HOW I BEGAN TO LECTURE.
THE following is about the way I tell it:
The story I am to tell relates my own personal adventures, which I often told around the fire-side, with no dream of its ever assuming the shape of a lecture. My old friend, Col. J. T. Murfee, President of Howard College, insisted that I should turn it into a lecture. My reply was: "Some day, when I have time, I may sit down and write it out, dressing it up with beautiful language, weaving in some poetry, and then branch out as a full fledged lecturer." I suppose the leisure time never would have come and probably the lecture never been delivered but for a fool-hardy spell that possessed me on one occasion when I was in Mt. Sterling, Ky. A brother said: "Our Baptist young people want you to deliver a lecture. You are going to be here several days. Could you not do so?" And I promptly said "Yes." The next question was: "What is the name of the lecture?" I had never thought of that before, but I blurted out: "How a boy got through the Lines to the Confederacy." "How much do you charge?" That was a new question too, but I ventured to say: "About one-half." So it was arranged and a dodger was gotten out by the preacher and printer headed: "War, War, War." It was the time of the Spanish-American war and it ran about this way: "Dr. W. B. Crumpton, of Georgetown, Ky., being in our city for a few days has kindly consented to deliver his famous lecture at the Court House tonight at 7:30 o'clock for the benefit of the Baptist Young People's Union. It is a rare opportunity our citizens have to hear this distinguished lecturer. Come one, come all. A treat awaits you. Admission Ten Cents." The old people concluded, as long as the price was so small, that it was only a funny story I was going to relate to the young people and they were conspicuous by their absence.
After spending a nervous afternoon, I went out to the Court House and found about a hundred and fifty young people and children gathered. I said to myself: "You have made yourself a fool now. These children will all be asleep in about ten minutes, and you will be ashamed of yourself the balance of your life for attempting to lecture." When I was through with the story, only two very small kids were asleep, so I took it as a good indication that I had something worth while. I returned to my home, taking with me some of the fine circulars for the amusement of my family, and concluded to make a further test by giving a free lecture in the College Chapel. It was well advertised and probably five hundred people were present, many old veterans and a large number of students. When I was through, parties congratulated me, and I concluded that I could afford to continue spinning the yarn. So I have delivered the lecture in a great many places, wherever the young people or women would get up an audience.
The lecture was called the "Original Tramp; or How a boy got through the lines to the Confederacy." One pious old sister who heard it suggested that the name be changed to: "How the Lord took care of a boy while going through the lines," and I cheerfully accept the amended form.
It is not a religious lecture. The boy I am to tell about was not working at religion much, though a member of the church. But I hope there will be discovered the marks of an over-ruling Providence running like a silver thread through all the story. He has believed, for many years, the Lord had him in hand, though he knew it not, preparing him for the task that has been his for many years. If some reader shall come to believe in the Guiding Hand in his or her own life, I shall be happy.
The lecture began with my return from California; but I have concluded to give the whole narrative, beginning with my first start to California, and let the reader pick out where the "Famous Lecture" begins.
[Chapter I]
A boy's best friend; A boy without ambition; "A sucker ready to bite at any bait"; Remembers his brother's counsel; Off to sea; Completely transformed.
I once heard a blind man sing—I remember one line of the chorus:
"A BOY'S BEST FRIEND IS HIS MOTHER."
How true is that and the poor boy doesn't realize it until the mother is taken from him. After she is gone out of the home, the world is never again what it was to him.
My home was broken up by the death of my mother when I was only thirteen. I became a wanderer. Sometimes I worked on a farm, sometimes I went to school, after a fashion. When my brother, an "old forty-niner," as the first gold-hunters in California were called, visited relatives at Pleasant Hill in Dallas county, he found me in school. He thought that travel would be the best schooling for me. So he asked me one day how I would like to go to California. My answer in the negative amazed him. I was perfectly content to remain where I was. I was honest about it. I had been to Montgomery, Selma, Cahaba and Prattville, and had frequently seen steam boats on the Alabama—had actually ridden on one—had but one desire as to travel ungratified. I wanted some day to go to Mobile and then to East Mississippi to see my kin. I had determined to make that trip if I lived to be grown; beyond that I had no ambition to see the world.
This satisfied condition indicated to my brother that