"Father Clark," or The Pioneer Preacher

by John Mason Peck

Gradually, and with many misgivings, on his part, his mind became impressed with the duty of preaching the gospel to his fellow men. He was meek, modest, humble, and thought far less of his gifts than others did. His sensitive conscience shrunk at undertaking a work for which he felt so poorly qualified, and we suppose he did not appear before the public as a preacher until after his return from his native country. His amiable temper, courteous manners, and kind feelings, without any effort on his part, gained him the confidence and good will of all with whom he held intercourse.

It was not more than one or two years after he joined the Methodists that he resolved on a visit to his native land. He had received the avails of teaching for several terms; his dress was plain, cotton homespun, and cost but little; and his board had been gratuitously bestowed by Colonel Wootten. It was a beautiful morning in April that he led for the last time, by the solicitations of his host, in the family devotions, and after breakfast, and again singing a favorite song, he gave the parting hand to each of the family, white and black.

“I’ll go with you, brother Clark, to the forks of the road,” said the venerable Colonel. As they walked along the lane, Clark thought, though kindly repulsed before, he would again tender payment for his board and several articles of clothing he had received as gratuities, and he mentioned the subject as they arrived at the junction where they must part. “No, my dear brother,” said the kind-hearted old Methodist, “you have done a heap more for my family than they can ever do for you. For until you talk’d to that wayward boy, our George, who was wild like, and had been after cards and whiskey, I felt orfully afeared he would be lost and ruined te-totally. But when I know’d you’d tuk him in hand, and I’d he’rn you pray so all-graciously for him in the tobacco house, I sort’r pluck’d up heart, and concluded my poor prayers for him would’nt do no harm. So I prayed too as hard as I could. An’ now he’s so steady and cheerful, and sings so pretty sin’ he join’d Society.—O, brother Clark, I hate to part with you; but do pray for me and mine, when you’re on the great ocean;—and should you ever get back ag’in to Georgia, remember my house’s your home, as long as I live. And ef George lives and holds out as he’s begun, he’ll never let you want, for I do believe he loves you better nor his father and mother.”

The old Colonel was full and he could say no more—his heart was gushing out of his eyes like a shower of rain, as he gave the hand of Mr. Clark such a parting squeeze as caused him never to forget this old Methodist brother.

He might have paid his passage and gone in the cabin of one of the slow sailing vessels of that period, which were usually from two to three months in crossing the ocean to Europe. But though he never knew the feeling of avarice;—though he never hoarded up money for its own sake, but believed steadfastly in the same providence that clothes the lilies of the field, and feeds the birds of the air, he went aboard like a true-hearted sailor, before the mast. Arriving at Charleston, he found the Royal George, a trim, snug, merchant ship, just fitting out for the port of London, and shipped as a regular seaman.

The wind proved fair, and for some weeks the weather was favorable;—then a terrific storm overtook them which lasted three days. Clark manifested due courtesy with his shipmates, and showed prompt obedience to the officers. The Captain eyed him closely, but during the storm he found him to be a prime sailor, and that he understood both the theory and practice of navigating a ship. The sailors in the forecastle thought he had queer ways, but all concurred in the opinion of the Captain and mates that he had smelt salt water before; and yet he was singular.

When he first came aboard, they spoke of him as a “green ’un;” “a land-lubber.” “He might do to punish grub, but he’d never do in a storm.”

The storm came on, and Jack Clark, as he was called, was found to be the best hand in the mess to work ship. He could run up the shrouds and out on the yard arms, like a monkey; hold on with one hand and take in a reef with the other in the quickest time. From the captain, whose keen look was on him as he walked the quarter-deck in sullen dignity, to the cabin boy whose laughing eye watched the new hand; all perceived he was a regular “old salt;” and if he had commanded a ship, as some one intimated, he had never crept in at the cabin window.

But he was a strange fellow, for when grog time came John was seldom seen coming for his allowance. When fair weather came, and the sailors lay about the deck sunning themselves, and spinning long yarns, John Clark was reading in his berth. Thus days and weeks passed away, with the usual monotony of an old fashioned sea voyage.

“What book is that Jack Clark reads so much?”—said one old salt to another as several hands lay basking on deck one day. “It’s the Bible,” was the reply from a pale looking sailor, who had just got out from a sick-berth, “for he read a long yarn out of it the other day to me.” “Hurrah,” shouted a wicked and witty fellow, who was listening;—“Is—Jack—what d’ call ’em—a Parson?” “I don’t know about that,” said pale face, “but I think there are not many parsons about Lun-nun that know more about the Bible than Jack Clark. And I can tell ye more, shipmates, he can pray too, and make his prayers as he goes along without the book; for I he’rn him not long sin’.” “You he’rn him pray!” shouted two or three voices in quick succession. “A sailor pray, and that without a book? Well, that’s more than the parsons can do.”