In this school, by close application, I made such extraordinary progress that the teacher often spoke of me to the whole school, and exhorted them to learn as Parley Pratt did;—said he (to some of them who were more fond of mischief than of study), if you would learn as he does, you would become men of wisdom and talent in the world; but if you continue the course you have done you will remain in obscurity and unknown; while he will be known, and fill important stations in society. I do not mention these circumstances by way of boasting; but simply because they are true. How little did I then realize, or even dream of the station I should be called to fill.
Again the spring returned;—I was sixteen years of age. I left the school of my boyhood forever, and commenced again a life of toil. I assisted my cousin, William Pratt, in the cultivation of the farm of my aunt (where I had boarded the previous winter) until September, when I started a journey to the West, in company with my brother William, in search of some spot of ground in the wilderness which we might prepare as our future home.
We travelled about two hundred miles on foot, and at length selected a spot for a farm in the woods, about two miles from Oswego, a small town situated on Lake Ontario, in the State of New York. We purchased seventy acres of land, which was covered with an immense growth of timber, principally beech, maple and hemlock. For this we bargained with one Mr. Morgan, and agreed to pay four dollars per acre, in four annual payments with interest—paying some seventy dollars in hand.
We then repaired again to the East, and, by dint of hard labor, endeavored to earn the money. Wages were very low, and at length my brother William entirely failed in raising his part of the money for our next installment.
The next spring found me in the employment of a wealthy farmer, by the name of Eliphet Bristol, in the neighborhood of my aunt Van Cott's. Here I experienced no kindness; no friendship from my employer or his family. I always commenced work before sunrise, and continued till dark; losing only three days in eight months. I was then but a lad—being only seventeen years of age—and stood in need of fatherly and motherly care and comfort. But they treated a laborer as a machine; not as a human being, possessed of feelings and sympathies in common with his species. Work! WORK! WORK! you are hired to work. A man that paid for his work should never be weary, faint, or sick; or expect a kind look or word. He agrees to work; we agree to pay him; that is sufficient. He needs no kindness, no affection, no smiles, no encouragement of any kind. Such was their spirit towards me during this eight months of toil. I was glad when the time expired; I felt like one released from prison. I took my wages, and was accompanied by my father to our place in Oswego. Here I paid all my hard earnings to meet the yearly installment due on the land—reserving merely enough to purchase two axes. We then commenced to chop and clear the heavy timber all the time that we could command, extra of earning our board. It was a cold, snowy winter, such as is usual in the northern part of New York. But we earned our living, and chopped and cleared ten acres during the winter and spring; this we surrounded with a fence of rails, and planted with wheat and Indian corn, being in hopes to meet the next payment with the avails of our harvest.
CHAPTER II.
Thoughts on Religion:—Join the Baptist Church:—Strange Perversion of a Scripture Promise.
It was during these toils in the wilderness that my mind was drawn out from time to time on the things of God and eternity. I felt deeply anxious to be saved from my sins, and to secure an interest in that world "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." I attended public worship with a society of Baptists who had employed one W. A. Scranton for their minister; he was a scholar from Hamilton Seminary (an institution where young men are educated for the ministry).
I said to my father one day while we were laboring together in the forest: "Father, how is it there is so manifest a difference between the ancient and modern disciples of Jesus Christ and their doctrines? If, for instance, I had lived in the days of the Apostles, and believed in Jesus Christ, and had manifested a wish to become his disciple, Peter or his brethren would have said to me, 'Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for REMISSION OF SINS, and you SHALL receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.' I should then have known definitely and precisely what to do to be saved. Whereas, now we go to the religious minister for instruction, and he tells us we must experience a mysterious, indefinite and undefinable something called religion before we can repent and be baptized acceptably. But, if we inquire how, or by what means we are to come at this experience, he cannot tell us definitely; but will tell us that it is the work of God in the soul; which he will accomplish in his own due time, for his own elect; and that we can do nothing acceptably till this is done. That even our prayers and repentance, and all our good works are sin; so long as this work of God is not done within us.
"Now, father," said I, "how is this? I believe in Jesus; I wish to serve him and keep his commandments; I love him: He has commanded all men to repent and be baptized, and has promised to remit the sins of all those who obey the gospel ordinances, and to pour out the Holy Spirit upon them. Yet, if I apply to the Presbyterians they will sprinkle some water in my face instead of baptizing me. If I go to the Methodists it is the same. And if I go to the Baptists they will not baptize me for remission of sins , that I may receive the gift of the Holy Ghost; but they will require of me to relate an experience, and to tell of some time and place where I had already experienced that which I am only seeking for, and have not found. This, of course, I cannot do; and, therefore, they will not receive me unto baptism. How, then, can I observe the ordinances of God and keep his commandments?"