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Chapter I · Twenty Years on Horseback; or, Itinerating in West Virginia

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Chapter one of twenty Years on Horseback or itinerating in West Virginia. This Liberlocks
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recording is in the public domain. Chapter one. The Virginias have turned out
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more United Brethren preachers, perhaps than any other section of the same size between
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the oceans. These pulpiteers have ranged in the scale of ability and efficiency from
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A to Z. Some achieved distinction in one way or another. Others,
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though faithful and useful, were little known beyond their conference borders. Nor have
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all remained among the mountains. Dozens and scores of them have gone out into
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other parts of the Church. At this writing they are to be found in
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no less than nineteen different conferences, and as a class they are not excelled
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by any in devotion to the church, in unremitting toil, and in spiritual
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fervor and downright enthusiasm. Some many who spent their lives in building up the
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zion of their choice among the Virginia Hills, have gone to glory. Among
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these heroes, I may mention J. Markwood, J. J. Glossbrenner,
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Z. Warner, J. Backtil, J. W. Perry,
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J. W. Howe, S. J. Graham, I. K.
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Staton, and J. W. HoTT other names, perhaps not so
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illustrious, but just as worthy, are to be found in God's unerring record.
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The historian will never tell all about them. Their labors, sacrifice,
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ices, and sufferings will never be portrayed by any human tongue, no matter
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how eloquent, or by any pen, however versatile and fruitful it may be.
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Footsore and weary, dust covered in battle scarred, they reached the end
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of their pilgrimage and heard Heavens well done. What a blessed legacy they bequeathed
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to their sons and daughters. In the Gospel, Old Virginia was in part
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the field chosen by Ottoline himself and by his devout collabor ers. This was
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more than a hundred years ago. In eighteen fifty eight the Parkersburg, now
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West Virginia Conference was organized. Has doubt of that part of the mother conference.
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Lying west of the Alleghanies, a territory three hundred miles long roughly speaking
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by two hundred in width. In its physical aspects, the country is exceedingly
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rough and difficult of travel. But the people, though mostly world in their
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customs and motive living, and many of them poor. So far as this
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world's goods are concerned, are warm hearted, genial, and hospitable. When
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a preacher goes to fill an appointment among mountaineers, he is not troubled with
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the thought that perhaps nobody will for him lodging or willingly share with him the
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bounties of his table. I found things different in the parts of the country.
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The New Conference was organized in Centerville in Tyler County by Bishop Glossbrenner in
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the month of March. Only a few ministers were present, but they were
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brave and good, ready to do, and, if need be, to
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die for their Lord. Five miles from this historic place, the writer was
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born on the eighteenth day of September eighteen fifty one. My parents, though
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poor, were honest and honorable, and toiled unceasingly to provide for and rear
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in respectability their ten children, of whom I was the oldest. The neighborhood
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was far above the average in its religious life and whirlworth. A man under
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the influence of liquor was seldom seen, and a profane word was hardly ever
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heard. The United Brethren Church was by far the leading domination in all that
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country. The old log Church in which we all worship stood on my father's
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farm, and our home was the stopping place, not only a preacher's,
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but of many others who attended divine service. At times, our house was
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so crowded that Mother was compelled to make beds on the floor for the family,
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and not unfrequently for others as well. But to her it was a
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great joy to perform such a ministry for the Gospel's sake. Her loving hands
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could always provide for others, no matter who they were or how many.
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For the third of a century, father was the Sunday school superintendent in the
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neighborhood, and for a longer period teacher of the juvenile class. Thus we
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saw little children pass up into their oldier classes and finally a manhood and womanhood.
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And when by and by their children came in and were given a place
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in Uncle Dan's class. At the age of fourteen, I was born the
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second time and united with the church. The occasion was a great revival held
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by Reverend S. J. Graham of Precious memory. Seeing my oldest sister
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Sarah bow at the altar greatly moved my young heart. A few moments later
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I observed Father coming back to the door and thinking perhaps he was wanting to
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speak to me on the subject of religion. I immediately left the house.
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My state of mind was awful. The next evening I saw a mother pressing
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her way toward me through the standing crowd. I knew what it meant and
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sat down with a hope of concealing myself from her. But how vain the
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effort. What child ever hid himself away from his mother's love. Putting her
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hand on my head, she said, William, won't you be a Christian?
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I made no reply, but said to myself, I can't stand this.
