On another occasion, being apprised of the approach of a mob of several hundreds, sworn to take his life, he left the pulpit, took his wife by the hand, and marched out to meet the enemy. When met, he mounted a stump and poured out upon them a tirade of hot reviling, the very boldness of which overawed them. The result was that he led them back to camp, and in a short time had the most of them on the anxious seat.
At times, however, his enemies and opponents were too much for him. Detraction and back-biting hurt him worst, coldness cut him deeper than opposition. At one time, every man’s hand was so against him that he cut his way into the depths of a Mississippi cane swamp, built a hut, and there he and his wife lived recluse for months, surrounded by wolves and snakes, whose society he found less objectionable than that of the best friends he had in the country. One of the chief causes of enmity was jealousy, because he had made a little money by the sale of his writings. I fancy, too, that the popular feeling was mingled with one of contempt for a circuit-rider, who could be so easily beaten in a horse trade—a man who, equipped with a gallant mount on Monday morning, would turn up before the week was gone on a sorry, broken-down “plug,” against which he had paid beside more “boot” than his own horse was worth—could not command the respect of such people as he labored among.
It is hard to realize that the man is an invalid, working without fee or reward, unrecognized, and receiving more curses than coppers, of whose exploits we read such passages as these:
“August 24.—After preaching at Ebenezer, Pa., I silently withdrew, and taking my horse, traveled all night until ten next morning, when I spoke at Bethel, and then jumping out at a window from the pulpit, rode seventeen miles to Union; thence to Duck Creek Cross Roads, making near eighty miles travel and five meetings without sleep. These few weeks past, since the eruption was dried up and the asthma more powerful and frequent, I feel myself much debilitated.”
“I returned to Dublin, having been gone sixty-seven days, in which time I traveled about 1700 English miles and held about two hundred meetings.” “To Warrington, having been about fifty-two hours, held nine meetings and traveled about 50 miles.” “Sunday, July 20, my labors were equal to seven sermons, which gave me a fine sweat that was very refreshing, and added to my health. In speaking twice in the street I addressed five thousand.”
“In the space of twenty-two days I traveled 350 miles and preached seventy-six times, beside visiting some from house to house and speaking to hundreds in class meetings.”
“October 28, 1803.—After an absence of about seven months, I arrived back in Georgia, having traveled upward of four thousand miles (through the Mississippi Territory and Florida). When I left this state I was handsomely equipped for traveling, by some friends whom God had raised me up in need. But now on my return I had not the same valuable horse, my watch I had parted with to bear my expenses. My pantaloons were worn out. I had no stockings, shoes, nor moccasins for the last several hundred miles, nor outer garment, having sold my cloak in West Florida. My coat and vest were worn through to my shirt. With decency, I was scarcely able to get back to my friends.”
But we can not forget Peggy. Peggy was one of Lorenzo’s earliest converts, and throughout the most of his crusades was his faithful companion, through exposures and trials, through evil report and good report. She was the loveliest trait in his character. The courtship was unique. Let him tell it:
“Dining at the house of her foster parents, he learned that she had declared if she was ever married it should be to a traveling preacher.”
He continues: