Our protracted meetings lasted more than six months, and resulted in the reception of one hundred and one persons into church fellowship. While in the revival at Hinkleville, a great shout occurred one night over the conversion of some far-famed sinners, during which the floor of the church gave way and went down some two feet. Before dismissing the people, I announced that we would meet and make repairs the next day. At the appointed time it seemed that nearly all the men and boys in the country round about were on hand, ready to render what service they could in repairing the house of the Lord.
This was a revival of far-reaching influence. The country for miles around was thoroughly stirred. One of the leading men became interested one night, and decided upon a new life. As he approached the church the next day he heard us singing what was then a very popular song—“Will the Angels Come?” The words and melody fairly charmed him, and kindled new hope in a life that had been given over to sin. As he opened the church door, the key of faith opened his heart’s door to the Savior, and he rushed down the aisle to tell us of his wonderful experience. It was all victory that morning. The conversion of such a man profoundly affected the people, and led to many more decisions for Christ.
During this meeting my colleague arose one evening to preach. As he had the test, with book, chapter, and verse all by heart, he did not open his Bible, but began by saying, “You will find my text in Revelation, third chapter, and twentieth verse.” Just then an apple fell through a hole in his coat-pocket on to the floor. As he stooped to pick it up, another fell out. Returning them to his pocket, he again started—“Revelation, third chapter and twentieth verse,” when suddenly the two restless apples dropped out again. After picking them up, he started in the third time, “You will find my text in,”—but all was gone. He couldn’t even think of Revelation. The audience was at the point of roaring, so in the midst of his confusion he turned to me and said, “Brother Weekley, what is my text? I don’t know what nor where it is.” I answered, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.” “Yes, yes,” he said, “I remember it now,” and proceeded with his discourse, but did not recover that evening from the knock-out blow he had received.
Preaching through such a long revival campaign was no easy thing, when I had only a few sermons in stock, and these were all “home made.” I think the material in them was all right, but the mechanical construction was not according to any particular rule. I endeavored to give my hearers plenty to eat, but I did not understand how to serve the food in courses. It was like putting a lot of hominy, and pork, and cabbage, and beans into the same dish, and saying to the people, “Here it is; help yourselves.” But as a few sermons could not be made to last indefinitely, I was compelled to apply myself to study, no little of which was done on horseback. Every itinerant in West Virginia at that time had to do the same thing. While this method of study was not the most desirable, it nevertheless had its redeeming features. Ofttimes, after riding a dozen or fifteen miles over rough, hilly roads, I would alight, hitch my horse, and while the weary animal was resting, mount a log near by and practice to my heart’s content the sermon I was preparing for my next appointment. Again and again did I make the welkin ring as I preached to an audience of great trees about me. Does this appear amusing to the reader? Do you doubt that such experiences ever occurred? If so, ask some of the earlier preachers of the conference who are yet living if they ever did such a thing while circuit-riding among the mountains.
Did we ever feel lonesome as we traversed the forests or climbed the hills? Not for a moment. It was an inspiring place to be. The birds sing so sweetly there. The gurgling, murmuring streamlets are ever musical as they steal their way along through gulches, over their rocky beds. The scenery is sublime. Nature’s book stands wide open, and abounds with richest lessons and illustrations. No wonder Glossbrenner and Markwood, Warner and Howe, with a host of others, could preach! The very mountains amid which they were born and reared conspired to make them lofty characters, and majestic in their pulpit efforts. While Union Biblical Seminary, and our colleges generally, are grand, helpful schools, let it not be forgotten that “Brush College” is not without its advantages, and should be given due credit for the inspiration and rugged manliness it imparts to its students.
My home this year was with Brother James Hull, on the headwaters of French Creek, fully forty miles from the nearest railroad station. Mother Hull was one of God’s noble women. She professed sanctification, and lived it every day. I can never forget her helpfulness to me, a mere child in years and service. I must see her in heaven.
If I returned home after each Sabbath’s work, it required one hundred and fifty miles travel to make one round of the circuit. My associate also had a good home on another part of the charge; but unfortunately for him, and for some others as well, his zeal led him into trouble. Brother Mike Boyles, with whom he stayed, was a good, true man, and was ever delighted to have a preacher with him. One Sunday he went to see a friend a few miles distant, and innocently carried home on his horse a large, nice, well-matured pumpkin. His purpose, no doubt, was to prepare a special dish for his guest; but his preacher was not pleased with such an infraction of the Sabbath law. A short while after this he discoursed in the neighborhood church on the text, “I stand in doubt of you.” Among other things, he said he stood in doubt of a church-member who would go visiting on Sunday and carry “pumpkins” home with him. Brother Boyles very naturally made the application a personal one, and ever afterward refused to be reconciled.
During the year I married two couples. One of the men was a horse buyer, and was considered “away up” financially. Of course I expected no insignificant sum for my services; it ought to have been ten dollars or more; but let the reader imagine, if he can, my disappointment, if not disgust, when he handed me forty cents in “shinplasters.” By “shinplasters” I mean a certain kind of currency which circulated during our civil strife in the early sixties, in the form of five, ten, twenty-five and fifty cent certificates.