As he dismissed the service, Newgent announced that he was ready to go home with the first man who invited him. A tall, threadbare, weather-beaten fellow accepted the challenge. But when the preacher started to go, he explained that he didn’t mean it. “I can’t take care of you; I haven’t any room,” he protested.
“Go ahead,” said the preacher, “I can sleep on dry coon skins and eat roasted potatoes.” And he went in spite of the protests of his host.
The man was surely honest in his protest. He dwelt in a hut built of round poles. In one corner was a badly cracked stove that had long done service for both cooking and heating purposes. Two large box-like arrangements partly filled with leaves gathered from the forest, together with some ragged covering, served as feeble apologies for beds, and between these beds was a barrel of whisky. Though it was past midnight, the wife was sitting up. She was scantily clad, yet her face, though careworn, revealed a high degree of intelligence, bearing evidence that she had seen better days. Two little girls whose appearance harmonized only too well with their wretched surroundings, completed the family circle. As Newgent entered this hovel his eyes rested upon such a picture of destitution as he had never seen. The whisky barrel, however, told the whole story.
Newgent soon had the entire family feeling perfectly at ease. He played with the children and proved himself a most congenial guest. But he was there for their spiritual good. That night the wretched home, for the first time, became a house of prayer. Before the light of a new day dawned the light from heaven broke in upon the sad heart of that wife and mother, and a new day dawned in her life. The next morning the husband likewise found the Savior, and the whisky barrel, the cause of so much misery and poverty, vacated its place in the home, for old things had passed away and all things had become new. Another stronghold was lost to the enemy. A glorious night’s work it was, and a mighty step toward the final conquest of this spiritual Canaan.
The man asked Newgent to roll the barrel of whisky into the river. But he said, “No; let us sell it to the druggist. We can use the money to a good advantage.” So he borrowed a team and wagon, and hauled the whisky to the nearest drug store, and received eighteen dollars for it. With the money he bought some much needed clothing for the wife and children. It was his first and only experience in the whisky business.
The entire community was swept by the revival. Multitudes were converted, a church was organized, and a church-house built. The whisky man and the ex-infidel became pillars in the church, one serving as class leader and the other as steward. Never was a work of grace more complete, or the power of God more wonderfully or graciously displayed in the transformation of a community than in the case of Hell’s Half Acre.
Chapter Five.
Six Months at Rainsville—A Hotbed of Southern Sympathizers—A Mix-up with Saloon Men—A Sermon on Slavery—Fire and Brimstone—An Antagonist Outwitted—A Sermon from the Book of Newgent—Can Any Good Thing Come Out of Rainsville?