CHAPTER VII.
In the days of which I write, a quarterly meeting was a great event, and to many it was a rare privilege to see and hear the “elder.” During the summer and fall, especially, the attendance in many instances would be immense. Not unfrequently the women and children present would more than fill the house, which made it necessary to seek a “shady bower,” if one could be found. If convenient, the seats were removed from the church and used in the grove, but often this could not be done. More than once I have backed up against a tree, or mounted a log, and preached to a crowd scattered over a quarter acre of ground. On one of these occasions a young girl, of fifteen summers, perhaps, but large for her age, went to a house nearby and got a bucket of fresh water, and bringing it to me in the midst of my discourse, asked me if I would have a drink. I paused long enough to accept the courtesy, and, after thanking her for her thoughtfulness and kindness, continued my talk. Such an infraction of the rules governing divine worship to-day in many sections would greatly amuse the people, no doubt, and perhaps greatly annoy the preacher; but it was seldom noticed by speaker or congregation a third of a century ago among the mountains. When there was no grove near, or the atmosphere was too chilly, or the ground too damp to hold out-door services, we were sometimes sorely defeated by the crowds that came. I here give in full an article which I furnished the Telescope on the peculiar provocations of the elder:
“To be a presiding elder in the Parkersburg Conference means to travel over a large territory, and to do a vast amount of hard work on small pay; but all this is nothing compared with some other things that we have to endure. It is no uncommon thing in this country for a presiding elder to make a failure in the pulpit because of some circumstance, or a combination of circumstances over which he can have but little or no control.
“Many of the houses in which we worship are by far too small to accommodate the congregations that generally gather on quarterly meeting occasion. Indeed, many of our meetings are held in schoolhouses, only intended to seat fifty or seventy-five scholars. Now put two hundred persons, or more, into such a space, standing the most of them around the wall, and in the aisles, and then distribute from fifty to one hundred around the house on the outside, each striving to get his head in at a window, and any one, though he be unused to such things, can see the difficulty of preaching under such circumstances. If the people listen with interest they must be comfortably situated.
“In many country districts away from the railroad, the time kept by the people varies so materially that it is next to impossible to get them together at the same hour. No two clocks agree, hence the people begin to assemble at ten o’clock in the morning and keep on assembling till noon. At the appointed hour the elder announces the first hymn, and then leads in prayer. During these opening exercises, perhaps twenty-five persons have come upon the ground, and as soon as the amen is heard they make a rush for seats.
“Another hymn is sung, and still they come. The text is finally announced, but what of it? The people keep on coming. The middle of the sermon, by and by, is reached, and the preacher is still annoyed; not for three minutes at any time has he had an open field. Only one more proposition to discuss; it is the most important one. His strength has been reserved mainly for it; but just as he begins to lay it open, having secured the attention of the audience, the door creaks and in come a half dozen women. A general stir follows. The seats are all full; something must be done, so a half dozen men get up and surrender their places. Still the people come. The preacher is on the home stretch, but is badly disheartened. He has preached to the people, to be sure, but a good part of the time to the backs of their heads. Not half of those present when he began can tell what his text is. Indeed, he is so confused sometimes that he hardly knows himself what it is. He has just one more illustration to give. He hopes to make it tell, and is succeeding well. The audience for a moment is silent as death; but of a sudden the door opens again and a few more try to enter. In an instant every eye is turned, and the thread of thought is dropped, and the preacher sits down disgusted and dissatisfied.
“Of course it is not always this way, but frequently such is the case. On such occasions the people go home no wiser than when they came. Having been to meetin’ is the only pleasing thought enjoyed.
“Too many dogs go to church. I am not much of a friend to the canine race at home, much less at church. Dogs piously inclined are the meanest dogs in existence. If they would go under the house or even under the benches in the house, it would not matter so much, but they will not do that. They walk up and down the aisle, and dare even to enter the pulpit where the presiding elder is. All this attracts attention, and detracts from the sermon. Once in a while a dog fight occurs during service, and two or three men have to interfere to adjust the difficulty. If the elder intimates that the congregation or neighborhood is a little too doggish to suit him, somebody gets mad and calls him a ‘stuck up’ sort of a man. ‘Beware of dogs,’ said Paul. Many a good sermon has been spoiled by them. In West Virginia, especially, they are disturbing elements. I would favor a war of extermination.
“But things are much better with us now than they were twenty-five years ago. We have larger and better houses of worship, and fewer dogs in proportion to population. We expect a great improvement in the next quarter of a century.”
It was not an uncommon thing to see a glorious revival start at the quarterly meeting. The love-feast, which almost invariably occurred on Sunday morning before the sermon, was usually an occasion of deep interest. How the old veterans would talk! How eloquent some of them were in their simplicity! How they relished such spiritual feasts! for such they were; and no wonder they were enjoyed by some, for they had traveled, maybe on foot, twenty miles or more to get there. To such the day was a veritable Pentecost. Sometimes in the midst of the sermon or sacramental service, “hallelujahs” would be heard. Yes, once in a while the people shouted, and nobody objected to the noise or excitement. I am no prophet, but will risk the statement that when the church gets so far along that no more hosannah’s are heard, it will be about time to reconstruct things and start anew.
A red-hot testimony-meeting in many of our city churches, on the quarterly communion occasion, would make the recurrence of the day and the coming of the elder an event of greater significance than it seems to be at present. Such a service would doubtless lubricate the machinery of the church, and make the work go better. The present plan of enlarging districts has its commendatory features, to be sure, and in some respects it works well, yet the old régime, which made it possible for the elder to be present at all the quarterlies, had its advantages.
A word here respecting the genuine hospitality of the people might not be out of place; this, however, is characteristic of Southerners. The presiding elder was not compelled to put up with the pastor all the time because nobody else wanted or invited him; far from it. A half dozen or more at a time would claim him as their guest. Instead of wondering where he would or could go, he was puzzled to know which of the many invitations to accept. How it embarrasses a man to be in a neighborhood where no one seems to want him. Or, if entertainment is proffered he may be further embarrassed by a question mark at the end of the invitation, “Well, are you going with me?” or, “If you’ve no place else to go, come with us.” I have been chilled many, many times since leaving the mountain State by just such half-hearted treatment.
Nor were the presiding elder’s official duties performed without an occasional break caused by a wag or ignoramus. Rev. G. W. Weekley was traveling a circuit in Gilmer County with Rev. E. Harper as his elder. At a certain meeting the latter was presiding with his usual grace and dignity while the pastor, being a stickler for law, was making the Discipline the rule of his business conduct. A young man was before them for license to preach. He seemed to be all right, and had made a favorable impression upon his pastor. “You will please state before the chair and conference,” said the pastor to the applicant, “what your reasons are for desiring permission to preach the gospel.” In an instant the young brother was on his feet. The question was easy, he thought, and so his answer was clear-cut. “Well,” he said, “I always had a desire to see the country, and I thought that being a preacher would give me a chance to do so.”
Then it was that the elder wilted and the preacher collapsed, and the quarterly conference looked blank, while the dear young brother felt himself the hero of the occasion.
We met at the Bethel church in Mason County, in September of 1887, to make reports and to review the work of another year. Bishop Kephart was with us for the first, and Dr. Warner for the last time. To show our appreciation of Dr. Warner, the conference gave him a purse containing $25.00 in silver. My district paid, in salary and presents, $526.20, out of which $153 was expended for rent and car fare; 3,720 miles had been traveled by rail, 941 on horseback, and 415 on foot. The average salary in the conference was a fraction over $200. Including “presents,” which were considerable in some cases, only one charge, Parkersburg Station, went above $500. One other, Pennsboro, reached $400; eight got above $300, while seventeen paid less than $200 each. The financial report generally was much better than that of the previous year. The aggregate increase in ministerial support on Parkersburg District was $600. Slowly but surely we were pushing ahead and making progress, but at a cost known only to those who were on the field.
The third year on the district was similar to the preceding one, fraught with toil and responsibilities, but not without its spicery, which often did much to enliven the routine work required. One of the first things I did was to secure a horse and buggy. By using the carriage when the roads would admit of it I relieved myself of a good deal of horseback riding. During the winter and early spring no sort of vehicle could be used because of the bad, and sometimes dangerous condition of the public thoroughfares. Nor is the situation in this respect very much different at present from what it was forty years ago. Great changes have been wrought in other regards, but the roads, for the most part, remain the same, and will so continue through the centuries to come.
