In the brush

by Hamilton W. Pierson

CHAPTER XIV.

OLD-TIME ILLITERATE PREACHERS IN THE BRUSH.

I have very often thought that the best work that could possibly be prepared in favor of an educated ministry, would be to send stenographers through those States where the census reveals the greatest amount of ignorance, to make verbatim reports of sermons that are actually preached, and publish them in a volume. Such a book would be the most remarkable exhibition of ignorance ever printed. Any one who has not traveled extensively will be astonished to learn of the great number of altogether unlearned and ignorant preachers who minister regularly to large congregations. I have found that the deeper I got into the Brush, and the denser the ignorance of the people, the greater was the number of preachers. I have seen a surprisingly large number of people who knew very little of the world, and a great deal less of books, to whom the honors of a preacher were very attractive. I say "honors," for the emoluments were so small that they had very little weight in the matter. I have known them to urge their own claims, and "electioneer" with others for years, and with the greatest pertinacity, in order to secure licensure and ordination. Some of them could not read at all, and many could read a verse or chapter only with the greatest difficulty, and miscalled a large number of the longer words.

I penetrated a wild region among the hills, and my own observations and the explorations that I caused to be made secured for it the undoubted and undesirable preëminence of being the banner county for ignorance and destitution of the Bible of all those that I visited. In some manner that I do not now remember, on my first visit I was directed to call upon one of the preachers of the county, who would coöperate with me in making arrangements to have it canvassed and supplied with the Bible. I found his house among the hills in the midst of a vast, dense forest, surrounded by a small clearing or "dead'ning," which was planted with corn and tobacco. He was rather a short, thick-set man, with a powerful, muscular frame, and very quick and active in his movements. On riding up and introducing myself, he gave me a very cordial welcome to his home. It was a log-house, rather larger and higher than was usual in the region; but it was without chambers, and from floor to roof all was a single room. His family, including wife, mother-in-law, and children, numbered an even dozen. I spent the night with them, partaking of such food, using such knife, fork, and dishes, and occupying, with others, such a bed as I can not well describe, and I am sure my readers will not be able to imagine. But I had by this time become so accustomed to this kind of life in the Brush, that, if not pleasant and agreeable to me, it was at least not strange. Not long before, in a similarly wild region, in an adjoining county, I had slept in a much smaller cabin with one room, where the man and his wife and mother-in-law and four children, with another visitor besides myself, occupied three beds. I shared one of them, upon a very narrow bedstead, with the visitor, a neighbor who had called in for a social visit, as rough and tough-looking a long-haired backwoodsman as one often meets, dressed in butternut; and a "chunk of a boy," as his father called him, about a dozen years old, who was placed in the bed between us, with his head at our feet, and ex necessitate his feet not far from my head. It is a kind of lodging that can be endured for a night, as I know from positive experience. But I am not prepared to recommend it.

When I arrived at this house, which was about dinner-time, I found the children parching corn in a spider. The father was absent, and it was necessary for me to remain until he returned. The mother made no movements toward getting dinner, and said nothing about it, which was a very unusual thing in my experience. At length the children brought to me some of the corn, which was parched brown, but not popped. I had by this time become satisfied that this was to be their only dinner, and ate some of it with them. The father returned in a few hours, and urged me to spend the night with them, which in the circumstances I was glad to do; I could easily have gone farther and fared worse. He soon took a bag and went through the woods a mile or two to a neighbor's, and returned with some corn-meal and a piece of bacon. The entirely empty larder being thus replenished, a meal was soon cooked, and I sat down to what was to me both a dinner and supper of corn-dodger and fried bacon. I called upon some of the families in this neighborhood, and some months after met one of the young ladies at the county-seat. In talking with her in regard to this visit, I said:

"I was told that a number of the young women in your neighborhood can not read."

"Oh!" said she, "there are but two there that can read."

And yet I was told that there were two or three resident preachers there, but I had not time to call upon them. As the kind of food and lodging that I have described were so common to me, the chief "variety" that was the "spice" of my itinerant "life" was in the varied characters that I met. And I rarely found this "spice" of intenser flavor than in my own profession, among some of the preachers that I found in the Brush. The one that I had sought out, and with whose family I had spent the night, was one of the most remarkable of his type with whom I became acquainted.

In the morning he mounted his horse and rode with me to visit and confer with several of the leading citizens of the county in regard to its exploration, and to spend the following day, which was the Sabbath, in visiting two different and distant congregations, for the purpose of presenting the matter to them, and "lifting collections" in its aid. We rode several miles through the woods, only occasionally passing a small cabin and clearing, and made our first call at a log-house, where my clerical friend and guide was evidently a very great favorite. Here we were urged to have our horses put in the stable, and remain to dinner. We assented to this, and arrangements were at once made for convening a Bible committee, at a house in the neighborhood, that afternoon, and for religious services in the house at which we had stopped to dine that night. The husband and children at once started out to circulate these notices, and the wife began her preparations for our dinner. She was apparently about thirty years old, above the medium size, in a region of country where the most of the women were very large, with a bright, pleasant face, a cheerful, happy disposition, and very cordial and enthusiastic manners. The log-house, though not of the best, was decidedly of the better class; and our dinner, both in its quality and the manner in which it was served, was a great improvement upon my breakfast, and the supper the night before. It was a happy group. Conversation was cheerful and animated, and geniality and joy glowed in all faces and pervaded all hearts. Some time after dinner I started with my clerical friend on foot through the woods to meet the Bible committee. After a pleasant interchange of views, we appointed a colporteur to canvass the county, and adjourned. At once we received earnest invitations from different ones to go home with them to supper. They were unwilling that the family upon which we had first called should monopolize the pleasure and honor of entertaining us. I left my clerical friend to settle this matter, and we went a mile or two in another direction, where we were hospitably entertained at supper. We then returned to the house where we had dined, and it was soon filled with people, who had assembled upon this brief notice. It was arranged that instead of a sermon a chapter should be read, and each of us should occupy a portion of the time in brief addresses. My friend read the chapter. I was astonished. I had never heard the like at any public religious service. Many of the words were mispronounced and entirely miscalled, and it would have been difficult to understand what was meant, from his reading of the passage. But both his reading and remarks were very well received, and I saw no one who seemed to notice that there was anything out of the way with either. I followed him with some remarks, and the meeting seemed to be greatly enjoyed by all. Then began a very spirited contest as to where we should go and spend the night. There were many claimants for the honor.

