In the brush

by Hamilton W. Pierson

Monday morning I rode back to the county-seat. There was a hard rain-storm, and I got very wet. Tuesday morning I started on a preaching tour of several days, to fulfill the appointments that had been made for me. I traveled several miles to see an old man who had been recommended for a colporteur to canvass the county; was pleased with him, and he was afterward employed. After dinner he piloted me through rough, broken barrens, such as I have already described, to the place where I was to preach that night. We reached there, but my "appointment" had not. I did not wonder it had lost its way. I lost mine a good many times that week. However, we learned that the next day was the regular appointment for the Methodist preacher who rode that circuit, and I would then have an opportunity to address the people. We spent the night very comfortably with Brother H——, to whom I had been directed, who belonged to the class of farmers or planters known among these people as "not rich, but good livers." In other portions of the country he would have been spoken of as a man "in comfortable circumstances." Wednesday morning we rode to a small Methodist chapel bearing the name of my host. His house had for years been the home where laborious and self-denying itinerant preachers, often hungry, wet, and weary, had found most welcome and needed refreshment and rest. A kind Providence has dotted the wilds of the country with many such hospitable homes—I have often found them and enjoyed their cheer—whose owners, more rich in generous, noble impulses than in worldly goods, have thus laid up treasures in heaven, the exceeding riches and abundance of which they will only fully comprehend and enjoy when they hear the approving—"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." On arriving at the chapel, which was a small, unplastered frame building, I was introduced by my host to Brother M——, the "preacher in charge," and received from him an old itinerant's cordial shake of the hand and welcome to his circuit. After a few moments' conversation he thrust his arm into mine, as though we had been acquainted for years, and we strolled off among the black-jacks to await the arrival of the congregation.

"What church do you belong to, Brother P——?" said he.

"I am a Presbyterian, sir," I responded.

"I am glad to hear it, glad to hear it," said he. "Brother Y——, the last agent of the Bible Society, was a Methodist, and we've had Methodist agents a good while. I am glad there is a change. I heard there would be, at Conference. All our brethren will be glad to see and welcome you."

As Brother M—— was the first real itinerant that I met on his circuit deep in the Brush, I will present him a little more fully to my readers. He wore on his head, drawn well down over his ears and eyes, a cheap cloth cap, badly soiled and faded. I do not now recall the color of his coat. I remember that it was of coarse material and ragged, with a particularly large rent under one of the armholes. His pantaloons were genuine butternut-colored jeans. I have no doubt that the cloth was the gift of some good sister, woven in her own loom, and all that she was able to give in making up his scanty salary. The most of the audience, both men and women, were clothed in the same home-made material. For myself, I was dressed in all respects as I had been the last time I had preached in New York. I did not like the contrast between myself and the congregation; and on my return to the city I laid aside my entire black suit, and procured a second-hand snuff-colored overcoat, costing eight dollars, jean pantaloons, and a soft hat, in which I felt much more at ease on my next return to the Brush. To anticipate a little, I will say that in my desire to carry out the Pauline example in becoming all things to all men, I went a little too far; for I wore my Brush suit to Conference, where I met this same preacher, and scores of his brethren with whom I had become acquainted, dressed in black, and presenting a contrast quite to my disadvantage. I had, however, gone there on horseback, traveling and preaching through the wildest brush country, with only such changes of clothing as I could carry in my saddle-bags. If I was a little mortified at my personal appearance when the presiding elder introduced me to the venerable bishop, and he introduced me to the Conference, and they all arose to their feet to do me honor, and welcome me as the representative of the American Bible Society, I had at least this satisfaction, that with the large audience present my dress would do something to correct the popular impression, very widely prevalent in the Brush, that "Presbyterian ministers preach for good clothes."