I had a somewhat provoking experience, once upon a time, as I journeyed with my uncle from Troy to West Union, a distance of twenty-five miles. As the roads were exceedingly muddy I was concerned more than usual about a new suit I was wearing, having pinned the skirts of my clerical coat around my waist in order to keep them clean. We finally struck a place where the thin mud was half knee-deep to the horses. Midway in this mud-hole was a good-sized rock, but not being visible, my steed stumbled over it onto his knees, running his nose into the mud up to the eyes. When he went down I went over his head, and into the puddle face foremost. Fearing that the animal would get on me, I suddenly rolled over and then bounded to my feet. What a picture I presented! I am sure I was no subject for artist or poet. My sleeves were full of mud and water to the elbows, my hat and umbrella both were submerged, and, to add to my chagrin, when I looked up at my uncle, from whom I had a right to expect at least a little sympathy, he was lying over on his horse’s neck laughing his best. Going to a stream nearby, I took off my coat and plunged it into the water many times over, much like washing and wringing a bed quilt, until the worst of the mud was off. But such an experience was a mere incident with a mountaineer. When my clothes got dry and the mud was brushed off they seemed to be all right, and I went on with my work just as though the awful mix-up had not occurred.
During the year a great sorrow came to the conference. On the 24th of January the news was flashed over the wires that Doctor Warner was dead. In the next week’s Telescope “Delta” referred to the sad event as follows:
“The announcement of Dr. Warner’s death has cast a deep sadness over the conference. No other conference can feel his loss as we feel it. In a peculiar sense he was ours. No man ever had the hold upon our preachers that he had. We can scarcely realize that he has gone from us to return no more. He may have made mistakes in some things, like other men, but he was a good man. That his soul during his last earthly hours should he ‘wonderfully filled with the peace of God,’ is just what we might have expected. For thirty years he endured the hardships of a West Virginia itinerant, sometimes traveling day and night, and making the greatest sacrifices to build up the church he loved. Naught but devotion to God’s cause ever led him to do so much for it. But his work now is done. Perhaps we should not grieve over his departure, but we cannot help doing so. The entire conference weeps. Said a brother, ‘Why didn’t the Lord take me, and spare Brother Warner?’ This expression serves to show how keenly his loss is felt.”
Bishop N. Castle held the next conference at New Haven. During the session I received a telegram that I had been nominated by the prohibitionists of the fourth district for Congress, a compliment which I appreciated all the more because the honor came unsought. Yes, I was a prohibitionist, and am yet, and expect to remain one until something better claims my support. The four hundred votes cast for the ticket in the district represented a thoughtful, moral, courageous element of which I have always been proud. Only such people, as a rule, vote the prohibition ticket. As I entered upon the fourth year of district work I determined it should be my last, at least for a while. I had been kept away from my books already too long, and consciously realized that, while I might be gaining a little some ways, I was losing in others. The church cannot find its highest ideals in men who live wholly outside their libraries. It is study—familiarity with the thoughts and methods of others—that broadens a preacher. The map studied by many of us is too small, and needs to be enlarged so as to extend the vision. If we would see and know things, we must look and search after them. The man is exceedingly unfortunate who, having eyes, refuses to see, and having intelligence, neglects the acquisition of knowledge. My advice to the young man at the threshold of the ministry is, “Buy good books and read them; study your discourses thoroughly and with an eye to somebody’s salvation, and then give the people the very best that God has put in you.”
This was a good year for the district. As it was to be the last, I determined to make the best record possible for my successor, to duplicate or excel. To succeed meant to go all the time. Distance, bad weather, dangerous roads, swollen streams, or any other circumstances were seldom allowed to get in the way. When Lincoln was asked if he thought the war would close during his administration, he replied, “I don’t know, sir, I don’t know.” “What, then, is your purpose?” was further asked, to which the characteristic answer was given, “Peg away, sir, peg away.” It is this, everlasting “pegging away”—forcing one’s way through difficulties, and surmounting obstacles—that wins, not only in West Virginia, but everywhere else.