"You must go home with me," said one.

"No," said another, "you had Brother A—— when he was here, and you can't have these preachers. They must go with me."

"No," said still another, "you've had the preachers a heap of times since I have. I hain't had nary one in a long time, and they must go hum and stay with me."

For myself, wearied as I was with the varied labors of the day, I should have greatly preferred remaining with the family where I was. But I left the matter for them to decide, and we soon started out, and taking a footpath through the underbrush, among the large forest-trees, we went in the darkness a mile or two, to an entirely new cabin. The logs had been peeled, and it looked very clean and nice. A large fire was soon blazing upon a hearth made of fresh earth, and roaring up a chimney made of split sticks covered with mud. It was the home of a young couple, who had but recently married and commenced housekeeping. There were two beds in the room. We sat before the bright fire and talked for some time, until I told them how weary I was, and they pointed out the bed which the preacher and I were to occupy. The room was new and bright, and the sense of cleanliness was most grateful to my feelings. I thought that in that new house I should enjoy that rare luxury in the cabins in the Brush, a nice, untenanted bed and a pleasant sleep. As I turned down the blankets and moved my pillow to adjust it, I saw what I at first thought was a drop of molasses dried on the sheet. I impulsively moved my finger toward the spot to ascertain what it was, and it ran! My pleasant dreams were all banished, and I plunged in, in desperation, to share my bed with such company as for months and years I had found in so many of the log-houses in the Brush. The mild climate and the habits of the people conspired to make the beds quite too populous and repulsive to be described.

Though my meals were often such that only necessity compelled me to partake of them, yet the want of beds fit to be occupied by a human being, after my long, hard days' rides, was by far the greatest of all my privations and trials in the Brush. If I were to describe all that I have seen and endured in this matter, it would not only be very unpleasant and repulsive reading, but would surpass belief with all those not personally familiar with the country and the people described.

After breakfast the next morning we walked back to the house where we had first called and left our horses, and sat with the family until it was time to leave for church. As we sat together, my clerical friend, who was of an inquiring mind, turned to me and said, "How do you preach the first seven verses of the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes?"

I must here say that, in common with the great majority of his class, he used the word "preach" in the sense of "explain." My friend the Rev. Dr. S.H. Tyng, of New York, once told me that while preaching in a Southern State, in the early part of his ministry, a preacher of this class made him a visit. Seeing a pile of manuscripts upon his study-table, he inquired what they were, and was told that they were sermons.

"Why!" said he, in astonishment, "how many texts can you preach?"

These men were accustomed to "study" a passage in their manner, and form some opinions in regard to its meaning, and then they "preached" (explained) it on all occasions, with the most positive assurance in regard to the correctness of their views. Hence, when my friend asked me how I "preached" the passage alluded to, he wished from me a full exposition. Taking a Bible from the mantel-piece above the large fireplace, he turned to the chapter and read the first verse, as he had read the night before, and said to me, "How do you preach that?"

I gave my views of the passage in as few words as possible, and then he proceeded at much greater length to tell how he "preached" it.

As he concluded, the good sister, who had listened with face all aglow with delight, exclaimed: "Ah! Brother P—— has studied that!"

In this manner he read, and we gave our views of each of the seven verses.

His "preach" was in each case much longer than mine, and invariably drew from the attentively listening sister the fervent expression of rapt admiration and delight: "Ah! Brother P—— has studied that!"

I am sorry that I can not tell my readers how he "preached" the entire passage; but it was so utterly strange, and so entirely unlike anything I had ever conceived of as possible to be said in explanation of this or any other passage of Scripture, that I confess I was obliged to exert myself to the utmost to maintain the gravity becoming my position. If I had smiled, I should have given great offense to the delighted sister, for no enthusiastic lady that I ever saw was more proud of her pastor than she was of her preacher at that moment. So earnest were my efforts to maintain my dignity, and not dishonor my exalted position as an agent of the American Bible Society, that I could not afterward recall his explanations but of two of the passages. I will give but one of them: "'Or ever the silver cord be loosed.' The doctors say that there is a cord that runs from the nape of the neck, down the backbone, through the small of the back, into the heart, right thar; and that when a man dies that cord always snaps: that is the silver cord loosed."(!)

"Ah!" said the sister, her face radiant with delight, "Brother P—— has studied that!"

