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