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I must do something. How her appeal, plaintive and tender, made
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me weep. It was really the first time she had ever come to me
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with such directness and warmth of heart. To this very moment, I can
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feel the touch of her hand and hear her loving appeal. The next day
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I talked with other boys who were with me in school and asked them to
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accompany me to the mourners bench, which they did. At that time,
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the class, though in the country, numbered one hundred and seventy souls.
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Three months later I was appointed one of its stewards, and with this office
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came my first experience in raising money for the church. The next year I
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was elected assistant class leader, and though young and inexperienced, I rendered the
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very best service I possibly could. My educational advantages up to this time had
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been only such as the common schools afforded, with the addition of a close
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application to study at the home fireside, aided by the historic pine torch and
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tallow candle. From the day of my conversion, I could not escape the
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thought of preaching. The duty of being a Christian was never set before me
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more forcibly and clearly than was the duty of preaching. But I hesitated.
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My ignorance and lack of fitness otherwise for such a high calling appeared as insurmountable
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barriers. I could not understand why God should pass by others better in heart
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and far more capable, and chose me. So the struggle went on.
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In the meantime, I began to read such books as I could secure.
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The Bible, Smith's Bible Dictionary, and Dick's Works constituted my library. The
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last named was rather heavy for a lad only in his teens, but I
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rather enjoyed such studies. The first book I ever purchased was Religious Emblems which
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proved exceedingly helpful to my young life. When seventeen, I preached my first
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sermon, or perhaps I should say, made my first public effort. It
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was in an old log church on Little Flint Run in Doddridge County. Brother
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Christopher Davis, a local preacher, was holding a meeting, and at the
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close of the morning services, announced that I would preach at night. What
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a day that was to me. How I tried to think and pray.
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When I reached the church I found it full, with many standing in the
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aisles about the door. I felt so unprepared, so utterly helpless, that
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I immediately retired to a secret place, where I again besought the Lord for
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help. Returning, I started in with the preliminaries, but was badly scared.
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No man can describe his feelings under such circumstances. Many a preacher who
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scans these pages will appreciate my situation. I spend a good part of the
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first fifteen minutes mopping my face. I seem to be in a sweatbox.
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But by the time I reached my sermon or whatever it might be called,
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the embarrassment was all gone. I still remember the text, and I will
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bring you into the land concerning the which I did swear to give it to
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Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob, and I will give it to you
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for a heritage I am the Lord. It was immense, but the most
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of young preachers begin just that way. And this distance from the occasion,
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I do not recall anything I said, and I'm glad I cannot. However,
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there was one redeeming feature about the effort, and that was its brevity.
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In twenty minutes, I had told all I knew, and perhaps more.
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I have never been able to understand why the people listened so patiently.
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They really seemed to be interested. But why or in what I have never
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known. I have not tried that text since, and I do not think
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I ever shall. It is too profound to even think of as the basis
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of a discourse to common people. Doctor J. L. Hensley, when
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pastor of Middle Island's Circuit early in the sixties, had a somewhat singular experience
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in this same log church. While preaching one Sabbath morning in Midsummer from the
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text The Seed of the Woman Shall bruise the Serpent's head. The people at
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his left suddenly became excited and looking around quickly for the cause, he observed
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a snake about two feet long crawling in the crevice of the wall near the
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pulpit. Reaching for his hickory cane, which he always carried, he dealt
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the wily creature a blow which brought it tumbling to the floor, remarking at
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the same time, the seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head.
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Thus, in the midst of his discourse he was furnished an illustration which made
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a profound impression upon his hearers and aided greatly in bringing the truth home to
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their hearts. The presiding Elder, Revernesue J. Graham, my spiritual father,
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by authority of a quarterly conference held at the Long Run Appointment October twenty
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third, eighteen sixty nine, gave me a permit to exercise in public for
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three months. Shortly after this, I was prostated with lung fever, which
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soon developed the most alarming aspects. Though the ailment was out generaled, the
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process of recovery was slow. In fact, one of my lungs was so
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impaired that consumption was feared. A noted physician, after carefully diagnosing my case,
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frankly told me that nothing could be done for my lung, but I
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did not believe a word he told me. I had decided that I would
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make preaching my life work, and believed that God would give me a chance
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to try it. I might be noted here that ten years later this same
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doctor was in his grave, while I was a better specimen of physical manhood
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than he ever was. Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in
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him, and he shall bring it to pass. What will he bring to
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pass? The right thing and in the right way. Such has been my
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observation and experience in all the years that have come and gone since the hand
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of affliction was so keenly felt. December twenty fifth, eighteen sixty nine,
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I was granted quarterly conference license in a regular way and attended the annual conference
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which met in Hartford City, Mason County, the following March. Much of
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the time while I was there, I was not able to walk from my
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stopping place to the church, though not a half dozen blocks distant. Some
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of the brethren feared that I would not live to get back home again,
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but I wanted a circuit with that end in view. I had gone to
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conference and no amount of persuasion could turn me aside from the one great purpose
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that had taken complete possession of my soul. I was entering the work with
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a full knowledge of what it meant. I had heard the brethren talk of
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their privations and abundant laborers, and as well of their victories and joy of
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heart. The report of the year then closing was most suggestive. The eighteen
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fields of the conference contained one hundred and seventy seven preaching places and had paid
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twenty four men a little less than one hundred and forty dollars each upon an
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average, not counting the outside gifts. West Columbia Circuit paid its two pastors,
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Reverence W. B. Hodge and I. AM Underwood, four hundred
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dollars. The next highest was three hundred and thirty nine dollars in nineteen cents,
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and was paid the brace of pastors who served the Glenville Charge, Reverence
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WW. Nipple and Elias Bernard. The next highest was three hundred and thirty
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nine dollars and was paid the brace of pastors who served the Glenville Charge,
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reverends WW. Nipple and Elias Barnard. The other sixteen pastorates ranged from two
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hundred and sixteen dollars and fifteen cents down to thirty five dollars, the last
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named amount having been received by Reverend J. W. Bogis on Hessville Mission.
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The Parkersburg District paid Elder Graham two hundred and twenty seven dollars and eighty
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seven cents, while West Columbia District only reached one hundred and fifty two dollars
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and eighty five cents for its superintendent, Reverend J. W. Perry.
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To the support of each of the districts, however, the parent Missionary Board
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added one hundred dollars. When the station and Committee reported, my name was
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read out as the junior preacher for Philippe a circuit with Reverend A. L.
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Moore, or Pastor in charge. This appointment was given, as more
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than one assured me in later years, simply to satisfy my mind. No
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one expected me to go to it, as the field already had a man,
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My failure to reach it would make no difference in any way. Returning
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home, I told Father what had been done, and that I must have
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the necessary outfit for a circuit rider, namely a horse, a saddle and
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bridle, and a pair of saddle bags. No matter what else a man
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had or did not have in those days, these things were essential to efficiency
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among the mountains of West Virginia. At once I began preparations for leaving home.
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Mother was thoughtful enough to make me a pair of leggings which buttoned up
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the sides and reached above the knees. No one article made his hands ever
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more valuable to a Virginia tenerant than leggings. Philippe's circuit was seventy five miles
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distant among the mountains, and would require, owing to the bad roads,
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two and a half days of hard travel on horseback to reach it At the
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appointed time. April eleventh, eighteen seventy. Early in the morning, I
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rode out of the old lane and up the hillside. All I had of
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earthly possessions was in my saddle bags. One end contained my library, Bible,
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hymn book, Smith's Vital Dictionary, buy Any's Theological Compound, religious emblems,
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and one volume of Watson's Institutes, while in the other was stored my
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wardrobe, scant and plain. When far up on the side of the hill,
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I looked back, and I saw a mother standing on the porch.
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She had not ceased to watch me. From the moment I started. Tears
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unbidden filled my eyes, and with these came an appreciation of our home that
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I had never experienced before. The home had been humble, to be sure,
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but it was Christian. We had a family altar from which the sweet
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incense of prayer ascended daily To God. I could truthfully say, Jesus,
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I my cross have taken all to leave and follow thee a mile distant.
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I joined by a prearranged plan Reverend G. W Weekly, my uncle,
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and Reverend Isaac Davis, both of whom were also en route to their distant
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fields of toil. At the end of the second day, we reached Glady
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fo On Lewis Circuit, where my uncle lived. How weary after so long
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a ride. At the time, my health was still so precarious and my
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strength so limited that I could not walk a hundred yards upgrade without resting to
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dismount from my horse, open and close a gate, and then get back
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into the saddle, exhausted me. Remaining over a few days with my uncle,
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I tried to preach on Sunday morning, but found myself exhausted. At
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the end of twenty four minutes in a few days. However, I was
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sufficiently wrested from my long ride to journey on to my own circuit, where
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I soon found the preacher in charge, and plans were discussed for the year's
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work. This was historic ground. It was an old United Brethren field,
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having been traveled by Staton, Stickley, Warner Hensley and others in the late
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fifties and early sixties, when it included twenty or more preaching places spread over
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portions of several counties. End of Chapter one