Buxton wrote: “The longer I live the more deeply I am convinced that that which makes the difference between one man and another—between the weak and powerful, the great and insignificant—is energy, invincible determination, a purpose once formed, and then victory or death.” I quote Buxton’s words because they are gold, and have in them the ring of triumph.
TRAVELING A DISTRICT
The year brought its usual harvest of incidents—some serious, others laughable and amusing. It is well to have a streak of fun occasionally flash across our pathway to enliven a journey, or some task to which we have set our hands.
One bleak Monday morning in December I was riding along a high ridge in Wetzel County on my way home from a quarterly just held in that region. To my right a few rods I observed a young man husking corn. He was evidently working his best to keep warm, and, of course, not in a very good condition to be fooled with by a stranger; but I thought I must say something, and run the risk of an explosion. Reining up my horse and getting his attention, I called to him, “Go it; that’s the way I got my start.” “Yes,” he said, with lightning speed, “and a thunderin’ start you got,” and then made the fodder rattle so that if I had replied he could not have heard me. To be honest, I had not the disposition to talk back, for nothing suggested itself at the moment as an appropriate response; but for the next mile I laughed over the episode and considered myself fortunate that nothing more serious had happened.
I might add that not far from this place Rev. S. J. Graham, years before, suddenly found himself in a kind of menagerie one frosty morning. In those days laymen would frequently make long trips with the preacher or elder; spending several days from home. They thought less about business and more about the church than some do at present. On the occasion referred to, Brother N. Kuykendoll was with the elder. One night they lodged with a friend in his little log cabin of one room. Of course they were well treated and given the best the humble home could afford. Their host arose early next morning and built a fire in an old-fashioned fire-place, which admitted of a “back log” and “fore sticks” before the “kindling” was put in. Soon the shanty was warm. The lay brother awoke first, and, glancing about the room, said to his bed-fellow in a low tone: “Brother Graham, get up; the millennium has come.” The preacher raised himself on his elbow and looked, and sure enough there was a strange mixture of animals lying on the hearth before the fire—a pet lamb, a pet pig, a huge dog, and two or three cats. Years afterward I heard these brethren talk and laugh over the experience with as much zest as if it had occurred only the week before.
To indicate something of the work done this year, and that had to be done to carry out the program of a presiding elder, I here insert a few pages of a brief diary which I kept:
January 1, I wrote: “I now begin a new year. God help me. My time, strength, soul—all must be given to the work of the church. With my family I took dinner with Brother C. R. Brown, a precious man.”
2.—“Worked on a sermon on coveteousness. Got ‘Sweet Sicily’ and read it.”
3.—“Voted for town corporation officers. Wrote a number of letters. Brother Poling came in the evening, and spent the night with me.”
4.—“Worked hard on my sermon on coveteousness.”
5.—“Went to Parkersburg in the forenoon, and held business meeting at night. All was pleasant. Lodged with Pastor Martin.”
6.—“Preached from 1 Cor. 13:12 in the morning. Good meeting. Audience melted to tears. Attended Sabbath school at 2:30 p. m., conducted the quarterly experience meeting at six, and preached again at 7:30. House full of people.”
7.—“Returned home on early train. With wife went to hear Methodist preacher at night.”
8.—“At home, studying and answering correspondence.”
10.—“Went to Parkersburg again. Dined with Brother J. H. Spence. Assisted in meeting at night.”
11.—“With the pastor visited eleven families. Large crowd at evening service.”
12.—“Went to Red Hill, six miles distant, and held quarterly at 2:00 p. m. Preached in the evening.”
13.—“Preached at 10:30 a. m. from Titus 2:9. Good feeling. Large sacramental service. Shout in the camp. Pastor Devol leaped for joy. Preached again at night.”
14.—“Came to the city and returned home. All well.”
15.—“In study all day. Attended M. E. Church at night. An interesting revival in progress.”
16.—“At home preparing for dedication.”
18.—“Left home on early train, and reached Buckhannon at 4:00 p. m. Went to Mt. Washington, eight miles in the country, and preached at night on the ‘Prodigal Son.’ Thirteen seekers at the altar and four more asked prayers. Lodged with Brother Reese.”
19.—“Rode fourteen miles to ‘Uncle Jimmy’ Hull’s for dinner, and then went to Union Hill where I preached at night. Met Elder Graham.”
