Lectured in Spencer, Gosport, Bloomington, Martinsville, Morgantown, Franklin, Columbus and Nashville. In all these places the liberal faith had not before been preached. But I found in most of them an elect few who had long cherished it amid all sorts of opposition. Faithful souls! They were true to their convictions, though standing alone, targets for bigots to shoot at. In Bloomington I lectured several times, and a minister tried to point out my errors, as he termed the noblest and most glorious of truths. Mr. Labertew, a merchant, and zealous friend, resided there. He subsequently built a meeting-house at his own expense; but there not being sufficient number of believers to act with him in keeping up meetings, he sold it. Held a meeting in Gosport; the house was full, and several hundred were out of doors; and although the rain poured down in torrents, they remained through the services. Here I subsequently had many conflicts with those of the partial faith. Near Nashville I attended a Fourth-of-July celebration. After the dinner was over, and the patriotic speeches made, I gave the people a sermon. Lectured in Martinsville in the Court-house; a clergyman replied, and arrangements were made for me to have a debate in that place with Mr. Scott, a Methodist presiding elder. It was to continue four days. He had recently debated with J. Mathes, and coming out of it victorious, all were sure he would make short work of me, and my faith. But they were disappointed. Mr. Scott got mad, and left the rostrum, declaring that he would discuss no more with me. But the moderators persuaded him to continue the allotted time. After he got through, another minister tried his hand at the work, but many thought he fared worse than his predecessor. Weighing about two hundred and fifty pounds, and as fat as butter, he kept in good humor. Lectured in Columbus and Franklin. In both places I soon after had discussions. This was a laborious journey, for it was war, war, from the beginning to the end of it.
CHAPTER XI.
Journey into Northern Illinois—Temperance Lecture—Result of Temperate Drinking—Married—Homeward Bound—High Waters—Difficult Traveling—Trouble in Crossing Streams—A Cold Bath—End of the “Bridal Tour”—A Hard Ride—Debates with E. Kingsbury—In Northern Indiana—Conversation with an Indian—Dark Man and Dark Night—Explanation of Hebrews ix. 27, 28—End of the World—The Earth and Man.
In June, 1844, with buggy and two horses, I commenced a journey into the northern part of Illinois. Preached in Newport, Ind., and became acquainted with several devoted believers in the Restitution. Lectured on temperance in Perrysville. Related the following sad story of a family, educated to the “temperate use” of liquor:
The husband and father was wealthy, educated, and occupied a prominent position in the community in which he resided. In his days of vigor, he held important political and military stations; was an officer in the last war with Great Britain, and after its termination, honorably occupied a seat in the legislative hall of his native state. He was what is called a “temperate drinker.” His children were instructed by precept and example to be temperate drinkers. The decanters were ever full of the choicest liquors, and all daily partook of the sparkling beverage. All of them despised intemperance, and hated the sight of a drunkard. The two sons married into families equal to their own; and the daughter, an accomplished lady, was wedded to the man of her choice. The father, with joy beheld his interesting family settled around him, highly respected for their intellectual and moral qualities, and bountifully blessed with the good things of this world. He was comforted with the reflection that his declining years would be blessed by virtuous children.
My informant, who had spent his childhood and youth in the town where this family lived, after several years absence, returned to the home of his early life. He repaired to the residence of the venerable man, where he had spent many happy hours in bygone days. Enquired for beloved names, for the sons and daughter, the associates of the morning of his life. The aged father burst into tears; he wept aloud; he wrung his hands with anguish. The tale was all horror that the trembling lips of the old man related. The daughter had disgraced herself by intemperance, and was mouldering in a premature grave. The two brothers were ruined by rum-drinking. A short time before, the wife of one of them, after enduring the brutal treatment of her husband for years, had fled from him while he was in a drunken fit, and plunged into a pond, and was drowned, to escape from wretchedness, and the monster. The wife of the other had left him; she would no longer live with the brute. One of the sons was at home, but intemperance had made him a cripple and an idiot. The mother of the family had long since sunk into a welcome grave, overwhelmed with sorrow. The father was descending with grief into the grave. His expectations were blasted; his hopes were cut off. His family, in which was centered his affections, and from whom he expected support and consolation, were miserably destroyed—part sunk into a dishonored grave, to hide their shame, and the remainder, outcasts in the world.
