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