I will only add that this is a fair illustration of his explanations of all the other verses. If I might moralize upon this subject, I would repeat the opening sentence of this chapter: "I have very often thought that the best work that could possibly be prepared in favor of an educated ministry, would be to send stenographers throughout the Brush, to make verbatim reports of sermons that are actually preached, and publish them in a volume." Soon after this exposition, we mounted our horses and attended services at two different appointments, Brother P—— preaching at one of them. About a year after this I saw him regularly ordained to the full work of a minister of the gospel.

There are books containing "plans" or "skeletons" of sermons, and some clergymen are said to make free use of them in the preparation of their sermons. I will give one which may aid some limping preacher who needs such helps, and hereby offer it as a contribution to the next volume of skeleton sermons that may be compiled. The sermon was preached to quite a large congregation in a grove, where I was present and occupied the "stand" with the preacher. His text was Job xxvi, 14: "Lo, these are parts of his ways: but how little a portion is heard of him? but the thunder of his power who can understand?" After an introduction that was quite as appropriate to any other verse in the Bible as to this, the preacher said:

"In further discoursing upon this passage, I shall, in the first place, review the chapter, and show what is meant by the word 'these.' I shall, in the second place, mention some of the works of God. I shall, in the third place, conclude, according to circumstances, light and liberty being given."

I must say to my readers, in explanation of his "third place," that the "plan" and effort in sermons, addresses to juries, political and all other speeches in the Southwest, was to wind up with as grand and stirring a conclusion as possible. Here the congregation was to be deeply moved, the jury to be melted, and the crowd to demonstrate by their applause how they would vote. These perorations often reminded me of the manner in which the stage-coaches of the olden time used to drive into my native village, in the days of my boyhood; when the driver cracked his long whip, blew stirring blasts from his tin horn, and his four horses rushed up to the village tavern on the jump, his noisy demonstrations startling all the villagers. It was so with these sermons and speeches. However lame and limping in their progress, there was always, if possible, a rousing conclusion, a demonstrative drive into town. Hence, my clerical friend did not wish to embarrass himself by announcing definitely what he would say in his conclusion; but left himself free to soar and roar "according to circumstances, light and liberty being given." He went through with his sermon according to his "plan," but his conclusion did not arouse and move his audience like many that I have heard.

I have already spoken of the genial friend to whom I sold my faithful horse, and of the accounts that he gave me of the preachers he had known and the preaching he had heard. He told me that upon one occasion he heard the funeral sermon of a child preached from the text, "Write, Blessed are the dead," etc. The preacher was so ignorant in regard to spelling that he supposed the "write" in the text was "right," not wrong, and he endeavored to comfort the parents by showing them that it was "right" that people should suffer affliction, "right" that their children should sicken and die, and that all the Lord's dealings with his people were "right."

On another occasion he attended a meeting where a number of ministers were present, and the opening sermon was preached by an old acquaintance and friend, who owned a good plantation, a number of slaves, and for many years preached regularly on alternate Sabbaths to two quite large congregations. There are many thousands of people who rarely, if ever, hear a sermon from an educated minister. These people have strong and well-defined notions as to the kind of preaching that suits them. If the preacher ranges extensively over the Bible, and quotes a great deal of Scripture without any regard to its appropriateness or connection with the text, they say of him approvingly: "He's a Scripter preacher. He's not a larnt man, but he's a real Scripter preacher." Hence, many of these preachers range over both the Old and New Testaments in every sermon, and quote as much as they can, with as little connection as a page in the dictionary.

The preacher on this occasion took for his text the words: "The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous runneth into it, and is safe." He described these towers as places of safety, ranged through the Old Testament, and, coming down to the New, said: "The world was then in an awful condition; there were no towers, no places of safety! The whole generation was without a tower! You may say: 'How do you know this is so? You haven't much learning. You haven't read many histories.' Ah! but I've got Scripter for it. I don't want any histories when I've got the Bible for it. Here it is. Peter, preaching to them on the day of Pentecost, said, 'Save yourselves from this untowered generation.'"

After the meeting "broke," and they mounted their horses to ride to dinner, my old friend said to the preacher:

"Why, Brother Mansfield, you made a great mistake in your sermon this morning."

"Mistake!" said he, "what was it, Brother Roach?"

"Why, that about the 'untowered generation.' It is not untowered," said he; "it is untoward. It is, 'Save yourselves from this untoward generation.'"

The preacher dropped his head, thought a moment, and then said:

"There can't be any mistake about that. Why, I've preached it that way more than a dozen times."

When they reached the house where they were to dine, they found a dictionary, and that was appealed to to settle the matter. Alas, that the verdict spoiled a favorite sermon!

I was about as much astonished at the facts I heard in regard to the salaries that were paid to these preachers, with all the formalities of a regular contract, as at anything I ever learned in regard to their preaching. I once occupied the pulpit with one of them, in a church which was a large, barn-like brick structure, having four doors, one near each corner, for the ingress and egress of the congregation. This preacher was a great favorite in the region, with both the white and colored people, and was familiarly known as "Jimmy B——." He had stentorian lungs, was wonderfully voluble, and his sing-song "holy tone" was most delightful to his audience. It was a warm summer day, and the house was packed with whites dressed in butternut jeans, and groups of colored people were standing outside near each open window. It was a monthly service, and all seemed to enjoy it greatly.

