In the brush

by Hamilton W. Pierson

After the meeting "broke," and they mounted their horses to ride to dinner, my old friend said to the preacher:

"Why, Brother Mansfield, you made a great mistake in your sermon this morning."

"Mistake!" said he, "what was it, Brother Roach?"

"Why, that about the 'untowered generation.' It is not untowered," said he; "it is untoward. It is, 'Save yourselves from this untoward generation.'"

The preacher dropped his head, thought a moment, and then said:

"There can't be any mistake about that. Why, I've preached it that way more than a dozen times."

When they reached the house where they were to dine, they found a dictionary, and that was appealed to to settle the matter. Alas, that the verdict spoiled a favorite sermon!

I was about as much astonished at the facts I heard in regard to the salaries that were paid to these preachers, with all the formalities of a regular contract, as at anything I ever learned in regard to their preaching. I once occupied the pulpit with one of them, in a church which was a large, barn-like brick structure, having four doors, one near each corner, for the ingress and egress of the congregation. This preacher was a great favorite in the region, with both the white and colored people, and was familiarly known as "Jimmy B——." He had stentorian lungs, was wonderfully voluble, and his sing-song "holy tone" was most delightful to his audience. It was a warm summer day, and the house was packed with whites dressed in butternut jeans, and groups of colored people were standing outside near each open window. It was a monthly service, and all seemed to enjoy it greatly.

In the afternoon, after the custom of the Southwest, he preached to the "servants," and I again occupied a seat in the pulpit with him. His colored audience was moved by his stentorian voice and avalanche of words to the extremest excitement and joy. At the conclusion of his sermon they could not separate without singing some of their "breaking" songs, and all marching by the pulpit and shaking hands with the preachers. This hand-shaking was one of the most marked features of their religious services, and these "breaking" or parting exercises have afforded me the opportunity of hearing the grandest, wildest, most beautiful and genuine African melodies to which I have ever listened. As I was a "visiting brother," I was entitled to as warm and cordial a greeting as the one who had preached. The leader commenced a hymn familiar to the large audience, and they began to sing and move in procession by the low pulpit where we were standing, shaking hands with each of us as they passed. As the long procession filed by, their dark faces shining with delight, the music arose louder, wilder, and more exciting, until they seemed entirely unconscious of the strength of the grip they gave my poor, suffering hand. I was unwilling to mar their joy by withdrawing it altogether, and, to save it from being utterly crushed, I resorted to the expedient of suddenly clutching the end of the fingers of each hand that was extended to me by the excited and happy singers, and so they were unable to give me their vise-like squeeze, and I escaped comparatively unharmed. The hand-shaking ended, the meeting "broke," and they all dispersed, masters and slaves highly delighted with the preacher and all the services of the day.

My host upon this occasion was the hotel-keeper of the place. In talking with him about the great popularity of this preacher, he said that, if equally extended notice should be given that he would preach there on one Sabbath, and the Rev. Dr. Young, the learned and eloquent President of the college at Danville, would preach there on another, Jimmy B—— would call together the largest audience. At another place, when quite a number of persons were present, reference was made to the salary that was received by this popular favorite. I made particular inquiries upon this subject, and learned that the church negotiated with him to preach for them one Sabbath each month during the year, for one dollar a Sabbath. Hence, they paid him twelve dollars a year for one fourth of his time. Some of them thought that as neither he nor any other good hand could at that time get more than fifty cents a day for mauling rails, hoeing corn, or any other labor, this salary was rather excessive; but in consideration of the fact that he had to leave home on Saturday evening in order to meet his appointment, and furnish his own riding-nag, they magnanimously voted him the full dollar a Sunday, "for one fourth of his time." I was informed that he preached to other churches, but did not learn that any of them paid him a larger salary. In another place that I visited, the Rev. James L—— had preached to the same church twenty-one years, and he said the largest sum he had ever received for preaching in any one year was twenty dollars, and he had often received less than ten dollars! Very many of these churches were entirely satisfied if they had regular preaching once a month. In riding through the Brush, I used often to gratify my curiosity by making inquiries in regard to the salaries received by those who preached in the churches that I passed. Once, in riding late in the evening, I overtook—or, in the vernacular of the region, "met up with"—a boy some twelve or fourteen years old, who was riding a mule. After exchanging "howd'ys," I found him very loquacious, and disposed to enlighten me in regard to everything in the neighborhood. I asked him what salary they paid their preacher. "Oh!" said he, "they pay the one they have got now right smart. They give him a dollar and a half a Sunday."