20.—“Rained hard. Congregation small. Raised $85. At night tried it again. Good feeling. Secured $68.50 more and dedicated church. Opposition from another church.”
21.—“Rode sixteen miles to Buckhannon through a fearful snow-storm. Went to Weston on train and rode seven miles in the country.”
23.—“Returned home. Found all well.”
I now turn to the March record because it has to do with one of the sad things which not unfrequently comes to the itinerant.
15.—“I started at noon for Troy Circuit, reached Auburn late in the evening.”
16.—“Visited Father Williams and wife. The latter has been in bed three years. Read the Word and prayed with them. Both got happy. Sung a hymn or two for them. Held quarterly at 2 p. m., and preached on ‘Stephen, the First Martyr.’ A good time.”
17.—“Sunday. Held prayer-meeting at 10 a. m., and preached at 11. Large communion. Big shout in the camp. Collection $20. Talked again at night. One of the best quarterlies I ever held.”
I pause here. On Monday evening Father Perry came, and preached for us. After returning from church he turned to me and tenderly said, “Now, Brother Weekley, I have a little news for you. As I came through your town this noon I was told that your youngest child was critically ill. The doctor regards her case as dangerous. I would have told you sooner, but I knew it would so trouble you that you could not enjoy the service. I knew also that you would not dare start home in the night, and thus endanger your life. So I waited. Now leave her with God; get what rest you can, and then be off by daylight in the morning.” But I got no rest. It was a long, long night of tossing and anxious waiting. At day dawn I started. The muddy roads were frozen over, but not sufficiently to bear up my horse. A part of the time I walked. It seemed I could make no headway at all, and didn’t make much in some places. When within two miles of home, I called at a farm-house and inquired if they had heard from my family, and they told me they had not. This brought me relief, for I was sure they would have heard the news if the child were dead. At 1 p. m. I landed safely and found, sure enough, that a blessed Providence had kept the black-winged angel from our home.
How such harrowing experiences try the very soul of the over-worked, half-paid, care-worn man of God, who must spend all his time and strength away from home in some obscure field! They test the material that enters into his composition. To put the Cross and sinful souls before one’s own family requires great faith—faith in the Redeemer, faith in his church, and faith in the winning, victorious power of the gospel; and this is what every itinerant in West Virginia had to have.
To indicate the nature and work of our preachers’ institute. I return to my diary and give the items of a few days.
July 9.—“At home preparing for institute which meets to-morrow.”
10.—“Went to Smithton, and took charge of institute. Rev. H. T. Athey assisted some. Lessons were in Old Testament history and homiletics. Revs. H. T. Athey, H. R. Hess, R. M. Hite, G. A. Davis, J. P. Piggott, and W. H. Albert were present.”
11.—“Met at 8 a. m. Recitations. Hess gave a talk on the ‘Apocalypse.’ Davis preached at 7 p. m. Good sermon.”
12.—“Recitations as usual. Davis made an address on ‘Prayer.’ Good. Hite read a paper on ‘Fore-ordination.’ Discussed. Piggott preached well at night.”
13.—“Recitations as usual. I read a paper on ‘Divorce and Adultery.’ Also presented a diagram of Solomon’s Temple. Hess preached. Good meeting.”
14.—“Sunday. I preached at 11 a. m. Large crowd in grove. Good liberty, and good attention. Athey preached at 3:00 p. m., and did well. Returned home.”
The records of a few days immediately following may also be of interest.
24.—“Drove with my family to father’s, fifteen miles distant.”
25.—“Started for Hessville quarterly. Drove thirty-seven miles to Father Mason’s.”
26.—“Drove to Bee Gum Station fifteen miles further east. Good meeting in afternoon. Preached at night.”
27.—“Sunday. Discoursed at 10:30 a. m. on ‘The New Testament Church.’ Preached again at three o’clock on ‘Benevolence and Honesty.’ Led song service. Drove fifteen miles back to Brother Mason’s.”
28.—“Left at 6 a. m. and drove thirty-seven miles to father’s.”
But it is needless to further reproduce here the jottings made long years ago. The brief memorandum given is but a fair index to the activities of the entire twelve months, or, I might say, to the forty-eight months spent on the district.