In the afternoon, after the custom of the Southwest, he preached to the "servants," and I again occupied a seat in the pulpit with him. His colored audience was moved by his stentorian voice and avalanche of words to the extremest excitement and joy. At the conclusion of his sermon they could not separate without singing some of their "breaking" songs, and all marching by the pulpit and shaking hands with the preachers. This hand-shaking was one of the most marked features of their religious services, and these "breaking" or parting exercises have afforded me the opportunity of hearing the grandest, wildest, most beautiful and genuine African melodies to which I have ever listened. As I was a "visiting brother," I was entitled to as warm and cordial a greeting as the one who had preached. The leader commenced a hymn familiar to the large audience, and they began to sing and move in procession by the low pulpit where we were standing, shaking hands with each of us as they passed. As the long procession filed by, their dark faces shining with delight, the music arose louder, wilder, and more exciting, until they seemed entirely unconscious of the strength of the grip they gave my poor, suffering hand. I was unwilling to mar their joy by withdrawing it altogether, and, to save it from being utterly crushed, I resorted to the expedient of suddenly clutching the end of the fingers of each hand that was extended to me by the excited and happy singers, and so they were unable to give me their vise-like squeeze, and I escaped comparatively unharmed. The hand-shaking ended, the meeting "broke," and they all dispersed, masters and slaves highly delighted with the preacher and all the services of the day.

My host upon this occasion was the hotel-keeper of the place. In talking with him about the great popularity of this preacher, he said that, if equally extended notice should be given that he would preach there on one Sabbath, and the Rev. Dr. Young, the learned and eloquent President of the college at Danville, would preach there on another, Jimmy B—— would call together the largest audience. At another place, when quite a number of persons were present, reference was made to the salary that was received by this popular favorite. I made particular inquiries upon this subject, and learned that the church negotiated with him to preach for them one Sabbath each month during the year, for one dollar a Sabbath. Hence, they paid him twelve dollars a year for one fourth of his time. Some of them thought that as neither he nor any other good hand could at that time get more than fifty cents a day for mauling rails, hoeing corn, or any other labor, this salary was rather excessive; but in consideration of the fact that he had to leave home on Saturday evening in order to meet his appointment, and furnish his own riding-nag, they magnanimously voted him the full dollar a Sunday, "for one fourth of his time." I was informed that he preached to other churches, but did not learn that any of them paid him a larger salary. In another place that I visited, the Rev. James L—— had preached to the same church twenty-one years, and he said the largest sum he had ever received for preaching in any one year was twenty dollars, and he had often received less than ten dollars! Very many of these churches were entirely satisfied if they had regular preaching once a month. In riding through the Brush, I used often to gratify my curiosity by making inquiries in regard to the salaries received by those who preached in the churches that I passed. Once, in riding late in the evening, I overtook—or, in the vernacular of the region, "met up with"—a boy some twelve or fourteen years old, who was riding a mule. After exchanging "howd'ys," I found him very loquacious, and disposed to enlighten me in regard to everything in the neighborhood. I asked him what salary they paid their preacher. "Oh!" said he, "they pay the one they have got now right smart. They give him a dollar and a half a Sunday."

We passed a church where the members washed one another's feet at each communion. I made some inquiries in regard to the ceremony, and he told me the brethren washed only the brethren's feet, and the sisters the sisters' feet. I told him that I supposed they only sprinkled water upon their feet—they did not wash much. "Oh!" said he, "sometimes they gets happy, and washes right hard." I had spent a Sabbath at a meeting in the woods with the poet of this denomination, and purchased of him a hymn-book that he had been duly authorized to compile and publish for them, containing some hymns that he had written to be sung at these feet-washing services. He was one of the most illiterate men I ever met. I regret to say that I have lost the book, and can not transcribe some of these original hymns for the benefit of my readers. I had a good deal of conversation with this "poet," and he told me he was at the time engaged in teaching school. I afterward met the school commissioner, a lawyer, at the county-seat, who had examined him and given him his license to teach, and rallied him jocosely for giving a man that was so ignorant, authority to teach a public school.

"Oh!" said he, "I only certified that he was competent to teach in that neighborhood."

For years I was accustomed to avail myself of every opportunity of hearing these illiterate preachers, both white and colored, consistent with my other duties. It was a new and interesting study to me. Sometimes I got rare kernels of wheat in the midst of a great deal of chaff, rich nuggets of gold among a great deal of sand and rubbish; and I always felt more than repaid for the time thus expended. It was interesting to observe the workings of minds, often of superior natural powers, in their attempts to elucidate the Scriptures. It was especially strange to hear them render any Scripture narrative, entirely in their own Brush vernacular. I have often regretted that I did not take down many of these narratives of Bible facts at the time I heard them. But the unusual sight of a person thus employed in a congregation would attract more attention than the preacher himself, and I was therefore unwilling to do it. But I can give my readers a very correct idea of these narratives.

In riding through a very rough, wild region, I fell in company with a gentleman on horseback, and rode some distance with him. He told me that a preacher, who was so illiterate that it was with the greatest difficulty that he could study out a chapter in the Bible, sometimes preached in a log school-house in his neighborhood, and he had heard him the Sabbath before. It was in a region where a rough-and-tumble fight would attract more attention than anything else. The preacher had a theme of the deepest interest to himself and the most of his congregation. This gentleman gave me quite a full outline of the discourse, and I write it out from his description, and fill it up as my extended acquaintance with these people, and knowledge of their vernacular, derived from years of constant mingling with them, enable me to do.