The misfortunes of this family, in all probability, originated in temperate drinking. The seed of sin and death was sown by the father, while the children were under his roof. A taste for intoxicating drinks was there acquired, and cultivated, and when they left home, they continued to cherish it, till by degrees it became the ruling passion. The parents and children reaped a fearful reward. What an awful sin for parents thus to vitiate the taste of their children! Let them take warning. They will as surely reap the reward of their evil doing, as there is a God in heaven. For so great a sin to go unpunished nature’s laws must be reversed.
Delivered two sermons in Rainsville. Urged my brethren to live as becometh believers in the best religion ever entertained by men or angels. It is all truth and righteousness, and our character and life should be truthful and righteous. It is better to be an Orthodox christian, than a Universalist sinner. We might as well be without the knowledge of the truth, as to hold it in unrighteousness. The gospel blesses those only who practice it; to such only it “is the power of God unto salvation.” Had a meeting in Montgomery, Ill., and at the close a Baptist preacher sung out a reply. It was decidedly funny. I will not attempt to repeat it, for I cannot do justice to the subject. Forded the Kankakee river where the city of Kankakee now stands, but there was no city there then—nothing but a wild prairie. The river was deep—deeper than I expected—and there was imminent danger of horses, buggy, and all, being washed down stream. Some men on the shore watched me with much interest, but they could have rendered me no assistance if I had gotten into difficulty, as there was no boat near. Lectured in Bourbonais Grove. It is a French village, and I put up with the principal man of the settlement. He was a Catholic, but said he believed what I preached.
On July 3d, in Wilmington, Ill., was married to Miss H. Bryant, by Rev. W. H. Dean, of Joliet. This lady is a native of New York, and for a year or two previous to this date, was one of the Principals of a seminary in Warrenville, Ill. Left Wilmington with my charge, to return to Terre Haute. But the windows of heaven opened, and the fountains of the great deep were broken up. The summer of 1844 will long be remembered in the West, as the summer of floods, tornadoes, thunder and lightning. The whole country was inundated, and traveling was very dangerous business. We came near being swept away, on crossing a rapid stream, the first day of our journey. Arriving at the Kankakee river, we found it past fording, and nothing but a small skiff with which to cross the stream. The carriage was taken to pieces, and carried over in parcels, and the horses swam the river. A few miles south we encountered Beaver Creek—then a mighty river. Again the buggy was ferried over by piece-meal, and the horses swam at the side of the frail bark, I holding them by their heads. Every slough was a river, which we had to ford or swim. A few miles from the Iroquois river, when far from a house, a terrible storm burst on our heads. There was no shelter, and for about one hour we were exposed to one of the most violent storms I ever witnessed. The wind blew a tornado, the thunder crashed fearfully, the lightning flashed sheets of fire, the rain and hail poured down in torrents, and to add to the terror of the scene, the trees came crashing to the ground, all around us. We finally reached a house on the bank of the river, and were right glad to have a roof between us and that wild elemental war. There we had to remain several days, as it was impossible to proceed till the waters abated. But I was very restless, as I had an engagement in Oakland, Ill., and had barely time to reach there without any detention. I had agreed to have a discussion in that place with E. Kingsbury, a Presbyterian minister of Danville, but that last storm prevented my filling the engagement.
The bridge across the Iroquois river being washed away by the flood, the carriage was again taken to pieces, and ferried over, while the horses swam to the opposite shore. But one of them came near drowning, as he became entangled in the top of a tree that had drifted down; he was finally rescued, and we were soon on the way to encounter more trouble. Reached the Wabash river bottom, opposite Montezuma, and found it all inundated—the water from one to three feet deep. When about half way across, in attempting to cross a low place on a corduroy bridge, all under water, and not visible, the water being so dirty, we missed the middle of the corduroy, and carriage, horses, bride and bridegroom, went over the side into the mud and water. The bride, a perfect hero, stood in the mud and water three feet deep, holding the frightened horses, while the bridegroom transferred the baggage from the buggy to the trunk of a fallen tree, which happily was not far distant. We finally got out of the slough, in a pretty bad plight though, and crossed the river on to dry land, and the next day reached Terre Haute—thus ended our bridal tour.