Not two weeks later the Brotherhood of Zion dedicated their new temple, at midnight, the prior not losing the opportunity for making the occasion remarkable for an interminable number of processions, incantations, prayers, and mysterious ceremonies, said to date from Pharaoh, from whose bondage we, unlike the children of Israel, did not seem able to free ourselves.
About a month later, our Brother Beissel, being now the acknowledged superintendent of our entire community, must surrender himself so completely to the vanities of the Eckerlings that in the presence of the whole congregation, from among whom I saw Sister Bernice look at me with shy pride, he solemnly consecrated Brother Onesimus, Brother Enoch, and myself to the priesthood, by the laying on of hands, after which with most solemn and ancient ceremony we had conferred on us the centuries-old Order of Melchizedek, although what this order had to do with our Christian life, I confess I have never yet found out, only consenting to the doubtful honor in order to appease our superintendent's displeasure, whose rigorous spirit often pressed on my slower one.
And now, our superintendent, assuming the rôle of Grand Master of the Zionitic Brotherhood, deposed Brother Jotham and in his stead, despite the protests of himself and his following, appointed Brother Onesimus, Prior, or Perfect Master, of the Brotherhood. Our new prior, however, was even worse than his brother and applied the discipline of the order so rigidly that I was compelled to write to a friend, that "Now was there between the poor devotees of Ephrata and the wool-headed African slaves no other difference than that we are white and free slaves," and indeed, I fear I almost felt toward the Eckerlings like the English king who wondered whether there was no one to rid him of his enemies.
At the risk of trespassing too far on the patience of those who may read this, I shall narrate of the clock and bells donated to the community by my father, and which the Eckerlings obtained permission to place in the steeple over the roof of the Saal. This clock held an ingenious attachment for chiming the bells and for ringing them at certain times during the day and night, to call us to our various and now almost innumerable devotions. When this bell was rung at midnight, not only did the Solitary arise from their wooden couches, but for miles around, whenever the notes of the bell could be heard, all the families arose also and held their worship at the same time; but though the fires of first love for their faith burned strongly among the secular members at this time, yet it finally came about that the congregation demanded a house where they could worship unhindered by the exacting rules and ceremonies of the Brotherhood of Zion, who seeing in this an excellent opportunity for securing their temple wholly to their own uses, fell in with might and main to prepare the frame and timbers for another prayer house, nominally for the exclusive use of the secular members.
And now, though all our houses of worship were on the higher ground, the site for this new temple was chosen down in the meadow, and this less pretentious Saal still survives, while its loftily situated and proud predecessors have long ago passed away. Thus as the Lord hath promised doth he exalt the lowly and bring down the haughty.
In size the new prayer house was to be forty feet square and that many feet in height, thus symbolizing the perfect number, although it hath been claimed that some of the builders wondering what might happen if they followed not the perfect proportions, made the width two feet narrower and the height somewhat greater than forty feet. Be that as it may, I have not seen in these fifty years since the building was put up that the variation, if there were such, hath made any difference for good or ill.
But the good fortune attending us during the building of the Saal forsook us now, for many delays and heavy disappointments fell upon us ere our task was performed; for the weather during the fall and winter of 1740 and 1741 was exceptionally hard, there being the severest storms and the extremest cold. Never since have I seen such cold and sleet and ice and snow as during that awful winter. The Cocalico was completely hidden under its thick covering of ice and snow so that a stranger would not have known there was a stream there. At times the snow was three feet deep on the level, and where it had drifted from the winds, cabins and outbuildings were completely covered over. Families were imprisoned in their homes. Cattle died from want of fodder. Even the wild beasts in the forest, though knowing so well how to take care of themselves, died of hunger, so that deer were found dead in the woods. Indeed, it was no infrequent sight to see the pretty animals, usually so timid, driven by their great hunger to the very cabin doors for food, sometimes even mingling with the cattle. The settlers, especially of the more remote districts, suffered greatly from lack of bread, and had little to live on but the carcasses of the deer found in the swamps. Even the Indians suffered on account of the lack of game. Often during the night there would be borne to our ears the strangest sounds, heavings, and groanings from the ice-bound, rebellious Cocalico, the walls of our buildings even seeming to strain and crack as though they would fall asunder. Sometimes at long intervals during those dark, bitter, cold nights there would fall from the depths of the sky the trumpet calls of wild fowls, winging their way I know not whither, but still, I know, within His care. At times, these shrill cries came with such strength and suddenness that Sonnlein would jump up out of the soundest sleep, cuddling up close to me as though only I could save him from those mysterious, threatening voices.
But the Solitary, despite the severity of the winter, pressed on at every relaxation of the weather toward the completion of our new prayer house, and as the spring opened, we being now joined by the congregation at large, the work went on rapidly, though the building which our superintendent named "Peniel" (being the name Jacob gave to the place where he wrestled with God), was not made tenantable until the following December, when it was duly consecrated to God.
All during this hard winter I could see that Brother Agonius, his hardy frame worn out by excessive zeal, was suffering keenly from the cold, piercing winds, and I felt with deepening sadness, day after day as I saw his infirmity increase, that our brother must soon cease to be among us. How bravely he fought to remain with us and how uncomplainingly he faced the inevitable end, his rugged heart mellowing and ripening into sweeter and more resigned humility before being plucked from its stem by the Master's loving hand!
Spring had not yet yielded itself to summer—for it was only the latter part of May when the fields and the woods were gay with flowers—when what he stubbornly maintained was only a slight weakness passed into the serious illness that in a few days ended his labors on earth. But such was his unyielding will that on the Sabbath before his death he was at meeting, and the following evening there were good hopes for his recovery.