"Last week, my breethrin, as I was a-readin' my Bible, I found a story of a big fight (1 Samuel, xvii). It was powerful interestin', and I studied it 'most all the week. There was two armies campin' on two mountains right fornenst each other; and a holler and, I reckon, some good bottom-land and a medder-lot lying between 'em. In one of the armies there was a big feller—a whoppin', great, big feller—and every day he went down into the medder-lot and looked up the hill to t'other camp, and jest dared 'em! He told 'em to pick their best man and send him down, and he'd fight him. And he jest strutted around there in his soger-close, and waited for 'em to send on their man. And such soger-close I never heerd tell on afore. He had a brass cap and brass trousers, and a coat made like mail-bags where they are all ironed and riveted together. But the fellers in t'other camp just clean flunked. They darn't fight the big feller, nary one of 'em. They jest all sneaked away, and the big feller he went back to camp. But he didn't quit thar, the big feller didn't. He was spilin' for a fight, and he was bound to have it. He jest went down into the bottom-land, into the medder-lot, every day, mornin' and evenin', and dared 'em and dared 'em. I tell you he did pester 'em mightily. The old feller, Saul, the gineral, he felt more chawed up and meaner than the sogers, and, when he couldn't stan' it no longer, he told the boys if any of 'em would go down and lick that big feller he'd give him his gal, and a right smart chance of plunder. But they was all so skeer'd that even that didn't start one of 'em. The big feller went down and dared 'em and pestered 'em more'n a month—forty days, the Bible says. I don't know what they'd a-done if it hadn't a-be'n that a peart little feller had come down to camp one day to fetch some extra rations to his three big brothers that their old dad had sent to 'em from home. Kind old pap he was, and sharp, too, for he sent along a big present to the boys' cap'en. Well, jest as little brother drove up, they was all gwine out to fight, and the little feller left his traps with the driver, legged it after the sogers, and told his big brothers howd'y. Right thar the old big feller come out and dared 'em agin, and they was all so skeer'd that they jest run like mad. The little feller heerd him, and then went back into camp and heerd all the sogers talking about him, and what the old gineral would give to have him licked. He asked 'em a heap of questions about it all, and big brother he got mad at him, and twitted him about keeping sheep, and give him a right smart of sass. He was plucky, but you see he had to stan' it, 'cause 'twas big brother. Big brothers are mighty mean sometimes.

"But the little feller talked a heap with the other sogers, and they told the old gineral about him, and he told them to tell the little feller to come and see him. The little feller was mighty plucky, and he jest up and told the old Gineral Saul that he'd fight the big feller! The gineral looked at the handsome little feller—he was raal handsome—and ses he, kinder softly, I reckon, and shakin' his head: 'It's too big a job; you're only a chunk of a boy, and he's an old fighter.' The little feller spunked up and told the old gineral that he'd had one b'ar-fight, and he'd killed the b'ar. He said there was an old lion and a b'ar got among his dad's sheep, and was gwine off with a lamb. He broke for 'im, and as soon as he met up with the old b'ar he lamm'd him, till the b'ar turned on him for a hug; but he got one hand into the long ha'r, under his jaw, and he lamm'd him with the other till he was dead. He'd killed the lion and the b'ar, and he know'd he was enough for the old big feller.

"Then the little feller talked raal religious to the old gineral. You see he'd got religion afore that, and he know'd that the Lord would help a feller, if he was all right, and got in a tight place. He told Gineral Saul that the Lord had made him mighty supple, and looked out for him when the old lion and b'ar tried to get their paws into him; and he knew he'd see him through the fight with the old big feller; for he was jest darin' 'em and pesterin' 'em to make game of religion. When the old gineral seed he was so plucky, and religious too, he know'd them's the kind that fit powerful, and he told him to go in, and he made a little pra'r for him hisself. Then the old gineral put his own soger-close on the little feller, and strapped his sword on to him. But they was all a heap too big, and he shucked 'em off d'rectly, and made for a dry branch down in the bottom. There he hunted five little rocks, smooth as a hen-egg, put 'em in a little bag where he carried his snack when he was a-tendin' the sheep, got his sling fixed all right, and hurried up to meet the old big feller in the medder-lot. When he seed him comin' he was powerful mad they'd sent down such a little feller, and jawed awful. But the little feller jest talked back religious, and kept his eye peeled. And I reckon the big feller couldn't a be'n a lookin'. I've studied a heap on it, and I jest know the big feller couldn't a-be'n a-lookin'; for the little feller got out his sling, and drew away, and shied a little rock at him, and he popped him, and down he tumbled. Then the little feller rushed up and mounted on him, jest as an old hunter loves to get on a b'ar after he's shot him; and he out with the big feller's long sword and off with his head. Then it was them Philistine sinners' turn to be skeer'd, and they broke for the brush; and all them chil'en of Israel fellers jest shouted and chased 'em clean over the mountain into a valley, and then com'd back and got all their camp-plunder.

"My breethrin, that's the best story of a fight I ever read after; and you can't buy no better story-book than this 'ere Bible."

If the facts presented in this chapter make a draft on the credence of any of my readers that they find it difficult to honor, I respectfully commend to them the study of the late United States census, especially its portrayal of the illiteracy of the late slave States. The figures are as humiliating as they are startling. They seem at length to be forcing themselves upon the attention of the President, Congress, and the country. But no figures can ever make any such impression as the actual personal contact I have had with thousands of these people in their own homes, since the commencement of my labors among them in 1843.

But my account of "Old-Time Illiterate Preachers in the Southwest" would be very incomplete if it did not include some of the notable

NEGRO PREACHERS OF THE OLD RÉGIME.

