There were five preachers present, taking part in the daily services by rotation. Four of these were Presbyterians, McGreechy, Rankin, Hodge and William McGee, the fifth being John McGee, the Methodist. The effect of their earnest exhortations was marked, and the frequent tears of their hearers gave evidence of their power in awakening sleeping consciences. On the last day of these revival meetings, during the “useful discourse of the Rev. Mr. Hodge a woman in the east end of the house got an uncommon blessing, broke through order and shouted for some time, then sat down in silence.” Thus writes the Rev. John McGee.
This woman, whose name has not been recorded, thus has the doubtful honor of being the pioneer shouter at an American revival meeting. As we all know in these days, she was but the first of thousands. But at that time it was altogether so new and out of order that during the interim that soon followed, after which it was John McGee’s turn to preach, McGreechy, Rankin and Hodge went out of the house, their sense of ecclesiastical propriety having suffered a severe shock at the violent demonstrations during the services. They felt compelled to withdraw their countenance from what they considered an exhibition of irreverence.
The two McGees were thus left alone to address and guide the aroused congregation. For a time they sat in perplexed silence, the people remaining in their seats. All over the house there was a subdued sound of moaning and weeping. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something more to happen, though no one knew what the something might be. William McGee, who, as we have noted, was a Presbyterian, presently quitted his seat on the platform, and deliberately seated himself on the floor, evidently too absorbed in thought to be conscious of this odd proceeding. Yet no one smiled, or seemed to wonder at his act. The strain of waiting was too severe, too intense, for smaller matters to intervene.
As for John McGee himself, he tells us that “a power which caused me to tremble was upon me.” He told the story of that unique experience in a letter written on June 23d, 1820, to the Rev. Thomas L. Douglas, presiding elder of the Nashville district of the Tennessee conference of the Methodist Episcopal church.
“Having a wish to preach,” he says, “I strove against my feelings. At length I rose up and told the people that I was appointed to preach, but that there was a greater than I preaching.” Then followed, instead of the usual form of sermon, a recital of experiences effected by the power of the spirit. McGee’s words were so earnest and impassioned that of his hearers many broke silence. “The woman at the east end of the house again shouted tremendously. I left the pulpit to go to her, and as I went along through the people it was suggested to me ‘You know these people are much for order. They will not bear this confusion. Go back and be quiet.’ I turned to go back and was near falling. The power of God was strong upon me. I turned again, and losing sight of the fear of man, I went through the house shouting and exhorting with all possible ecstasy and energy, and the floor was soon covered with the slain. Their screams for mercy pierced the Heavens and mercy came down. Some found forgiveness and many went away from that meeting feeling unutterable agonies of soul for redemption in the blood of Jesus. This,” concludes the letter of the Rev. John McGee, “was the beginning of that glorious revival of religion in this country which was so great a blessing to thousands, and from this meeting the camp meetings took their rise.”
In this quaint narrative, therefore, we see the inauguration of the great revival meetings which soon came to be so largely attended that it was necessary to build open arbors to accommodate the attendance. The movement gathered strength as it spread north, south, east and west, and camping on the spot followed as a natural result of the sustained enthusiasm. From its first inception the plan and idea of camp meeting life was to lift the mind for a season out of, and beyond all worldly cares, and thus to permit the soul to feast on things spiritual. The idea appealed at once to the primitive people of the rural communities even more than to those of the cities. The simple life of the camp was something they could understand and were used to. It was a mode of life that they loved as well. Its popularity was such from the very outset that it was no uncommon thing for the farmer who could not provide for the attendance of all his family at the meetings, to load his big wagon with cots, bedding, provisions and his family, and live in it, and under it on the camp grounds, if he could not procure a tent, contented with any sort of a shelter, so long as the meetings continued, which was sometimes for several weeks.
The early camp grounds were attractive, yet very simple in their arrangements. A thickly wooded site was always chosen, preferably on the banks of a river or lake. Always, of necessity, there was water near by, even if the camp could not be directly on its shores. Willing hands cleared away the underbrush, made rude benches of logs, the ground under them being strewn with new mown hay, fresh straw or pine needles. Other willing workers marked off the boundaries for the circle of tents and prepared the place for the preachers, building a platform and a rustic pulpit. Then there was the “mourners’ bench”. This was an important point, and was never omitted. It was a big log supported by stout forked branches driven into the ground in front of the pulpit.
Gleaming through the dark, flickering shadows of the dense foliage overhead, were seen the white-tented temporary homes of the people, while behind them rose the blue smoke of the many outdoor kitchen fires, where green branches and twigs served for fuel. Iron kettles on rustic cranes hung over the fires, and in the hot ashes the savory odor of roasting potatoes or apples rose on the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee, the smell of roasting or stewing or frying meats and fish.
The program for each day was varied, although almost continuous. First came a sunrise prayer service, at which the young people were most in evidence, as also at the vesper service, which preceded the regular evening sermon. At 9 o’clock were held “tent meetings,” preparatory to the general service and morning sermon at 10:30. At 2 o’clock was held the second service of the day, with a sermon. Before the evening service began family prayers were held in the tents, while out of the twilight, from tent and woods, resounded various hymns blending in a wild harmony of praise. Then came a short period of restful silence, while the call of the horn, or a voice from the pulpit, was awaited. At the sound tent doors were thrown open and the eager throngs hurried to the place of “the preaching.”
The night scenes at these camp meetings were really awe-inspiring. The congregation was literally surrounded by a circle of fire. Even the trees back in the shadows were festooned with candles, while small fires, the remains of the supper-getting, smouldered in their midst. On each side, and to the rear of the seated throng, were half a dozen or more large platforms, eight or ten feet high, supported on heavy tree trunks. They were covered a foot deep with damp earth, and on this roaring fires were built of full length logs. The fierce crackle and thunder of the flames, the clouds of sparks that flew up to be lost in the overhanging foliage, the dense smoke that mounted to the skies, and the weird, uncanny shadows that seemed to be instinct with life as they crept out of the inky darkness beyond the flickering circle of light, united to make the scene eloquent of awe.