,” “Religious Emblems,” and one volume of “Watson’s Institutes,”) while in the other was stored my wardrobe, scant and plain. When far up on the side of the hill I looked back and saw mother standing on the porch. She had not ceased to watch me from the moment I started. Tears unbidden filled my eyes, and with these came an appreciation of our home that I had never experienced before. The home had been humble, to be sure, but it was Christian. We had a family altar, from which the sweet incense of prayer ascended daily to God. I could truthfully say: “Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow thee.” A mile distant I joined, by a prearranged plan, Rev. G. W. Weekley, my uncle, and Rev. Isaac Davis, both of whom were also en route to their distant fields of toil. At the end of the second day we reached Glady Fork, on Lewis Circuit, where my uncle lived. How weary after so long a ride! At that time my health was still so precarious, and my strength so limited, that I could not walk a hundred yards up grade without resting. To dismount from my horse, open and close a gate, and then get back into the saddle, exhausted me. Remaining over a few days with my uncle, I tried to preach on Sunday morning, but found myself exhausted at the end of twenty-four minutes. In a few days, however, I was sufficiently rested from my long ride to journey on to my own circuit, where I soon found the preacher in charge, and plans were discussed for the year’s work. This was historic ground. It was an old United Brethren field, having been traveled by Statton, Stickley, Warner, Hensley, and others, in the late fifties and early sixties, when it included twenty or more preaching-places, spread over portions of several counties. [23] [24] [25] [26] CHAPTER II. 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. [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] 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, [33] [34] [35] [36] [37] 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. [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] 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. [43]