I used to take great interest in hearing them preach, and availed myself of every possible opportunity to do so, consistent with my duties. Many of these preachers were very devout and godly men. They had good judgment, strong native sense, and exerted a great influence over the slaves, which was highly appreciated by their masters. They also gratified in a measure the religious instincts of the slaves, by officiating at their weddings and funerals.

One of the largest, most orderly, and impressive funeral processions that I have ever witnessed, was that of an old negro preacher at Lexington, Kentucky, who had been the pastor of a large colored church in that city for many years. It was upon a Sabbath afternoon, during a meeting of the Synod of Kentucky, which I was attending. Hundreds of slaves came in from the surrounding country, and it was estimated that there were from two to three thousand in the procession. Nearly every family-carriage in the city and the surrounding country was in the line, occupied by the "family servants." These carriages were sent by the owners, as their tribute to the old preacher for his great and good influence over their slaves. The most of the men marched some four or six abreast, with slow and solemn tread, and that silent awe to which their natures are so susceptible in the presence of death.

I knew another negro preacher, and often heard him address his people, for whom I had the profoundest respect. He was a devout and saintly man, and his dignified port and bearing were those of a born gentleman. He was often engaged the whole week "attending masons." I have often met him as he was driving a horse, sitting upon a wagon-load of mortar, thoroughly bespattered, and received from him a bow so easy, dignified, and graceful, that many a Governor and Congressman that I have known might well covet his distinguished bearing.

Upon one occasion I heard him preach a sermon to his congregation, enforcing the duty of keeping their hearts pure and free from all evil thoughts, when he abruptly broke forth: "But you say, 'I can't, I can't. These bad thoughts come to me, and I can't help it.' I know you can't help it," said he, "and I know, too, that you can't help the birds dying over your heads; but you can help their building nests in your ha'r" (hair).

The public political, theological, and other discussions, that I have already described in this volume, developed a love of religious controversy in the Southwest such as I have never known among any other people.

The negroes were echoes and imitators of the whites in this respect as in others. Morning services were for the white congregations, but slaves usually attended them, often in large numbers. The afternoons were mostly given up to the colored people, and they were free to attend religious services, whether they were ministered to by white or negro preachers. If there was a public discussion, or any special interest or excitement upon any subject at the morning service, that was almost certain to be the theme of the negro preacher's discourse to his afternoon audience.

The overwhelming majority of colored church-members were either Baptists or Methodists. The differences of these churches in doctrinal belief were the theme of almost endless controversy between the colored champions and defenders of these opposing creeds.

Some of these discussions were original and spicy, beyond anything I have ever heard of in the line of theological controversy. I will give a few characteristic illustrations.

I had preached in the morning at a small county-seat village, and after dinner set out, with a venerable and estimable Methodist "local preacher," to attend his afternoon appointment. After a ride of several miles, we reached the brow of a very deep and narrow ravine, which we were to cross. At the moment of our arrival a venerable, gray-haired black man, mounted upon a fine horse, appeared upon the opposite brow. At the first sight of him I turned to my companion and said:

"That must be a brother preacher."

"Oh, yes," said he, "he is a very distinguished preacher. He is the champion and defender of the Methodist Church among the colored people in all this region. He is an old and favorite family servant, and his master, who is a graduate of West Point, allows him to use that fine horse in going to his afternoon appointments."

As we passed him, he returned "the bow professional" with a dignity and a Methodistic swing that would have done honor to such old itinerants as Bishop Asbury and Bishop Soule. Such was my first acquaintance with the Rev. Nathan Board, whose controversial exploits I am about to relate. As we rode on, my friend informed me that upon one occasion, when Nathan was present at a Baptist church at a communion, the preacher, in giving the reason why they did not invite those of other denominations who were present to commune with them, said:

"We are not alone and singular in the fact that we do not invite you all to commune with us. Presbyterians fence the tables. Methodists fence the tables. All other denominations fence the tables. They do not allow anybody and everybody to commune with them. We all fence the tables. The only difference is, that the Baptist fence is a little higher than any of the others."

In the afternoon Nathan preached to his people, and as some of them had been present in the morning and heard this address, he had to answer it for their benefit. After repeating the whole address, he said:

"Now, my bruddren, I'd rather have a low fence and a tight one, than a high fence and a good many holes in it."

As these Baptists were of the anti-mission class, who opposed an educated and paid ministry, Sabbath-schools, Bible societies, and all mission enterprises, but favored good Bourbon, Nathan's reply was regarded as decidedly personal, and some of them thought he ought to be "whooped" (whipped) for his impudence.

A few weeks after this I reached a county-seat village upon the Ohio River, and learned that it had recently been the theatre of a very exciting theological controversy among the slaves.

A colored Baptist preacher, of great reputation among his brethren for boldness and polemical skill as the champion and defender of his denomination, a Calvinist of the stern John Knox order, became greatly excited on account of what he esteemed the heretical doctrines and bad influence of Methodism. After mature deliberation, he determined that he would wage against it a war of extermination in the community.