One by one the small congregation arrived at the chapel—men, women, and children—on horseback. When they had all assembled, we went in, and I preached, and they "lifted a collection" amounting to three dollars and twenty-five cents. After dining with Brother M——, at a house near by, I mounted my horse for a long ride, to reach my appointment for the night. My kind friends gave me a great many directions, and I started out. There was nothing worthy of the name of a public road. There were wagon-tracks and paths running in all directions among the black-jacks, and crossing each other at all angles. Whenever, for a short distance, there was a fence on both sides of a road, that was called a "lane." One track would lead me to the back side of a tobacco-patch, where it ended; another led me where some rails had been "mauled" and recently hauled away. The roads leading to plantations were more worn, and looked more like the "main traveled road," than those that were intended for public highways. I inquired my way at each plantation that I passed, and every other opportunity; and these were far too rare for my wants. Once I saw, from an elevation, a peach-tree in bloom in the distance. It was like the human footprint in the sand to Robinson Crusoe on his lonely island. I said, "There is a sign of humanity," and started for it. But when I reached it the log-cabin near which it was planted was empty, and I started out again into the labyrinths of paths. Often that afternoon, and oftener in the years that followed, when I have been lost in the Brush, I exclaimed, "Blessed be the man that devised our national system of 'sectional surveys'!" I do not know what man or men devised it, but I do know that the country owes him or them a debt of gratitude it can never pay. Where section-lines are established, there roads are located, roads running at right angles, and school-districts, townships, and larger communities have definite boundaries; and every neighborhood and farm may have the benefit of established and good roads. These barrens, like vast regions of country over which I have traveled, never had the benefit of such a survey. The original settlers had found places where the land, timber, water, etc., suited them, and had measured off, perhaps with a pole or grape-vine, hundreds or thousands of acres in any shape their fancy directed—their surveys often overlapping each other at various points. Hence interminable lawsuits in regard to boundaries, and the greater calamity of having no established lines for a uniform system of roads. A learned author has said, "You may judge the civilization of a country by its roads." If this is a true criterion, there is a vast extent of country over which I have traveled, in the Southwest and South, that will take a very low rank in the scale of civilization. I remember one man in the Brush who told me he had raised that year three hogsheads of tobacco, but the roads were so bad that the transportation of his crop, sixty miles to market, had cost him one hogshead of tobacco—one third of the proceeds of his summer's work! One of the most prominent causes of the development and growth of our Western States is the manner in which they were surveyed, and their system of roads; one of the greatest hindrances to the prosperity of other and large sections of our country is that they have had no such survey, and are not likely to have any such roads.

I reached the house of Mr. R——, to whom I was directed, soon after sundown, and learned that my appointment had reached him, and he was expecting me. He at once gave orders to his boys to get the shellbark-hickory torches that they had provided to light us home, and without dismounting he led my way, on foot, about a mile, to an unpainted, unplastered, barnlike-looking building, known as "Blue Knobs Church." A few tallow-candles shed their glimmering rays upon the upturned faces of the not large audience that listened to my description of the Bible House, its numerous presses, and vast facilities for publishing the Bible; and, in response to my appeal for funds for the noble cause I represented, they "lifted a collection" amounting to ninety-four cents. In the light of the torches thoughtfully provided for me, I climbed up the sides of the knob—the higher elevations of land in this region are called "knobs"—to the home of my host. Supper was now prepared for the family and myself; and I learned that it was the custom of the people to defer supper until this hour, whenever they had meetings at night.

Fairly seated in the house, I saw such a group of little children as I had never seen before, belonging to one family. We had not talked long before the father volunteered an explanation. He told me his wife had died, leaving nine children, one but a few days old. Not many months after, he had married a young widow with three children, as young as his three youngest, and one had been born since their marriage. Of the thirteen present, the majority were under five years old. Subsequently, in my travels, I spent a night with a family where there was a large number of young children, and I asked the mother the age of the eldest and the youngest. The eldest would be six years old the next June; the youngest was six weeks old. She had six healthy children, that had been born in less than six years, and none of them were twins.

On Thursday I started early in the morning and rode through a country that differed but little from that through which I had passed the day before, to the place of my appointment. On going to the hall of the secret society, where I was to preach, I learned that it was the night of their regular weekly meeting, and they could not yield their room to me. Such collisions are not unfrequent in the Brush, and the people describe them by a very striking figure of speech, which gives some idea of their sports and tastes. They say of them that "the appointments locked horns." I did not care to test the strength of my neck, and therefore, as was altogether proper in the circumstances, did not preach. That night I slept in the loft of a log-cabin. It was entirely unceiled, and the roof was so low that I had to stoop to make my way to my bed; and when in it I could easily place my hands upon the roof-boards and rafters. The openings between the logs afforded abundant ventilation. In the morning, I found such conveniences as were afforded for washing, not in my room, but out-of-doors, at the side of the well. Afterward, I slept in hundreds of such cabin-lofts—slept in them until the sight of smoky, dingy roof-boards and rafters was wellnigh as familiar a sight on opening my eyes in the morning, as the sky overhead when I went to the well to wash, sometimes in a basin or dish, but often by having the water poured upon my hands from a gourd. I remember one occasion when, after traveling for weeks in the Brush, I arrived at a small county-seat village, and spent the night in a new building that had recently been erected for a young ladies' seminary. In the morning, as I opened my eyes, they were greeted with the sight of new white-plastered walls above and around me. The sight was so rare that it thrilled me with joy. The smooth, clean plaster seemed absolutely beautiful. I have never since experienced more delightful sensations in gazing upon the most magnificent paintings. I can see now the new, cheap bedstead, the clean sheets, the blue-calico window-curtains, the white walls, and recall the sensations of intense pleasure that they inspired. It was as if I had slept for weeks in a dungeon, and awoke in the most delightful home.

On Friday morning I started early again, and by a most difficult and crooked route through the "barrens," made my way to the residence of "Uncle Billy H——," to whose hospitality I had been commended. Here I found a brick house on a turnpike-road, and "Uncle Billy" was a "good liver." He went with me at night to a small church, located upon a stream, near a grist-mill, and I preached, and "lifted a collection" amounting to four dollars and five cents.