“Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass.” What will he bring to pass? The right thing, and in the right way. Such has been my observation and experience in all the years that have come and gone since the hand of affliction was so keenly felt.
December 25, 1869, I was granted quarterly conference license in a regular way, and attended the annual conference which met in Hartford City, Mason County, the following March. Much of the time while there I was not able to walk from my stopping-place to the church, though not a half dozen blocks distant. Some of the brethren feared that I would not live to get back home again. But I wanted a circuit. With that end in view I had gone to conference, and no amount of persuasion could turn me aside from the one great purpose that had taken complete possession of my soul. I was entering the work with a full knowledge of what it meant. I had heard the brethren talk of their privations and abundant labors, and, as well, of their victories and joy of heart. The report of the year then closing was most suggestive. The eighteen fields of the conference contained one hundred and sixty-seven preaching places, and had paid twenty-four men a little less than $140 each upon an average, not counting outside gifts. West Columbia Circuit paid its two pastors, Revs. W. B. Hodge and I. M. Underwood, $400. The next highest was $339.19, and was paid the brace of pastors who served the Glenville charge—Revs. W. W. Knipple and Elias Barnard. The other sixteen pastorates ranged from $267.15 down to $35, the last named amount having been received by Rev. J. W. Boggess, on Hessville Mission. The Parkersburg District paid Elder Graham $227.87, while West Columbia District only reached $152.85 for its superintendent, Rev. J. W. Perry. To the support of each of the districts, however, the parent missionary board added $100.
When the Stationing Committee reported, my name was read out as the junior preacher for Philippi Circuit, with Rev. A. L. Moore, pastor in charge. This appointment was given, as more than one assured me in later years, simply to satisfy my mind. No one expected me to go to it. As the field already had a man, my failure to reach it would make no difference in any way.
Returning home I told father what had been done, and that I must have the necessary outfit for a circuit-rider; namely, a horse, a saddle and bridle, and a pair of saddle-bags. No matter what else a man had, or did not have, in those days, these things were essential to efficiency among the mountains of West Virginia.
At once I began preparations for leaving home. Mother was thoughtful enough to make me a pair of leggings which buttoned up at the sides and reached above the knees. No one article made with hands was ever more valuable to a Virginia itinerant than leggings.
Philippi Circuit was seventy-five miles distant among the mountains, and would require, owing to the bad roads, two and a half days of hard travel on horseback to reach it. At the appointed time, April 11, 1870, early in the morning, I rode out of the old lane and up the hillside. All I had of earthly possessions was in my saddle-bags. One end contained my library, (Bible, Hymn-book, “Smith’s Bible Dictionary,” “Binney’s Theological Compend,” “Religious Emblems,” and one volume of “Watson’s Institutes,”) while in the other was stored my wardrobe, scant and plain. When far up on the side of the hill I looked back and saw mother standing on the porch. She had not ceased to watch me from the moment I started. Tears unbidden filled my eyes, and with these came an appreciation of our home that I had never experienced before. The home had been humble, to be sure, but it was Christian. We had a family altar, from which the sweet incense of prayer ascended daily to God. I could truthfully say:
“Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow thee.”
A mile distant I joined, by a prearranged plan, Rev. G. W. Weekley, my uncle, and Rev. Isaac Davis, both of whom were also en route to their distant fields of toil.
At the end of the second day we reached Glady Fork, on Lewis Circuit, where my uncle lived. How weary after so long a ride! At that time my health was still so precarious, and my strength so limited, that I could not walk a hundred yards up grade without resting. To dismount from my horse, open and close a gate, and then get back into the saddle, exhausted me. Remaining over a few days with my uncle, I tried to preach on Sunday morning, but found myself exhausted at the end of twenty-four minutes. In a few days, however, I was sufficiently rested from my long ride to journey on to my own circuit, where I soon found the preacher in charge, and plans were discussed for the year’s work. This was historic ground. It was an old United Brethren field, having been traveled by Statton, Stickley, Warner, Hensley, and others, in the late fifties and early sixties, when it included twenty or more preaching-places, spread over portions of several counties.