Having formed this resolution, for successive Sabbaths he labored in the work, and discharged his batteries with most telling effect. His victory was a signal one. Arminianism was overwhelmed—the Methodists were completely routed. They had no preacher that they dared to put up to answer their opponent, and they could only manfully acknowledge that they were beaten for the present, and adjourn their defense to some future day. I was only able to learn the manner in which he discussed the antagonistic Arminian and Calvinistic doctrines of "falling from grace," and the "perseverance of the saints." But, if that was a specimen of the entire discussion, any one at all acquainted with slave preaching, with the frequent use made by these preachers of illustrations and comparisons, and the great effects produced by them upon the minds of the slaves, can well understand how this preacher had such power over his audience. It was as follows:

"De Methodiss, my bruddren, is like de grasshopper—hoppin', all de time hoppin'—hop into heaven, hop out, hop into heaven, hop out. But, my bruddren, de Baptiss, when he get to heaven, he's dar! De Baptiss is like de 'possum. Hunter get after him, he climb de tree; he shake de limb, one foot gone; he shake de limb, anudder foot gone; he shake de limb, ebbery foot gone; but tink you, my bruddren, 'possum fall? You know, my bruddren—you cotch too many—you know 'possum hang on by de tail, and de berry debbil can't shake him off!"

The head Methodists, after many conferences, concluded that they would make one desperate effort to save their cause. After discussing the merits of all their preachers far and near, they decided to send for the Rev. Nathan Board, the veteran war-horse in theological polemics I have already introduced to my readers. This venerable preacher of the olden time was a genuine African, and entered his profession before it was fashionable for those of his class to learn to read; but he had a strong memory, which made up somewhat for this "defect" in his education, and, if he could not remember the very thing that he wished to repeat, he could always remember something; and, therefore, he was never at a loss for a quotation from Scripture, or an illustration.

The appointed Sabbath arrived, and Nathan was on the ground. The intense excitement among the blacks had aroused the curiosity of the whites, and there was a general turnout of white and black to hear Nathan's defense. His brethren had in private gone over all the strong points that had been made by their opponent, had given him a graphic and glowing picture of the utterly prostrate condition of their cause, and with the eloquence of the deepest feeling had endeavored to impress him with the magnitude of the interests involved in his success or failure. Nathan was greatly excited, but he was confident of his ability to meet the emergency. He had not read books, but in the previous fifty years he had witnessed many a fierce and bitter contest between successive Governors, Congressmen, and others, in their hot race for office, and his polemical tastes had made him a close observer of the various methods of meeting and overwhelming an opponent. That my readers may understand what follows, I must premise that the American Bible Union, under the presidency of the Rev. Spencer H. Cone, D.D., was at the time very earnestly engaged in the revision of the Bible; that the Baptist churches in the Southwest very generally coöperated in this work; that pastors of churches and agents of the society were urging its necessity, and soliciting collections in its aid; and that the other denominations were very generally defending King James's translation, and opposing the new version. Hence the question was the subject of almost universal discussion by the white clergymen; and, as I have already said, the colored preachers were but their echoes—they all felt called upon to enlighten their congregations upon this, as upon all other questions.

Having gone through the preliminary services, Nathan arose and commenced his sermon as follows:

"My bruddren, I has been sent for to come here and preach, and, when I gets t'rough, you'll t'ink I has preached. You'll find my text, if my memory sarve me, in de book of de Revolution: 'For de great day of his raff is come, and who do you t'ink is gwine to stand?'"

Nathan was too full to spend any time in introduction. He broke out at once, in the most emphatic manner: "And do you t'ink, my bruddren, de Baptiss will den be able to stand?" Shutting his eyes and shaking his head most dubiously, with his peculiar guttural "Umph! ah! my Lord! and you'll see 'em paddling den. All de water in de Ohio River won't save 'em den; dey'll call for de rocks and de mountains to fall on 'em in dat great day of his raff, and I'll tell you, my bruddren, dat a hot rock will be a mighty tight place for a Baptiss."

Having thus given vent to his feelings, in imitation of Cicero's immortal philippic against Catiline, he proceeded with more deliberation and at great length to review the entire ground that had been traveled over by his theological assailant.

The grasshopper, the 'possum, and all the other strong points were taken up and disposed of to the entire satisfaction of his brethren. The stunning blows that he had dealt in his opening passage were followed by others, scarcely less telling, all the way through to the peroration. Already he saw in the faces of his audience undoubted evidence of the success of his efforts, and he was flushed with victory. His tone became triumphant, if not overbearing. His bitterness and severity would surely have been entirely inexcusable, but for the excitement he was under from the terrible provocation. That "grasshopper" comparison was the most damaging assault upon Methodism, the most crushing blow to Arminianism, that he had ever been called upon to repel, in all the long years of his ministry. That of itself was enough to fire all the blood of this old theological war-horse. And then to follow that with the "'possum"—that was the crowning indignity—that was a Calvinistic blow administered to an already crushed and fallen foe, which Nathan's Arminian blood was fired to punish to the very utmost extent of his power. In Nathan's intense admiration for his Master he had, with the extraordinary imitative powers of his race, taken on, in addition to the clerical, a very decided military bearing. In his composite character, he represented the dignity of the bishop and the boldness and dash of the successful general. He was, therefore, a very striking representative of the "church militant," and he put into the remainder of his defense the concentrated polemical power of the two professions. He proceeded:

"De Baptiss, my bruddren, is in such a gone case, dey is in such a mighty tight fix, dat de ole Bible—de Bible dat all de faders and mudders have gone to heaven wid—de Bible dat dey used to love such a heap—de ole Bible dat fill us wid de hebbenly fire all de way along de road to Canaan—dat ole Bible, my bruddren, is no account any more to de Baptiss, and dey say dat the Baptiss is a gwine to get up a new deversion. In de ole Bible it reads, if my memory sarve me, 'In dose days came John de Baptiss.' Dey say in de new deversion its gwine to read, 'In dose days came John de Immerser'—'tain't dar, my bruddren. In de ole Bible it reads, if my memory sarve me, 'He shall baptize you wid de Holy Ghost and wid de fire.' Dey say dat in de new deversion it's gwine to read, 'He shall immerse you wid de Holy Ghost and wid de fire'—tain't dar, my bruddren! Immersin' wid fire, my bruddren!—immersin' wid fire! Who ever read in de Bible 'bout immersin' wid fire, only dem chil'en of de three Hebrewsers? Dey was immersed wid fire—dem three Hebrewsers dat was put into de furnace, heated seven times hot by de dedict of Nebuckefalus—what you call 'em now" (scratching his head)—"Shamrack, Shimshack, and Bedgone. Dey ar all dat we read in de Bible 'bout bein' immersed wid fire."

This was the finishing blow. Nathan sat down. The excitement and joy of his brethren were unbounded. They shouted, danced, shook hands, hugged, and yielded themselves up to that perfect luxury of excited, joyous feeling of which they alone seem capable.

My esteemed friend the late Rev. W.W. Hill, D.D., to whom my readers are indebted for the story of the candidate and his Greek quotations, gave me the following facts, illustrating the argumentative power of an old-time slave preacher:

At the commencement of the Doctor's ministry he was for several years the pastor of a church that had been founded in the early history of the State, and ministered to for a lifetime by a distinguished Scotch minister. He had indoctrinated the entire community, and built up a very strong Presbyterian church. Dr. Hill, who was a native of the State, and greatly interested in the colored people, was very often invited to preach to a colored Baptist church in the afternoon, which he always did with the greatest pleasure. It is perhaps not known to all my readers that the slaves always assumed and stoutly maintained among themselves the relative social rank and position of their masters. If the master was a President, Governor, Member of Congress, Judge, or a man of large wealth, all his slaves participated in his honors, and often bore them more conspicuously and proudly than he did.

It so happened that in Dr. Hill's congregation the families of highest social position were Presbyterians. Some of the slaves, quite naturally for them, got the impression that the Presbyterian Church was "de 'ristoratic church," and thought it would be a nice thing if they could have a Presbyterian church for the colored people. But they were all thoroughly indoctrinated in the Baptist creed—and there was the rub. "Christ went down into the water, and came up out of the water." That, in their minds, was the hard thing to be overcome. But the desire to attain social elevation through church relations has often caused other than colored people to make extraordinary struggles, and they were willing to put forth the effort. After many conferences upon the subject among themselves, they concluded to invite Dr. Hill to preach on the subject of baptism, and explain and defend the Presbyterian views. They accordingly called on him, and presented their request, which surprised him very much. He said to them:

"I have preached for you, whenever you have invited me, for several years, and you all know that I have never said one word upon the subject of baptism. I do not like to do it now. The people will not understand it, and will think I am trying to proselyte you."

But they told him that they had been appointed a committee to invite him to preach on the subject, and that it would be understood by all that he preached on baptism at their request. Upon this statement he accepted the invitation and afterward preached for them as requested. But his effort was a decided failure; he did not "move de difficulties." "Christ went down into the water, and came up out of the water." That was still the great stumbling-block in the way of the organization of a Presbyterian church for the colored people. Some weeks afterward Judge Green, of Danville, Kentucky, drove over in his family carriage to make a visit and spend a Sabbath with some of his friends in this congregation.

It soon became noised abroad among the slaves that the driver of this distinguished jurist was not only, like his master, a Presbyterian, but he was a noted Presbyterian preacher.[4]

The committee who had invited Dr. Hill to make the effort that proved so unsuccessful, at once waited upon their distinguished visitor, and invited him to preach to them upon the subject of baptism. He was from Danville, the seat of a Presbyterian college, the Jerusalem of the Presbyterian Church in Kentucky. Hence the honor of that Church among the colored people of that State was largely in his keeping, and he appreciated his responsibilities. He accepted the invitation promptly, and, like the Rev. Nathan Board, he was confident and eager to stand forth as the champion of his church. He was greeted with a large congregation, and his effort was a decided success.

Some days after, Dr. Hill met some of the committee, and said to them:

"I understand that this colored Presbyterian minister from Danville preached on baptism last Sunday, and that he has made the whole matter entirely clear and satisfactory to you all."

They assured him that that was true.

"Now," said the Doctor, "that seems very strange to me. You all profess to like my preaching, and are generally full of compliments and thanks for my sermons. I have done my very best for you on this subject of baptism. I have told you all I know—all I have learned from Hebrew and Greek—and it did not do one bit of good. And now this colored minister from Danville preaches to you, and beats me entirely. He makes the whole subject plain and satisfactory to you. Can you tell me what he said?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" they responded. "His tex' was, 'My sheep hears my voice, and I knows them, and dey follows me.' Den he said, 'In de Bible de Christians is de sheep.' He had a heap of Bible on dat p'int, and he preached a mighty long time and make dat so strong, no nigger can't 'spute it. And den he said, mighty strong, 'Now, my bruddren and sisters, you all knows you can't get a sheep into de water nohow, 'less you cotch him and carries him in.' And, preacher, you knows dat is so yourself."

I give these truthful sketches of old-time slave preachers and preaching in the hope that others may follow my example, and preserve as many as possible of these illustrations of a state of things now rapidly passing away, through the labors of an educated ministry.