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Virginia After the War. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THREE YEARS' EXPERIENCE IN REORGANIZING THE 
 
 METHODIST 
 EPISCOPAL CHURCH 
 
 IN VIRGINIA 
 
 fl' 
 
 Close of the Civil War. 
 
 X 
 
 By rev. S. L. M.CONSER. 
 
 ''- ~.Hli^G' 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS : 
 
 Bakek- Randolph Litho. & Knc-. Co. 
 
 1S91. 
 
Entered acKording to Act of Congress. Jnly. 1S91, 
 
 By Rev. 5. L. M. COXSER. 
 
 In the office cf the Librarian of Congress at Washington. D. C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter I To Virginia. 
 
 Chapter II Manassas. 
 
 Chapter III At Mr. M 's House. 
 
 Chapter TV Wesley Chapel. 
 
 Chapter V The White Church. 
 
 Chapter VI Eccentric Genius. 
 
 Chapter VII Domestic Life. 
 
 Chapter VIII Discouraged. 
 
 Chapter IX Staunton. 
 
 Chapter X Emma. 
 
 Chapter XI Uphill Work. 
 
 Chapter XII -Tobe."' 
 
 Chapter XIII Personal Devils. 
 
 Chapter XIV A Severe Test. 
 
 Chapter X^' A Snake Stor^-. 
 
 Chapter X\'I Fairfax. 
 
 Chapter XVII •• Bom of Water." 
 
 Chapter XVIII Army Reminiscenses. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The following narrative was written at the repeated re- 
 quest of friends. 
 
 The events detailed occurred more than twenty years 
 ago, and, as I kept no notes at the time, I have been 
 obliged to write from memor5^ As some of the persons 
 referred to are still living, I have thought it best to use 
 fictitious initials. 
 
 I was born in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, June 6, 1812. 
 My father, John G. Conser — for many years a magistrate 
 and an honored man in the communit}^ — was the only son 
 of Henry Conser, one of the founders of Lewisburg. 
 Henry Conser, my grandfather, was of Greek descent. 
 But he and mj- father both died long before I could re- 
 member, and all I could learn of our Greek ancestor was 
 that he lived somewhere along the Grecian archipelago, 
 that he was captured by the English in a fight on the 
 Mediterranean sea, and was taken to England, whence he 
 migrated to this country early in the eighteenth century. 
 
 I was educated at Dickinson College, Carlisle, where I 
 graduated in 1839. In 1840 I entered the Baltimore Con- 
 ference, filling, during my itinerancy, appointments in Balti- 
 more ; also, a number of appointments in Pennsylvania and 
 in Virginia. 
 
 The first two years of the Rebellion I served as chaplain 
 of the Fifth Pennsylvania Reserve Corps. Afterwards I 
 filled appointments at Duncannon and Gettysburg, then 
 went to Virginia, where occurred the events recorded in the 
 following pages. 
 
 At the close of my term in Virginia I retired from the 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 active ministry, having spent nearly thirty years in the 
 service of my beloved Church. 
 
 I do not want to convey an impression that my life in 
 Virginia was a series of hardships. On the contrary, I feel 
 that God has always been good to me ; and I have written 
 this little book as an expression of gratitude, and with the 
 hope that it may not only interest but spiritually benefit 
 some of its readers. 
 
 S. ly. M. CONSER. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 TO VIRGINIA. 
 
 "Good morning, Bishop." 
 
 "This is Brother — 'umph — I can not repeat your name, 
 although I remember your remarks about lay delegation 
 yesterday," replied the Bishop, with a pleasant smile, as he 
 motioned me to a chair. It was the year 1866, and the 
 Baltimore Conference, of which I was a member, was hold- 
 ing its annual session. 
 
 "Bro. Conser," I explained. 
 
 "Yes, yes; now I remember." 
 
 " Bishop," I continued, " I have not called on you to solicit 
 a good appointment, as so manj' do, but rather to relieve 
 you of one hard case. I have made up my mind to go to 
 our Southern work." 
 
 "Why, Bro. Conser," replied the Bishop, somewhat sur- 
 prised, "your appointment is already fixed, but I am really 
 glad that you want to go South, as we are much in want of 
 men for that field. Have you made any selection?" 
 
 "None at all. Bishop. I submit my appointment entirelv 
 into your hands." 
 
 "How would you like to go to Virginia?" 
 
 "Bishop, I would like to go to the hottest place in the 
 South. I am not afraid ; I helped to whip them, and now 
 I want to help to raise them up." 
 
 "Bro. Conser, you will find it hot enough in Virginia, but 
 I will transfer you to Bishop Scott, who has charge of that 
 work." 
 
« VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 And so I reported to Bishop Scott, who referred me to 
 Rev. E. P. Phelps as my Presiding Elder. I was intimately 
 acquainted with E. P. Phelps. We met in Baltimore and 
 arranged that I should go to Southern Virginia, make my 
 headquarters somewhere along the James river, and re- 
 organize as best I could the old Methodist Episcopal 
 Church. 
 
 After locating my family in Baltimore, I started for my 
 hazardous field of labor. The first night of my journey I 
 spent in Washington, or, rather, what was left of Washing- 
 ton City at the close of the war. Before the war Washing- 
 ton was little better than a scattered group of villages, 
 almost swamped in mud in winter and smothered in dust 
 in summer. During the war many of its inhabitants had 
 gone South, where their sympathies were, and many houses 
 had been abandoned to the chances of war; the remaining 
 population seemed surly, and I was glad to get away from 
 the place. I had camped at Tenallytown, or Georgetown 
 Heights, and Arlington, from August, 1861, to March, 1862, 
 during which time I was much in the city, and had seen all 
 that was worth seeing in the shabby capital of the United 
 States; so I cared not to spend anytime there on this occa- 
 sion. As soon as the train was ready we moved towards 
 Alexandria, on the Virginia side of the Potomac. In look- 
 ing upon that river I was reminded of a ludicrous incident 
 that occurred while we were encamped at Arlington in 
 1S62. I had occasion to go to Washington one day, and in 
 order to get through the guards at the chain bridge I must 
 use the pass-word. The pass-word that day was "Poto- 
 mac." When I reached the bridge the guard demanded 
 the countersign. I very politely whispered in his ear "Po- 
 tomac," and was about to hasten on. "No, sir, no!" was 
 the gruff reply of the Irish sentinel, and his grim-looking 
 musket caused me to halt. 
 
TO VIRGINIA. 9 
 
 "Where is your corporal?" I inquired. "Will you call for 
 him ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly," he replied, and soon the militar}- official put 
 in an appearance. 
 
 "What is wrong? " inquired the sergeant. 
 
 " This fellow," said Pat, " hasn't the pass-word." 
 
 " Yes I have," said I. 
 
 The sergeant called me aside and inquired who I was, 
 and the countersign, and after hearing my repl3^ he re- 
 marked, " All right ! " 
 
 He then stepped up to the guard and said, " What is the 
 countersign?" On hearing Pat's reply, he exclaimed, 
 " Buttermilk ! Who in the name of heaven gave you that 
 for a pass-word?" Pat answered that Fritz Crumacher, 
 his predecessor, had so informed him. Fritz was at once 
 summoned, and when he was asked for the countersign, re- 
 sponded in his Teutonic style, " Pot — o — mac," accenting 
 the first part of the word broadly ; the mystery was solved. 
 Nobod}^ was wrong but Pat, and I passed peacefully on mj' 
 way. 
 
 And now we are in Alexandria. This cit}' is situated on 
 a beautiful plateau on the west bank of the Potomac river. 
 It is regularh^ laid out ; its wide .streets running east, west, 
 north and south. Its buildings are antique, and its citizens 
 conservative. Originally, it was in the District of Colum- 
 bia, but now it is the capital of Alexandria count}-, Vir- 
 ginia. It is a dilapidated town — no manufactories, no 
 commerce, no enterprise. How the 8,000 or 10,000 inhabit- 
 ants manage to live is a mystery. The country round 
 about is in keeping with the town. Denuded of its original 
 forests, it presents a most forlorn and desolate appearance. 
 
 The only life in the picture is a farmer in "butternut" 
 coat and broad-brimmed hat, with long hair and a frizzly 
 
10 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 red beard, who " totes " along the road to town with a load 
 of wood amounting to, possibl}', a quarter of a cord, 
 mounted on a rickety vehicle drawn by a steer. The pro- 
 ceeds of this cargo may reach $1.37^^, with which wealth 
 the yeoman purchases some coffee, sugar, nails, etc. Then, 
 after exhausting his cash in paying for his last drink, he 
 starts home with an emptj' pocket but a contented mind. 
 
 The next week witnesses the same routine, and so 
 month after month, and year after year. Many of the in- 
 habitants of this part of Virginia live about as happil}-, and 
 much in the condition of their four-footed neighbors of the 
 woods. Paul's admonition to Timothy is practically ob- 
 served here, " Having bread and raiment let us be con- 
 tent." 
 
 Chickens and turkeys thrive and grow fat on grasshop- 
 pers and tobacco worms. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MANASSAS. 
 
 At Alexandria I took the Orano^e Railroad for Manassas 
 — famous for the disastrous battle of Bull Run. Bull 
 Run is a small stream conducting the waste water of 
 this sterile country along its sleepy way to the Potomac. 
 The vegetation, although sparse and scanty in this section, 
 was sufficient to mercifully hide all traces of the dreadful 
 battle. But the Northern men on the train were anxious 
 to see Manassas. "Where is Manassas, Uncle? " inquired 
 one of a grizzly old negro, when the train halted. "Lor, 
 Massy, you're in Massus now," he replied. We looked 
 around and saw a tavern, a small store and a blacksmith 
 shop ! And this was Manassas. 
 
 " Anything to drink here, landlord? " said another, step- 
 ping up on the platform. 
 
 " Plenty, plenty," was the answer. 
 
 " Well, let's have a glass of wine." 
 
 "Have no wine, sir." 
 
 " Well, what have you to drink ; whisky, brandy? " 
 
 "No, sir. Have plenty of apple-jack." 
 
 " Well, that's all you do have, I suppose. Let's have 
 some," demanded the thirst}- traveler. 
 
 The decanter is brought out and all are invited to par- 
 take, but no one appears to relish the precious beverage. 
 The dime is tossed on the counter, the conductor shouts 
 
12 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 ''All aboard ! " and away we roll through a dismal country 
 toward Gordonsville. The army-worm had left its trail 
 over the impoverished country. The people, if ever there 
 had been any, had left it. But few shanties and still fewer 
 houses could be seen, and these were for the most part oc- 
 cupied b)^ ex-slaves, and were rudely furnished with super- 
 annuated camp utensils. Dogs and chickens were occasion- 
 ally seen, but no cattle. All fences were gone and all 
 landmarks eliminated. How a whip-poor-will could live in 
 that country was a mj^stery. A few buzzards soared 
 around, subsisting on the remains of defunct army horses. 
 
 A serious question arose in ni}^ mind: " Was such a for- 
 lorn country worth fighting for f " 
 
 From Gordonsville — a town of about two hundred inhab- 
 itants — we continued our journey to Charlottesville. The 
 country here assumes a different and improved aspect. 
 White people make their appearance, and agriculture re- 
 ceives some attention. Incipient or diminutive mountains 
 begin to appear, and beautiful field flowers are abundant. 
 Few men not railroad employes, and still fewer women, are 
 to be seen, and those who were visible appeared surly and 
 sad. The virus of treason and the mortification of militarj- 
 defeat had cast a wet blanket of sorrow and sadness over 
 all. The countr}" looked not unlike a desolated countr}' 
 graveyard, a^d the people not unlike the sad spectres flit- 
 ting among the tombs. I almost thought I could realize 
 the solemn emotions of the immortal Watts when he 
 indited his famous funeral dirge, "Hark! from the tombs 
 a doleful sound." 
 
 But such are the results of war. I could think onl}^ of 
 Julius Caesar's comment, when, looking on his slain coun- 
 trymen, he sadl}' remarked, "They would have it so." 
 
 The cup of sorrow this people mixed for others was put 
 to their own lips. 
 
MANASSAS. 13 
 
 Charlottesville is quite a flourishing town — the capital of 
 Albemarle county. This place approaches the mountains 
 and is somewhat removed from the plains of Tuckahos. 
 There is something in mountain air that inspires a thirst 
 for freedom. The Highlanders of Scotland and the Albi- 
 genses of France, long resisted the thralldom of royalty, 
 as did the mountaineers of West Virginia, Kentucky and 
 Tennessee the folly of secession. It was in the uplands 
 and mountains of the South that first was sung with good 
 will, 
 
 " The Star Spangled Banner, long may it wave. 
 O'er the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave." 
 
 But away we go, over the valleys and mountains to 
 Staunton, in Augusta county, Virginia. Staunton, a well 
 built town, is located in the famous Cumberland valley, the 
 most productive, and the wealthiest section on the Atlantic 
 coast. 
 
 In Staunton I met my Presiding Elder, who had, with 
 great difficulty — so bitter was the feeling towards all North- 
 ern people — procured a home for the use of his family. 
 Though a Virginian by birth and education, yet simply 
 because of his loyalty, he was shunned as a Syrian leper, 
 and his family might as well have lived in the desert of 
 Sahara as on the principal street of the town, as far as any 
 social recognition was concerned. 
 
 The house he had succeeded in renting had only four 
 rooms, with the kitchen in the cellar. 
 
 In Staunton, also, though nature bloomed, nature's chil- 
 dren mourned. The dark pall of treason cast dark shad- 
 ows all around. Alas ! the " lost cause ! ! " Alas ! Alas ! ! 
 Treason's dark flag was furled, nor dare to flaunt its venom 
 
14 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 -where the stars and stripes triumphantly floated ; and well 
 might the deluded dupes sing 
 
 " The warrior's flag departs, to meet the warrior's soul." 
 
 But I could not stay long in Staunton. My charge was 
 to be Jackson River Station. I was told to make my way to 
 
 the home of Bro. G , who was a loyal man and a true 
 
 Methodist. Said Phelps — " Bro. G will give yow valu- 
 able information in reference to your work, and when you 
 get into trouble let me know. Meantime I will keep Sec- 
 retary Stanton advised as to our treatment by the ' secesh.' 
 Good-bye !" and with these re-assuring words he left me. 
 
 I jumped aboard tlie train and away we sped. The rail- 
 road made some strange and, to my thought, very unneces- 
 sary turns ; but I was informed that the road was thus lo- 
 cated to please one of the stockholders, and of course the 
 explanation was satisfactory. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT MR. M 'S HOME. 
 
 When Jackson River Station was reached I left the train 
 to continue my journey on foot. It was night. Where 
 should I go? Years before, in the earlj- days of my itiner- 
 ancy, I had traveled through this same section of countrj', 
 and I tried now to bring to mind the names and residences 
 of my friends of former days. It was quite possible that 
 some of them might still be living in this vicinity. I 
 
 thought of Mr. M , whose home, as I recollected, used 
 
 to be near this place. A colored uncle happened to pass 
 just at this moment and I hailed him. "Uncle, where does 
 
 Mr. M live?" Somewhat to my surprise, but greatly 
 
 to my jo}^ he replied that he lived "jus' up dar." "Up 
 where?" 
 
 " Dat his place jus' dar. Jus' gwang up de trac' an' tote 
 to de right dar," he answered. 
 
 Up the track I "toted" in the fast-increasing darkness. 
 But I missed ni}* way, got entangled in the bushes, then 
 retraced my steps to the railroad track, fell into a cow-trap, 
 crawled out and scraped off the mud, heard the dogs bark, 
 and following the sound reached a house. I rapped, the 
 door opened, and I inquired for Mr. M . I was re- 
 quested to walk in, and I gladly obe^^ed. 
 
 "And who are jouV inquired Mr. M . "No matter 
 
 who I am, I want my supper and a bed to sleep in. Betty, 
 
16 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 is my room ready?" I added, turning towards the girl who 
 had admitted me. 
 
 "I'm not Betty," answered the astonished maid. 
 
 "Well, you used to be," I retorted. 
 
 "Did you know Betty? Why, Betty done dead long 
 ago," said Mr. M , eyeing me curiously. 
 
 "Where is George?" I continued, not appearing to notice 
 his growing curiosity. 
 
 "George lives in Kansas," he replied, drawing nearer to 
 me, " and was in the Yankee army and fought for the 
 Norths This last in a tone implying he could scarcely 
 impart news that would show George up in a more dread- 
 ful light. Fought for the North ! 
 
 "Pap," said I, familiarly, putting down my carpet-bag 
 and helping myself to a chair, " I think you are mistaken. 
 I was in what you rebels called the Yankee army, and I 
 ought to know something about it. We did not fight for 
 the North; we fought for the Union. You "rebs" wanted 
 to go out of the Union, and we "Yanks" fought to keep 
 you in, and we whipped you, too." 
 
 "Are you a 'Yank'?" he asked, astonished at my bold 
 woAis. 
 
 " I suppose that is what you would call me," I quietly 
 replied, at the same time taking a covert look around to 
 see what indications there were of supper. 
 
 " Well, are you ashamed of it?" said he, on hearing ni}^ 
 admission of guilt. 
 
 " No sir, no !" I retorted. " I am not. My old friend, do 
 you reall}^ think that I could ever be ashamed of the 
 country my grandfather helped to make in the revolution? " 
 
 " Why, was your grandfather in the revolution," he 
 exclaimed, edging his chair around so as to get a better 
 view of my face. 
 
AT iMR. M '5 HOME. IT 
 
 " My grandfather was a soldier in the Revohitionary 
 War, and was fatally wounded in the battle of Brandj-wine. 
 M}^ father was a lieutenant in the war of 1812 when I was 
 born, and I was a chaplain in the late war," I replied with 
 some pride at the military record of my family. 
 
 " Who in thunder are you anj^-waj'?" he blurted out. 
 
 " Never mind. I want my supper," said I, as a feeling of 
 " goneness " began once more to assert itself. 
 
 Just then the tea-bell sounded. 
 
 " There," said he, " supper is read}' now. Come out an^. 
 have some." And I gladly followed him to the table. 
 
 " Mr. M ," I said when we were seated, will 3'ou allow 
 
 me to sa}' " grace " before we eat?" • 
 
 "Why, yes. But I would like to know who you are." 
 
 " Well, I'm no rebel, that's certain. Another thing 
 equally certain, I'm hungry." 
 
 " Saj' prayers," was his answer. 
 
 And then with serious earnestness I prayed. " Great 
 God look kindl)' upon this famil}- and bless them ! Bring 
 them penitently back to the country from which they have 
 strayed, and the Church from which the}' have wandered. 
 Bless us all and save us all, for Christ's sake. Amen !" 
 
 " I wonder you are not afraid to talk so and pray that 
 
 way in this country," said Mr. M. , after a brief pause 
 
 during which he piled my plate with the plain food spread 
 before us. 
 
 "When I am in the right I am afraid of no man," I an- 
 .swered quietly. 
 
 " In the right ! Don't you think ive were in the right, 
 too?" 
 
 "No, sir; no! You were all wrong, and all the time 
 wrong." 
 
 "And so were you," he retorted. 
 2 
 
18 \-IRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " No, no. We were right, all right, and all the time 
 right, and you know it," was my rejoinder, as I passed up 
 ni)' cup to be refilled. 
 
 " You're no Yankee," he exclaimed, " or Yankees are not 
 all alike. There's a Yankee down at the saw-mill and he 
 doesn't talk like you do. But please tell us your name." 
 
 " Pap, I think I know his name," spoke up one of the 
 children. "Ain't you Mr. Phelps? " turning towards me. 
 
 " What, E. P. Phelps? " I asked. 
 
 " I mean the old Presiding Elder. He has turned to be 
 a great Yankee," answered the girl. 
 
 " Why, he's a native born Virginian," I remarked. 
 
 " Well, but he went with the North," she persisted. 
 
 " When you say he ' went with the North ' I suppose 
 you mean he remained loyal to the Church and State," I 
 replied. 
 
 " }^ou would call it so," was the answer. 
 
 " And that is the right wa}- to call it," I continued. 
 " Hence we loyal folks call j'-ou 'rebs,' 'traitors.' " 
 
 " Oh, do not use that word, it is so offensive," spoke up 
 Mr. M . 
 
 "And whose fault is it? You were once a 'Squire. 
 Please define treason." 
 
 " Oh, I know what the Constitution says, but please do 
 not accuse ns of treason," he returned, moving uneasily in 
 his chair. 
 
 " Then please do not be guilty of it." 
 
 " But do tell us what is your name," said Mr. M., as we 
 arose from the table and walked into the sitting-room. 
 
 " Whether I tell you my name or not, I can easily tell 
 you what I am, I'm sleepy," I returned, hiding a great 
 yawn. 
 
 "Tommy," turning to one of his boys, "show this 
 
AT MR. M '5 HOME. 19 
 
 stranger to his room. Good-night," and he went out 
 abruptly without forcing me to reveal m}- identity. 
 
 When I came down in the morning at the call of the 
 
 breakfast bell I said, " Mr. M , ma}- we have famil}^ 
 
 prayers before breakfast?" 
 
 "Not unless 5^ou tell us your name," he answered with a 
 determined air. "You talk so much like a young preacher 
 who used to stop here many j-ears ago by the name of 
 ' Conser,' but I believe he is dead." 
 
 "Did 3'ou know Conser?" I queried y<\W\ some interest. 
 "He was a singular genius." 
 
 "Yes, but he was honest," replied ISIr. J\I , with 
 
 fervor. 
 
 " While he preached here I sold a gal, and he said I did 
 wrong, and I was ashamed of myself, and I regretted it 
 and have ever since. I know slavery was wrong." 
 
 " I think that man Conser is still living," I remarked. 
 
 " I'll bet if he's still living that he is no 'secesh,' " he 
 returned promptly. 
 
 " I think he was in the Union army," I said. 
 
 " Why, did Methodist preachers go in the arm}- ? " 
 
 " He, I think, went as a chaplain," I replied. 
 
 "Was he killed?" 
 
 " He was wounded and ver}- sick, but I believe he 
 escaped with his life." 
 
 " Is he still preaching?" he asked without any apparent 
 suspicion of my identity. " Oh but I would like to see 
 him, he was quite a favorite with mother. She always 
 called him ' honest Conser,' and my son was converted 
 under his preaching." 
 
 " Was he opposed to slavery ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; that was all the people had against him." 
 
 " I suppose he was too honest for the people," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
20 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " Yes, on that pint he was, but still they liked him. Do 
 you know him? " he added looking more closely at me. 
 
 " Oh yes, I have known him for years. We Methodist 
 preachers all know each other." 
 
 " Did you say he was still living ? " 
 
 " I do say so." 
 
 "Well, do you know where he is ?" a suspicion of the truth 
 beginning to dawn upon his mind. "Yes," I said smiling 
 and extending my hand, "he is now talking to his old friend." 
 A hearty shake followed. We chatted pleasantly during 
 our morning meal, of old times and old friends, and then 
 bidding my host good-by and thanking him for his hospi- 
 tality to a "stranger," I began what proved to be a long and 
 dreary walk in search of another old friend, Bro. Circle. 
 
 The Jackson river meanders through the Alleghany mount- 
 ains and enters the James at Buchanan. It is a dreary 
 section of country, with roads that reminded me of the 
 closing lines of that stanza written by Watts : 
 
 "Broad is the road that leads to death, 
 And many walk together there ; 
 But wisdom shows a narrow path, 
 With here and there a traveler." 
 
 At length I reached Bro. Circle's place. The hotise 
 looked just as of yore, with its vine-covered piazza and 
 front 3^ard full of flowering shrubs — cape jessamines — I 
 think they call them. I noticed the old lady standing in 
 the doorwa^^ I approached and saluting her, inquired, 
 " Can an old Methodist preacher find entertainment here 
 to-night?" 
 
 " I dunno. Go in an' ask the old man," she replied in- 
 differently. I entered. 
 
 " This is Bro. Circle, I believe." 
 
AT MR. M '5 HOME. ' 21 
 
 "Yes, yes; but who are you?" he inquired, with some 
 surprise. 
 
 "I? Why I am an old Methodist preacher." 
 
 " Which side do you belong to? " he demanded. 
 
 " Bro. Circle, I belong to the right side, as I always did.' 
 
 Almost instinctively he replied, "You belong to the old 
 side," conscious that the old side was the right side. 
 "But," he continued, "we have all left the old Church." 
 
 "And you did very wrong, and your children may find it 
 so when you are dead." 
 
 "What is your name?" he inquired. 
 
 "My name is Conser." 
 
 "What! the Conser that used to preach on this Circuit?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; I am that very Conser." 
 
 "Why, why, Bro. Conser, is it possible?" And he shook 
 my hand long and earnestly. 
 
 "Bro. Circle," I finally said, "can I find entertainment 
 here to-night? I can pay for my accommodations." 
 
 "Bro. Conser, you sit down. You're not going away 
 to-night;" and he called to the old lady to come and see 
 an old friend. 
 
 A good supper of "johnny cake," sausage and milk re- 
 vived my weary frame, and we returned to the sitting-room 
 to chat a little longer. 
 
 "But what are you going to do down here?" Bro. C 
 
 inquired. 
 
 " I am going to tr}' to reorganize the old Methodist 
 Episcopal Church in this country." 
 
 "But we're all going to the Church South," he returned. 
 
 "So much the worse for yo^x, and now^ is your time to 
 come back." 
 
 "How can we while that new chapter is in your disci- 
 pline?" 
 
 "What new chapter?" 
 
22 IIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 "Wh}', the chapter that frees all our slaves." 
 
 "There is no such chapter in the discipline," I replied 
 in astonishment. 
 
 "Oh! yes, there is." 
 
 " Did you ever see it?" 
 
 "No; but I heard one preacher talk of it." 
 
 "Did you ever hear your preacher read it?" 
 
 "No; but I heard them talk of it often." 
 
 "So 3-ou never read it, nor heard it read? I would ad- 
 vise you to read it for yourself, and then you will know 
 the real truth of the matter. But enough of this. I want 
 to know about your children and the folks in the neigh- 
 borhood. What has become of Stephe?" 
 
 "Stephe? Oh! he lives in West Virginia. And, Bro. 
 Conser, what do you think? Stephe is a black Republican! 
 But he is rich," he added by way of apology, or in extenu- 
 ation of Stephe's disreputable political condition. 
 
 "Is he still religious?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes; he seems to be, and he still holds on to the old 
 Church." 
 
 "Good for Stephe!" I said. "I only wish you all had 
 
 done as he did. Are any of the B 's living yet?" I 
 
 added. 
 
 "Well, yes. You remember Walter? Well, he went 
 into the army, and, they say, deserted. His mother went 
 crazy, and the old man killed himself, and all the family are 
 scattered 'round. A Yankee has got the old place, and 
 cheated the heirs out of their share of the money." 
 
 And so we chatted on of old times and friends and of 
 the great changes the terrible war had wrought, until it 
 was time to retire for the night. In the morning, as I was 
 taking leave, I offered to pay my host for his kindness in 
 ni}' entertainment, but he would not listen to such a propo- 
 
AT MR. M 'S HOME. 26 
 
 sition. I thanked hira, and then waited for his parting in- 
 structions. 
 
 "Go right down the road there to Mr. R 's and tell 
 
 him you want dinner, and to charge it to me. He is a ' se- 
 cesh,' and be careful you don't quarrel." 
 
 And so I trudged along down the road, such as it was, 
 
 until I arrived at Mr. R 's, where I received a good 
 
 dinner without any difficulty and without indulging in an}' 
 unnecessary flow of language. The "secesh," learning of 
 my destination, kindly furnished me with a horse and a 
 mounted escort in the person of his son. In such fine and 
 comfortable style I pursued my journe\' several miles, until 
 
 we reached my objective point — the home of Bro. G . 
 
 Here I met with sincere friends, and eventually made this 
 home my headquarters. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WESLEY CHAPEL. 
 
 Brother G owned a mill and a store and an immense 
 
 tract of land, and he exerted considerable influence in the 
 community in which he lived. A man's influence in Vir- 
 ginia is measured more by the length of his purse than by 
 
 his worth. In Mr. G 's case, however, both these 
 
 requisites were happily united. 
 
 " I suppose you will preach for us on Sunday," said my 
 friends after they had offered me bodilj^ refreshments and 
 learned from me the object of my coming. 
 
 "Well, yes," I replied, " if there will be a congregation 
 to preach to." 
 
 " You shall have a congregation. We have a class in the 
 morning, so you had better preach in the evening, at three 
 o'clock." 
 
 I agreed, and on going to the church at the time 
 appointed, found it full. We had a good service and at the 
 close I announced preaching for next Sunday at ten o'clock 
 A. M. With the next Sunday came crowds, some to hear, 
 others merely to see the " Yankee Preacher," and I was 
 requested to make an appointment for Piny Grove, several 
 miles to the south. Soon after this I was waited upon by 
 
 Dr. J , who inquired whether I had authorized an 
 
 appointment to preach at Piny Grove. I said I had. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Conser," continued the Doctor, " I am author- 
 
WESLEY CHAPEL. 25 
 
 ized by the people of that neighborhood to request you not to 
 come. We held a meeting and concluded now that the 
 war was over, that your preaching would only stir up 
 strife and might make trouble, and as they had a preacher 
 of their own at Piny Grove, it would be better for the 
 peace of the community if you did not come." 
 
 " Please tell your constituents," I returned with some 
 asperity, "that the 'Yankee Preacher' knows his own 
 business and will attend to it." 
 " And you intend to come ?" 
 
 " In the name of the Lord, and under the protection of 
 my country's flag I expect to." 
 
 "Well, I'm afraid it will make trouble." 
 " All right, /'// make no trouble. I'm a loyal and law- 
 abiding cifizen of the U. S., and the U. S. can, and will 
 protect me. I'll attend to my duty as directed by my 
 Church." 
 
 " What Church do you represent ? " he asked. 
 " I am sent here to organize the M. E. Church." 
 " You mean the Church North," he interposed. 
 " No, sir, I do not. I mean just what I say, the Metho- 
 dist Episcopal Church." 
 
 "But, Mr. Conser, you know that in 1844 the M. E. 
 Church was divided into the Church North, and the Church 
 South ? " 
 
 "No, Doctor, I know no such thing. I know that a 
 parcel of slave-holders and slavery advocates seceded and 
 ■organized a bogus church of their own, and called it the 
 M. K. Church South," I replied, emphasizing my words. 
 
 "Well," said he, seeing it was useless to attempt to 
 •change my purpose, " I suppose you are the right man to 
 stir up strife? " 
 
 " No more than ni}' Savior was. Tell your friends, that 
 
'2(3 I'IRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 all being well, I will be at Ywiy Grove at the time ap- 
 pointed. Good evening." 
 
 The Doctor having failed with me, went to xwy host Mr. 
 
 G and tried to prevail upon him to use his influence 
 
 to prevent my keeping m\' appointment; but I was firm. I 
 knew that to yield an inch at the commencement of my 
 labors was equivalent to yielding all, and I determined to 
 conquer or die in the attempt. I would allow no traitor to 
 dictate to me. The next I heard was that a company of 
 sixty or more of the so-called "Southern Chivalry" had 
 formed themselves into a company to duck me in the river 
 if I attempted to preach at Piny Grove. Oh, for shame [ 
 A company of sixty to duck one poor little Yankee 
 preacher ! During the week I received a note from Capt. 
 
 L, , near Piny Grove, requesting me to call and see him. 
 
 I promptlv replied to the note in person. Capt. L , 
 
 who was an ex-Confederate, was fortunately at home. 
 
 " Are you the Yankee preacher?" he demanded, looking 
 hard at me. 
 
 " That is what some call me." 
 
 " Are you going to preach in our church ? " 
 
 " What is your church? " I inquired in return. 
 
 " I mean Piny Grove." 
 
 " I have an appointment there on vSunday a week, 
 captain." 
 
 " Do you intend to fill it ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Do you know that you will get a ducking if you do?" 
 he continued. 
 
 " I heard that such an attempt would be made," I 
 quietly returned. 
 
 " Ain't you afraid? " 
 
 " Not much. Ducking means to be immersed in water. 
 
WESLEY CHAPEL. 2T 
 
 and I have been immersed many a time," I replied with a 
 faint smile. 
 
 "Were 3"ou in the 'Yankee' army?" he said after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I was a chaplain in the Union arm}'." 
 
 " Were you wounded ? " 
 
 " I was, but not seriously," I replied. 
 
 " How came a chaplain to be wounded?" he asked in- 
 credulously. "I thought chaplains were never about only 
 on pay days." 
 
 " Captain, I was in the seige of Richmond, and during 
 the seven days' fight I volunteered to carry wounded 
 soldiers from the front, and I was so engaged when a sliver 
 of a shell struck me." 
 
 "Did you go to the hospital for this wound?" he in- 
 quired with considerable interest. 
 
 " No, sir. I afterward went to the hospital for camp 
 fever." 
 
 " Did you ever see any Confederates ? " 
 
 "Thousands and thousands of them." 
 
 " Did you ever try to relieve any of them ? " 
 
 " I did when not otherwise engaged," I replied. 
 
 " I have heard something of your war history, and from 
 what I have heard and what I see, you are not a coward, 
 but I think you should have been a captain, and not a 
 chaplain. But do 3'ou really intend to preach at Piny 
 Grove? " 
 
 " Certainly, I do." 
 
 "Bravo! Chaplain, give me your hand. There is a 
 company in this neighborhood that has threatened to duck 
 you, but I have a company, too; and if the others attempt to 
 hurt you, depend upon it there will a be lively ducking 
 that dav." 
 
28 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " Captain, how many have they in their company?" 
 
 " They say sixty-five." 
 
 " How many have you, captain ? " 
 
 " I have thirty-four." 
 
 " Captain," said I, " I do not wish you to get into trouble 
 
 on my account. Dr. J told me that my enemies were 
 
 desperate fellows." 
 
 "Dr. J is one of them," he exclaimed; "and I'll 
 
 make the whole party skedaddle with a dozen of my men. 
 Just you come on." 
 
 When the eventful day and hour arrived, six or eight of 
 my friends from Wesley Chapel (brave fellows), ac- 
 companied me on horseback to Piny Grove. Somehow I 
 had given up the idea of being ducked, and thought I would 
 be shot. This could easily have been done in a crowd 
 without the detection of the murderer, and my impression 
 was that they would watch until I was entering the church 
 and that then I would fall mortally wounded. 
 
 As we approached the church, my escort, one after the 
 other, gradually fell back until I was left alone. There 
 was a dense crowd around the church. I hitched my horse. 
 My heart was beating with terrific throbs, but outwardly 
 I gave no sign of the commotion within. As I approached, 
 the crowd parted, as if by common consent, and I was 
 scrutinized \)y hundreds of inquisitive eyes. I advanced to 
 the door of the church. As I drew near the door the 
 crowd closed behind me. M)^ heart began to fail me. 
 " Shall I retreat," I thought. " Life is sweet. Must I sac- 
 rifice it simply to attest my bravery? Will God stand 
 by me in this emergency?" And then came another 
 thought, " I risked my life for my . country, and do 
 I care less for my church? God help me ; here goes." One, 
 two, three steps, and I was within the threshold, and they 
 
WESLEY CHAPEL. 29- 
 
 began to sing — the church was crowded — " Come thou fount 
 of every blessing." I thought I could leap to the ceiling. 
 God has saved me ! was my inward cry of gratitude. Near 
 
 the door stood my friend Capt. L . I entered the pulpit 
 
 and went through with the service. During the progress 
 of the meeting some old sisters, forgetful of present sur- 
 roundings commenced shouting, one exclaiming, no doubt 
 to the annoyance of many around her, " Glory to God ! The 
 good old times are coming back." At the close of the 
 service I announced another appointment at an early date, 
 
 and shaking hands with m}^ new friend, Capt. L , I 
 
 departed in company with as many of my brave escort as I 
 could readily find. The ducking party of sixty-five had 
 not put in an appearance. 
 
 This adventure at Piny Grove had much to do with my 
 subsequent success in that section ; for though I met with 
 the most determined opposition, clandestinely, no more 
 citizen committees waited upon me to impede my progress. 
 At this critical time I was much indebted to not a few 
 members of the M. E. Church South for helping to com- 
 pose my congregations at various times at Piny Grove,, 
 and I often found friends in unexpected quarters. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE WHITE CHURCH. 
 
 Shortly after the events just recorded, I was invited to 
 preach at the White Church. On Saturday night I went 
 
 to the home of Bro~. S , one of the members, and was 
 
 kindly entertained. On Sunday morning we set out for 
 the church, which was several miles away. After we had 
 
 gone a short distance, Bro. S remarked that he was 
 
 obliged to call upon a sick neighbor, and, promising to fol- 
 low me shortly, he left me to pursue my way alone. When 
 I reached the church I found it locked. But a large crowd 
 had gathered outside. I knew no one, and no one ap- 
 peared to know me, but I soon discovered that I had a 
 crowd of enemies to address. There had been a picnic or 
 Sunday-school celebration in a neighboring grove and the 
 seats were still there. I immediately went into the grove 
 and began to sing. The crowd gathered around me. I 
 preached as best I could, and all was as quiet as a mouse in 
 the pantry or burglars in a bank. At the close of the ser- 
 mon I said I had something more to say after the benedic- 
 tion. All remained, and I said in substance : " Friends, 
 although a stranger to you, I am not altogether a stranger 
 to this country. My name is S. E. M. Conser, a member 
 of the Baltimore Conference of the Methodist Episcopal 
 Church — not the Methodist Episcopal Church North, not 
 the Methodist Episcopal Church South ; I disdain to belong 
 
THE WHITE CHURCH. 31 
 
 to a sectional church. I am, I believe, the only repre- 
 sentative, in this section, of the most numerous, 
 the most wealthy and the most pious church on 
 the American continent. As to my business, I am here by 
 the authority of my God and my church. God has called 
 me to preach, and Bishop Scott has sent me here to preach, 
 and I am going to do it. You may kill me — and some of 
 you would only be too glad to do it, did not the shadow of 
 the gallows loom up before 3'ou — but that does not scare 
 me; 3^ou would gain nothing in the end. Now, if your 
 courts or criminal officers have any business with me, here 
 I am, ready to go to jail, and I will look to the country I 
 helped to save for my protection ; but I am not here to be 
 a foot-ball for fools, depend upon it! " Instead of groan- 
 ing they cheered me. I continued: "Now, all being well, 
 in four weeks I will be here again." A man stepped from 
 the crowd and said, "Conser, the next time you come this 
 way stop with me." In four weeks I returned to the White 
 Church appointment. My new friend who had offered me 
 entertainment was aivay fyo)u home, but his son treated me 
 kindly. On Sunday morning, when I went to the stable 
 for my horse, he had disappeared. We looked around 
 careful!}', but no horse was to be seen. Sad as I felt, I 
 tried to conceal m}' grief, and we went to the house for 
 breakfast. While sitting at the table a colored boy came 
 
 along and asked, " Mas'r N , whose horse is dat in de 
 
 rail pen? " " Where do you mean, Ike? " "Jus' up dar, 
 Mas'r." So we went with " Ike," and, sure enough, up the 
 road a short distance stood my horse, snugly confined in a 
 pen of rails barely large enough for him to stand erect in. 
 The horse was uninjured, but very hungry. I did not 
 gratify the miscreants who played this practical joke by 
 ever referring to it in public. My strange friend who so 
 
32 I'IRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 cordially invited me at my first visit had evidently been 
 carried beyond the bounds of discretion by his emotional 
 impulses, but when he saw or learned the prevailing senti- 
 ment of his neighbors, he regretted his offer of hospitality 
 and made it convenient to leave home when I was expected. 
 Of all slaves to public opinion the Virginian is the most 
 abject. In the same place where I was so loudl}' applauded 
 at my first visit, I was subsequently hung in efl&gyj Some 
 brainless simpletons constructed a hideous effigy, labeled it 
 "The Last of the Yanketee Pritcher," and suspended it 
 from a limb of an oak tree in front of the White Church. 
 How gladly they would have hung the " Yanketee Pritch- 
 er" without the effigy had they not been afraid. 
 
 While in that neighborhood I called on Capt. L , 
 
 who so bravely proctected me before. He received me with 
 much apparent kindness. Referring to my first visit to 
 Piny Grove, he inquired whether I knew what had become 
 of my ducking party. I said : 
 
 " No, I have been away ever since. Have 3^ou heard 
 anything? " 
 
 " Yes, I heard all about it. On Saturda)', a week before 
 you were to preach here, they had a mustering, and when 
 the name Conser Purcell was called, Joe Aspen who stood 
 next, said : ' Purcell, wliefe did you get that name ' Conser ' 
 from ? ' 
 
 " ' Why,' answered Purcell, ' when I was born there was 
 a Methodist preacher on this circuit by that name and he 
 baptized me, and my mother liked him so much that she 
 gave me his name.' 
 
 " 'Why, that is the Yankee preacher's name.' 
 
 " 'Itisnt!' exclaimed Purcell. ' Well they say so! ' ans- 
 wered Joe. Presently another name attracted attention. 
 ' John Conser Wolf.' A few words of inquiry brought out the 
 
THE WHITE CHURCH. 83 
 
 fact that ' John Conser Wolf was also a namesake of the 
 Methodist preacher who had traveled that circuit years ago, 
 and a little further investigation led to the conclusion that the 
 'Yankee Preacher " and the ' Methodist Conser' were one 
 and the same. 
 
 " ' Well if that is so, I won't help duck him,' exclaimed 
 Wolf 'Why he baptized me.' 'Nor will I,' said Purcell. 
 ' Wh}^ mother thinks he is an angel.' " 
 
 "Then the captain stepped forward and said : ' Bo^'s this 
 ends the ducking fun. M.Y father was converted during 
 Conser's preaching at Timber Ridge Camp-meeting years 
 ago. If thafs the Yankee Preacher, our fun is up ; I can't 
 help.' Thus ludicrously or, to look at it in another light, 
 providentially, the ducking scheme was frustrated and the 
 company retired crestfallen to their homes." 
 
 It seems that this company was the fragment of a former 
 military company, which had tried to re-organize for the 
 purpose of ducking the preacher, but when they learned of 
 his identity' with the preacher Conser of former years they 
 
 desired Capt. L, , to inform me that they had abandoned 
 
 their unworthy- project. 
 
 " Were an}- of the ducking party present when I 
 preached that da}' ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes, quite a number. But I did not see Purcell or 
 Wolf They live quite a distance from here." 
 
 " Was Dr. J , present? " 
 
 " Yes, and his wife was one of the women that shouted. 
 The Doctor will not talk about it. I think he is ashamed; 
 but he must keep in with the community. He knows you 
 are right." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ECCENTRIC GENIUS. 
 
 In my wanderings through this mountainous country, I 
 fell in with an eccentric genius who thought he knew more 
 than all the world besides. He really was a careful and an 
 extensive reader. 
 
 He invited me to his home and made me very welcome. 
 His wife was a true Methodist and a loyal woman, and all 
 the family were remarkably kind. The " major" (for who 
 can not have a title in Virginia ?) was a theologian and an 
 expert disputant. He had a well stocked librar}^ for that 
 localit5^ I always try to ingratiate myself with " mine 
 host," by taking an interest in his affairs. 
 
 Accordingly, when I paid him a visit one day, I asked the 
 major how much laud he had. The greater part of his 
 farm lay between two mountains, so that he might almost 
 say, with the immortal Selkirk, " I am monarch of all I 
 survey." 
 
 "Wall," he yawningly replied, " I have but a small farm 
 •now. My son has the other end, and I dunno jist how 
 ■much is left, but thar is right smart still, p'raps some three 
 thousand acres or thereabouts." 
 
 " Do you grow much tobacco ?" 
 
 "Tobaccer! Wall, not much since the war. The war 
 has spiled tobaccer, and all things else in this country; 
 
ECCENTRIC GENIUS. 35 
 
 €ven religion has declined since. But do you use to- 
 baccer? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Wall, I hearn that all Yanks used it. You're not a 
 full Yank are ye ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I am only a half-breed on that line." 
 
 " But whar you from and what on arth brought you in 
 this wild country? " 
 
 " I am from Pennsylvania, and have come here to re-or- 
 ganize the old Methodist Episcopal Church." 
 
 "Why, we hearn the old Methodist Church had gone to 
 sticks." 
 
 " Not quite, major." 
 
 " Still lives, does she ? Will you form a class herea- 
 bouts?" 
 
 " Yes, if I can find some members." 
 
 " We'll find you one. My wife loves the old Church and 
 says she will never go to a slavery church." 
 
 " Good for her ! how about yourself, major ?" 
 
 "Wall, I'm of no account; no good. I meddled in 
 politics and slavery and lost m.y religion, for how can a 
 slave-holder or a politician be a Christian?" 
 
 " Major, I give it up. Your position is too hard for me; 
 still I would not say it is impossible." 
 
 " Be candid, we want no soft-soldering now. We had too 
 much of that before the war. You preachers talked up, 
 and preached up slavery, until you run us into rebellion, 
 left us to fight it out, and then sneaked away. You 
 all knowed slavery was wrong, but you were not honest 
 enough to tell us so. What does Wesley say about slavery ? 
 And you all knowed slavery was wrong, but you preached 
 it up to please us so as to get our good graces, and when 
 we sold a slave you expected to get some of the money and 
 
36 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 good dinners. I tell you, you preachers were not honest. 
 When a boy, I jined the Methodist Church. My father 
 had slaves, but my mother always said it was wrong; but 
 you preachers said it was right. I was fool enough to 
 believe the preachers, and so I dabbled in slaves until I lost 
 my religion, and my slaves, too. Thank God! the slaves 
 are gone, but I am a little sorr}^ for my religion." 
 
 " My dear major, I certainly sympathize with j^ou, and I 
 am sorry to confess that what you say is but too true ; but 
 still there were some honest preachers." 
 
 " Yes, my brother-in-law in Woodstock, told of one hon- 
 est Methodist preacher. I think his name was ' Conser.' 
 Did 5'ou ever know him ? " 
 
 "Who is your brother-in-law in Woodstock?" I asked, 
 evading his question. 
 
 " His name was Magruder." 
 
 " What, Dr. Magruder ? " 
 
 " Yes, he was a doctor. Did you know him ? " 
 
 " Why, I spent a whole Sunday with him years ago. 
 How is the doctor? " 
 
 " O, he is dead long ago." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that he is dead. He treated me very 
 kindly." 
 
 " But what's the use to talk of slavery now ; 3'ou preach- 
 ers have done the mischief and ruined the church." 
 
 " What ? ruined the church ? " 
 
 " Yes, ruined it ; filled it with slave-holders. I dare not 
 tell you all about it, but you might find some of your class- 
 leaders' and stewards' children in the cotton plantations in 
 Georgia ! ! Such a church is no good." 
 
 " Major, I am ashamed to plead guilty to 3'our awful 
 charges; but the preachers are not the only ones to blame. 
 The good book says, " Like people, like priest." When 
 
ECCENTRIC GENIUS. 37 
 
 Julius Caesar looked on the slain after the battle that made 
 him emperor, he wept and said, 'They would have it so.' So 
 we say of you, i. e. your community, * You would not listen 
 to the truth.' Slavery, more properly legalized robbery, 
 touched the sensitive nerve of the pocket-book and you 
 chose preachers to your own liking, and now you complain. 
 I have only to say sweep at your own door. But, major, 
 let us forget the past and bury the shame of our fathers as 
 did Shem and Japheth and learn wisdom from the folly of 
 our ancestors. You and I will soon run our course. Let 
 us not brood over the sins of the past, but now, while we 
 may, prepare to meet our God." He pressed my hand and 
 said, " Come see us the next time you are here,'' and I went 
 on my way. 
 
 I have already intimated that I was almost universally 
 known as the " Yankee Preacher." This opprobrious 
 epithet, however, did me good ; it excited curiosit5^ No 
 one cared for preacher Conser ; that was an old song ; but 
 the "Yankee Preacher" was a novelty. Conser or any 
 other preacher could be seen any day, but to see a " Yankee" 
 was something new, and a " Yankee Preacher " a rare sight. 
 So every one had to see and hear the " phenomenon," and 
 crowds came wherever I preached. It was said that 
 
 Judge E advised the people to stay away from the 
 
 " Yankee Preacher " and he would soon leave. But curiosity 
 got the better of this discretion, and they would come, 
 some to hear, but more to see ; some from sympathy, but 
 more from jealous5^ I always avoided any allusion to the 
 war or political subjects in my pra5^ers or sermons; I had 
 quite enough of these subjects at other times. 
 
 At Wesley Chapel I was called on to visit a man sick 
 unto death. I told him who I was, and he appeared to be 
 pleased ; confessed that during the war he had back-slidden, 
 
38 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 which impressed him he was wrong, and it impressed me so,. 
 too. He appeared very penitent and earnestly prayed for 
 pardon; a few days after this he died. I was called on by 
 his family to attend his funeral. The funeral was a large 
 one, and I had many that day in my congregation that 
 never before would come to hear me. Some expressed their 
 opinion that if I was not a Southerner, I ought to be. I 
 thought it best to do thorough work, as I went and tried to 
 preach wherever I could get a congregation and collect 
 members at least once a month. I intended to form classes 
 and regular congregations and not simply let them for 
 once see and hear a " Yankee Preacher." 
 
 What few loyal people were in this country that were not 
 pitiful cowards, were brave indeed, and to meet a loyal 
 preacher was to them a luxury, for which they hardly knew 
 how to express their gratitude. An anti-slavery preacher 
 many had never seen, especially among the younger ones^ 
 and then there were many anti-slavery women through 
 this country, as there always were through all the South ; 
 and no wonder ! Women too well knew the secret history 
 of slavery not to abhor it. Alas, that they feared to 
 express their abhorrence of that "sum of all villainies," 
 even to their husbands. In many cases I was made a con- 
 fident. There ever were but few religious women that did 
 not abhor slavery. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 The domestic life of these people has always been sim- 
 ple, but especially so, during and since the war. Again 
 and again some squad of Confederate soldiers would come 
 and appropriate one-half of all they could find. Soon 
 another squad would arrive and repeat the same process,, 
 so that unless they could conceal something beyond the 
 search of the almost omniscient soldiers they would soon 
 come to want. 
 
 When I came into this country in 1866, cattle, hogs, and 
 sheep were rarities indeed. Large game, such as deer or 
 bears was scarce, but rabbits, wood-chuck, raccoons and 
 small game were plentiful, and these were substituted for 
 domestic meats. Corn dodgers were alwaj-s in order. In 
 the mountains, when their owners could conceal them, 
 there were some cows and horses. The table, as well as 
 the wardrobe, felt the effect of the war. Flax, as in olden 
 times, was grown, and the old spinning-wheel and hand 
 loom were once more brought into requisition. There was 
 no occasion for the preacher to lecture the sisters on their 
 gayety. The war brought about more simplicity in apparel 
 than the pulpit had ever done. 
 
 Wesley's high heads and enormous bonnets did not pre- 
 vail here. Straw flats served for head-gear, and turkey 
 wings for fans. The churches through the rural districts 
 
40 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 were dilapidated in the extreme, and frequently were in- 
 habited by hogs, sheep and other animals, when not occu- 
 pied by the "genus homo." Some were wholly deserted. 
 The colored people, at best not remarkable for intelligence, 
 were half crazed by their freedom, and in some localities 
 allowed their emotions to impel them into the wildest 
 fanaticism. They naturally were loyal to the Methodist 
 Episcopal Church, and as naturally looked to me for moral 
 advice and supervision. Of course, all colored people are 
 spiritualists and firm believers in the most extreme super- 
 natural. In their extravagant devotions they sometimes 
 fell into trances and cataleptic fits and professed to see 
 visions of angels and demons, and many of their departed 
 masters in the dark regions reaping the reward of their 
 cupidity in advocating and practicing slavery. All of which 
 may have been true, but it was not proper to tantalize the 
 living relatives by such revelations. I had no little trouble 
 to check such fanaticism. 
 
 These spasmodic excesses were not confined to colored 
 people. In various forms and divers places they had made 
 their appearance, to the shame of those so affected, and 
 the detriment of Christianity. Such fanaticism is encour- 
 aged by a class of zealots and divines of limited physical 
 learning, and does in no way contribute to personal piety. 
 Religious fervor uncontrolled by good common sense 
 might be compared to a drunken locomotive running at 
 large without an engineer to hold the throttle. A very 
 wise writer sa5^s, " Be not righteous overmuch." Asceti- 
 cism is of heathen origin, and is in no manner counte- 
 nanced by Christ. All genuflections, fasts, vigils and mor- 
 tifications are anti-Christian. It is only when professed 
 Christians show to the irreligious that they are happy, not 
 fanatical, that they commend Christianity to their accept- 
 ance. 
 
CHAPTER YIII 
 
 DISCOURAGED. 
 
 But I must again visit the White Church. I endeavored to 
 arrange my appointments there not to interfere with the 
 Southern preacher, while he made his arrangements for a 
 less worthy purpose ; in other words he made his appoint- 
 ment purposely to interfere with mine. I learned further 
 that the rebels had a warrant in readiness to arrest me 
 
 should I attempt to preach there. Squire B sent me 
 
 word to call at his home on Saturday. I went and on Sun- 
 day morning he accompanied me to the church. He said 
 the rebel preacher was to begin service a little in advance 
 of time, so as to be engaged when I should appear. A 
 crowd of the baser sort were to be stationed near the door, 
 and as soon as I entered they were to hustle me out and 
 the constable was to arrest me for causing a disturbance. 
 How this could be done legally I could not understand, but 
 the Squire remarked that that crowd cared little about the 
 law and I had better prepare for the worst. When we 
 arrived at the church they were singing, and the Squire 
 asked me, ' shall we go in?' in such a plaintive tone that I 
 perceived he would rather stay outside, so to avoid any 
 disturbance I concluded not to enter. We were seen, how- 
 ever. The Squire then proposed to go and get dinner at 
 
 Mr. K 's, a man who had frequently declared he had 
 
 been converted under my preaching. I, of course, expected 
 
42 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 a warm reception ! Imagine my surprise when Mr. K 
 
 met us with most chilling manners. After a brief conver- 
 sation, in which he never once alluded to such a thing as 
 dinner, we retired in disgust. The Squire than escorted 
 me to his sister's, where we were met cordially and where 
 the inner man was abundantly refreshed. I took three 
 members into church while at the home of the Squire's 
 hospitable sister. I was to preach at three o'clock at an 
 adjacent school house. Shortly before the hour the Squire 
 and I again set out upon our travels. There was a chimney 
 in a corner of the school-house and two men were trying to 
 make a fire when we reached the place. Somehow they 
 made more smoke than fire, so I preached in the cold to my 
 three auditors and then, without supper, went to Piny Grove. 
 Here I had a large congregation, a number of penitents at 
 the altar and four converts ; and so one of my saddest days 
 ended well. 
 
 The revival at Piny Grove continued, and about forty 
 persons were converted. During this winter we had an 
 extensive revival at Wesley Chapel and at other places. 
 I gathered up and recorded over one hundred good and 
 true members in the old M. K. Church. All kinds of tales 
 were circulated about me — some immoral, some ridicu- 
 lous — all false. I treated all such opposition with silence. 
 Apropos of "tails," lam reminded of an incident. The 
 Wesley Chapel people were for the most part loyal and thej" 
 had adhered to the old church. I was much pleased with 
 their fidelity and did all for them that I could. Among 
 other things we had a P'ourth of July celebration, which 
 gave much satisfaction. A good dinner was provided by the 
 ladies, followed by a literary programme. One of the per- 
 formers was a Sunday-school lad of ten years, who was 
 quite a singer and an excellent mimic. He was to sing " Old 
 
DISCOURAGED. 43 
 
 Daddy Grimes." He sang to the familiar tune of "Mears." 
 Without a tremor in his voice and with a solemn sanctity in. 
 his looks, he reached the stanza : 
 
 "The fox it has a bushy tail, 
 
 The opossum's tail is bar'' (bare), 
 The raccoon's tail has rings all 'round, 
 And frizzly is the har (hair)." 
 
 So comical was the performance and so original the pro- 
 nunciation that the entire audience broke into a roar of 
 laughter. 
 
 In the fall one of our converts at Wesley Chapel was 
 
 taken with typhoid fever. Her name was Minerva P . 
 
 She was bitt sixteen 3'ears old, and, as was natural, she 
 cherished a hope of recovery. But as her case became 
 more and more serious her attachment to life became less. 
 On one occasion she requested me not to pray for her 
 recovery. I urged her not to despair of life, for she might 
 live to be very useful ; but she thought she might do more 
 good when dead. She had an irreligious brother, older 
 than herself, and she became impressed with the feeling 
 that her death might be the means of saving him. What 
 a noble, self-sacrificing spirit for one so 3^oung ! Willing to 
 give up her young life if b}' so doing her brother might be 
 saved. 
 
 Presently her physician came, in company with a con- 
 sulting physician. The sick girl expressed her regrets, 
 saying, "I'm sorry they came; they can do me no good." 
 The doctor sat by her side and said, " Minerva, do you 
 think I can help you?" 
 
 " No, doctor ; I do not want you to help me." 
 
 " Why, do you want to die ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do, doctor. My Savior has called me, and I 
 must go." 
 
44 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " Go where, my child? " said the doctor, deeply affected. 
 
 " Go to glory! " she exclaimed, and swooned away. 
 
 After a brief consultation, the doctor remarked to the 
 
 mother, " Mrs. P , we can do 5^our daughter no good, 
 
 and I will not call again." Soon after the doctors left, 
 Minerva, having recovered sufficiently to speak, asked for 
 her church certificate. They gave it to her. She held it 
 with a trembling hand and then asked for her brother 
 George. Geogre came into the room and said, "Sis, what 
 do you want with me ? " 
 
 The dying girl kissed the certificate and handing it to 
 her brother said, " George accept this. It is all I have to 
 leave you. I will never need it anj' more." And then 
 with an angelic smile she added, " When 3'ou look at it 
 think of me, and when you are tired of life come and see 
 me. Will you? " She expired shortly after. But what a 
 sermon she had preached to her irreligious brother. I do 
 not know his subsequent history, but I feel sure that her 
 words must have fallen as good seeds upon good ground. 
 
 But the end of my year drew nigh, and the time for me 
 to leave. I had had hard work and poor pa}', but I made 
 many warm friends. The last interview I had at Wesley 
 Chapel was an affecting one. Some who had at first done 
 their utmost to drive me away, pressed my hand warmly 
 at parting and begged my pardon. I sympathized with 
 them, and freely forgave them. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 STAUNTON. 
 
 In the year 1S67, I was stationed at Staunton, Virginia. 
 Presiding Elder Phelps thought I ought to go back to the 
 James river section, but as I preferred not to go there 
 again he did not insist upon it. 
 
 Staunton is a compact town of perhaps eight thousand 
 inhabitants, well built but very irregular. If ever I was 
 ostracized it was here, and if ever I felt its effects, it was 
 in this semi-civilized community. The rebels had pos- 
 session of our church, and the colored people had a church 
 and preacher of their own, so I preached for a time in the 
 theatre. My first congregation, including boys, numbered 
 thirteen. The murky atmosphere of treason enveloped 
 the town, and the people gave me a wide berth. Lucky 
 for me, I was a Freemason. I soon visited a Lodge. 
 Once in the Lodge I made the acquaintance of the most 
 respectable portion of the community, and by them was 
 politely treated and recognized socially thereafter. I soon 
 obtained boarding with a prominent Freemason. He had 
 quite a pretty daughter. This young lady had an admirer 
 who happened to be a " Yankee " as they called all North- 
 ern people indiscriminately. One day in conversation with 
 the father, I referred to the fact that his daughter's lover 
 was a "Yankee." Mine host quickly replied, "Yes, but 
 he is a good Democrat." I envinced some amusement at 
 
46 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 this recommendation, and he added, " O, well, it is diflferent 
 with you, for I think you are honest." I thanked him for 
 the compliment. 
 
 While I still remained an object of dislike and suspicion 
 to many of. the inhabitants of Staunton, it was otherwise 
 in the surrounding country. I soon had invitations to 
 preach in the rural districts, and here I met not a few loyal 
 
 Methodists. Among these people was a Mr. B , a 
 
 partial hypochondriac. When I called to see him, I dis- 
 covered that he was more nerv^ous than sick, and I tried to 
 dispel his gloom}' fears. He continually intimated that 
 there was something dreadful in his case. I tried to laugh 
 it off, but all in vain. Finally his wife left the room and 
 we were alone for a few moments. He then said he would 
 like to communicate to me a secret. I said I would hear 
 anything not affecting the character of others. Then, 
 drawing nearer to me, and with a tremor and a countenance 
 that indicated almost the horrors of the damned, he whis- 
 pered, " Bro. Conser, I have sinned against the Hol}^ 
 Ghost!" 
 
 Laying his hand upon his breast, he added, "O, I feel it 
 here." 
 
 I at first made light of his remarks, but my curiosit)' be- 
 came excited, and I finally asked what sin against the 
 Holy Ghost he had committed. He replied solemnly, " / 
 voted for secession !'' I only wish others might have seen 
 the sardonic look upon his countenance as he spoke. The 
 scene would have been most ludicrous but for the fact that 
 the man's mind was nearly unbalanced from brooding mor- 
 bidly over his past conduct. I was heartily glad when his 
 wife returned to the room, and I could get away. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 E M M A . 
 
 Several miles east of Staunton I met a family that for 
 many years had been in the old Church, but in the whirl- 
 pool of excitement had been drawn into secession. One 
 daughter, braver and more sensible than the rest, had kept 
 a miniature star spangled banner in her possession, and 
 professed her allegiance to the Methodist Episcopal Church 
 all through the war. 
 
 It was through her that I became acquainted with the 
 family. When she heard there was a Yankee preacher in 
 Staunton, she hoped that he might be the representative of 
 the church of her first love, and she determined to make 
 his acquaintance. She invited me to visit her home, and 
 agreed to make an appointment for me to preach in a 
 school-house near by. She informed her mother of the 
 fact, and received a sharp reprimand in reply. The cir- 
 cumstance came to her father's notice and he said, "Emma, 
 did 3'OU tell the Sunday-school superintendent to make an 
 appointment for the Yankee preacher? " 
 
 " I did, Pa," she answered. 
 
 " Well, where is he to sta}- over night? " 
 
 " Pa, I invited him to come here." 
 
 " You did ! Who told you to do so ? " 
 
 " Papa, I was converted in the old Methodist Episcopal 
 Church and raised among the old Methodists, and I think 
 \'GU ought not to object to let me hear a preacher of the 
 
48 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 church I love. Pa, do you remember what you said to me 
 the night I was converted? " 
 
 " No, Emma ; " and he wiped his eyes. 
 
 " You said, ' Now, Emma, be faithful to your God and 
 your church ; ' and I have tried to be so. The Methodist 
 Episcopal Church has been the means of my conversion,, 
 and has never done me any harm ; and I love her, and I 
 am not ashamed of it. Papa, I thank you for the educa- 
 tion you gave me ; I can now teach school and earn my 
 own living. I do not want to leave Ma — she is feeble; but, 
 sooner than leave my church, I will leave my home. Only 
 let me stay until the Yankee preacher comes, and I will 
 pa}' you for entertaining him." 
 
 "Will you?" replied the old gentleman. "Emma, you 
 are yet young," he continued, " and hardly competent to 
 teach school, and, well — have you a kiss for yoMX pcntineiit 
 father f " he added, with emotion. 
 
 Poor Emma ! She could hardty cease crying long enough 
 to kiss her father. After the exuberance of emotion was 
 over, the father said, " M}^ dear child, the ice is broken. I 
 am with you. Your preacher is my preacher. Your 
 church is my church. Too long have I cowered under the 
 tyranny of popular sentiment ; I never was a secessionist 
 at heart, and I always loved the Old Church, but I was 
 afraid. I would to Heaven I had been as brave as you ; 
 but it i.<? over now. Yes, Emma, I'll go with you to hear 
 the 'Yankee Preacher,' and you'll introduce me, and I'll 
 invite him to my house ; and while I have a home, you and 
 the old side preacher shall have a home, too." 
 
 At this juncture the old lady commenced shouting, 
 " Glory, Glory to God ! Is it possible that others think 
 as I think, and feel as I feel ? Why, Pa, I always believed 
 secession was wrong, and the Old Church was right, and 
 
EMMA. 49 
 
 Emma was right; but I was afraid to sa^- what I thought, 
 and when I scolded Emma for inviting her preacher here; 
 I knew I did wrong. Emma, can you forgive a sorrowing 
 mother?" Before Emma could speak, the old lad}' began 
 shouting again, "Glory. Glory to God! I am once more 
 free ! And now, father, give me your hand, and go with 
 me to the Methodist Episcopal Church, and let Emma's 
 preacher come here as in the olden times." 
 
 The history of this family is the secret history of many. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 UPHILL WORK. 
 
 Several miles from the place mentioned in the preceding 
 chapter, I arranged to hold a protracted meeting. I had 
 several members in the vicinity. The only available place 
 for holding our meeting was a spare room in a private 
 house. The house was long, and the room we occupied 
 was rather capacious. I intended to commence the ser- 
 vices on Saturday, but no one came, and then it began to 
 rain in the evening. Sunday morning opened dreary, 
 indeed. I had announced Love Feast at nine o'clock a.m., 
 and went to our extemporized church to find no one there, 
 and no fire. One of the friends who accompanied me col- 
 lected some wet wood and attempted to build a fire in the 
 large fire-place. We applied the matches to his wet chips, 
 but, although he blew himself warm, he only blew the 
 matches out. All the surroundings were so unpleasant 
 that I contemplated adjourning the meeting and returning 
 to Staunton. By and by, however, the fire commenced to 
 burn and the people began to arrive. Before eleven o'clock 
 the extemporized church was well filled, and we had a 
 
 good service. On our way to dinner Mr. D remarked 
 
 "that the prospects were promising for a good revival." 
 I never saw prospects more unpromising, but I did not say 
 so. At night our little chapel was crowded, and a blazing 
 fire in the huge fire-place afforded both heat and light. It 
 
UPHILL WORK. 51 
 
 was difficult for me to obtain standing-room without en- 
 croaching on the hearth, which for divers reasons I did not 
 like to do. I invited mourners, and a goodly number pre- 
 sented themselves, and a good revival resulted. 
 
 A sad occurrence transpired in this community, and during 
 this meeting. Among the converts was a young girl sub- 
 ject to epilepsy. A few days after her conversion, in an 
 epileptic fit, she fell into the fire and was burned to death. 
 We took her corpse into the church, where, a few brief 
 hours before, she had been converted. In my remarks I 
 emphasized the fact that God always converts through 
 human agencies, and urged upon my audience the impor- 
 tance of youthful piety, from the fact that God wishes us 
 to be not only good but also useful. And then we sang 
 this solemn and appropriate hymn : 
 
 " Must I go, and empty-handed 
 
 Thus my dear Redeemer meet ; 
 Not a day of service given him, 
 Lay no trophies at his feet?" 
 
 The poor girl had a short religious experience, and we 
 had a very solemn time at her funeral. I think this circum- 
 stance helped me in that communit}^, for it minified things 
 temporal and magnified things eternal. 
 
 In my ministerial utterances I studiously avoided any 
 allusion to sectional disputes ; so much so, that a promi- 
 nent gentleman remarked that as a preacher the Yankee 
 Preacher was much like other people, and if let alone 
 would make no disturbance. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "TOBB." 
 
 On one occasion, as I was walking in the country, I 
 came where there was an old dilapidated dwelling which 
 might have seen better times in ante bellum days. As I 
 approached, the occupant of the house called his dog — a 
 spani&l — seized him by the neck and began kicking him 
 vigorously in the side with his heavy brogans. The poor 
 brute howled piteously, and the other bride swore like a 
 colonel. As I drew nearer, I exclaimed : 
 
 "Let dogs delight to bark and bite, 
 
 For 'tis their nature to ; 
 Let bears and lions growl and fight. 
 
 For God has made them so; 
 But, neighbor, }-ou should never let 
 
 Such angry passions rise, 
 Your big brogans were never made 
 
 To kick your spaniel's side." 
 
 The infuriated man looked around and said, " D n the 
 
 dog; I'll kill him!" still holding on to his neck. I in- 
 quired the cause of his excitement, when his wife came out 
 and said, •" Joe is more to blame than Tobe. The fact is, 
 Joe has been on a spree, and when he came home late last 
 night he tried to fool with Tobe. It was dark, and Tobe 
 thought it was a thief; for Joe would not speak, and so 
 Tobe wouldn't let him inside the gate until Joe said 'Tobe.' 
 Then Tobe was friendly. I don't think Tobe is to blame." 
 
" TOBEr 53 
 
 The man was still drunk, I perceived. But I spoke to 
 him, and asked if what his wife said was true. Joe ad- 
 mitted that he was just tr3'ing Tobe's pluck, as he called 
 it, and again commenced swearing and kicking the poor dog. 
 I now became excited, and said, "Joe, quit that! Why, 
 that was noble in Tobe, and you should caress and not beat 
 him for his fidelity. Meantime, from some cause, Joe's 
 hand began to bleed, and poor Tobe tried to lick the blood 
 from his tormentor's hand. Here the brutal man began 
 kicking again. My ire was up. 
 
 "Now," said I, "kick him again and I'll kick 3'ou ; " 
 and I called the dog to me. But Tobe looked piteously at 
 me, and again licked his master's hand. Meanwhile, Joe's 
 wife seemed much interested in the "stranger." She whis- 
 pered something to Joe, who b}^ this time commenced 
 sobering up. Joe turned to me and said, " I say, stranger, 
 come m and have some dinner." 
 
 "Joe, do you mean it? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, my wife said I should." 
 
 The lady blushed and retired. Joe and I then entered 
 the house and sat down to discuss the advantages and dis- 
 advantages of temperance. While we were thus occupied, 
 I overheard the following colloquy in the adjoining room 
 where Joe's good wife was preparing dinner : " Say, Mat- 
 tie (a girl of perhaps ten years), run down to the stable 
 and get some eggs. Be quick now." 
 
 Mattie hurried off to the stable and soon returned with 
 the doleful message, " Why, mamma, there isn't none but 
 one nest-egg in the nest, and there are plenty of hens 
 standing around doin' nothin'." Mattie evidently thought 
 that hens, like other folks, should be up and doing. I need 
 not add that my hopes of a good dinner were seriousl}- 
 modified. By and by the kind lady — for she was a lady, 
 
64 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 far superior to her husband and her surroundings — entered 
 the room and in a sweet, gentle tone, said, " Gentlemen, 
 please come to dinner." Joe at once jumped up and said, 
 " Come, stranger, and have a bite." And so, Joe leading 
 the way, I followed, and we sat down to a nice dinner. Joe 
 looked a little confused. The wife glanced at me and 
 nodded her head, as much as to say, " Please say prayers." 
 This was a surprise, but what surprised me more, was to 
 see a plate of temptingly fried eggs. Where these eggs 
 came from was a mystery, and as I was too polite to inquire, 
 the matter remains a mj-stery to this day. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PERSONAL DEVILS. 
 
 I had a friend in Staunton, Dr. T , with whom I used 
 
 to converse on theological subjects. On one occasion he 
 insisted on my giving the people of Staunton a lecture on 
 demonology and witchcraft. I hesitated, because I thought 
 no one cared to hear the "Yankee Preacher." But the 
 doctor insisted that my ostracism was official, and by no 
 means personal, and that he had always heard my name 
 mentioned respectfully, except when national or ecclesias- 
 tical matters were referred to, and that while I had but few 
 ecclesiastical, I certainly had many personal friends. He 
 was anxious to know whether I was a Freemason, because 
 he had heard several Freemasons speak highly of me ; and, 
 said the doctor, "When you have the Masons on your side, 
 you have the best people in Staunton." He assured me 
 that such a lecture from me would draw a crowd ; but still 
 I declined. He then wished me to deliver my views in his 
 office on that occult subject. I told him I would, perhaps, 
 on to-morrow night, as I was in a hurry just then. The 
 next night I was at his office and he introduced me to Pro- 
 fessor R , whose lecture on psychology I had heard. 
 
 The professor inquired, " Mr. Conser, the doctor informs 
 me that you sometimes lecture on witchcraft. Will you 
 be so kind as to deliver that lecture here ? " 
 
 " No, professor, I would rather not," I said. 
 
 "Well, as a Christian minister, you certainly believe in 
 the existence of devils and witches." 
 
 " Professor, you appear to be more certain of my belief 
 than I am myself." 
 
.56 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Conser, is not the Christian bible full of 
 devils and witches?" 
 
 "That indefinite question I might answer both affinn- 
 ativel}' and negatively." 
 
 " How is that? " 
 
 " Well, that depends on the meaning and definition of 
 terms. That you are either tall or small depends on the 
 objects of comparison. That the terms Satan (Hebrew), 
 Diabolos (Greek), occur I know ver)^ well ; but what these 
 terms mean is quite another matter. I am by no means 
 certain that the Hebrew Hasatan, or the Greek Diabolos, 
 or our English term Devil, mean a physical hideous mon- 
 ster with cloven feet and barbed tail." 
 
 •' Mr. Conser, do you understand Hebrew? " 
 
 " I have tried to understand a little of Biblical Hebrew." 
 
 " What is the meaning of the Hebrew word Satan? " 
 
 " Satan is not a Hebrew word," I said. " It is a Hebrew 
 word anglicised." 
 
 " What is the Hebrew word? " 
 
 " The Hebrew is Hasatan or Shaitan, and literally means 
 an adversary indifferent as to character." 
 
 " What do you mean by indifferent as to character? " 
 
 " I simply mean that the term Hasatan, anglicised Satan, 
 has no moral meaning, and may be used either in a good 
 or a bad sense." 
 
 "Is the Hebrew word Hasatan ever used in a good 
 sense? " 
 
 " I think it is, in Numbers xxii, 22." 
 
 " Well, do you pretend to say there is no personal devil?" 
 
 " By no means. For aught I know, there may be legion ; 
 but I do say I have never seen anj^, except the pretty 
 girls." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
PERSONAL DEVILS. 57 
 
 " The pretty girls. Let me illustrate. While stationed 
 in Northern Pennsylvania I was occasionally called on 
 to attend weddings, and although temperance was pop- 
 ular, still it was considered permissible to drink wine 
 at weddings. I, however, always declined. A certain 
 lady, without my knowledge, of course, boasted that she 
 would have me drink wine at her wedding. In time 
 I was called on to perform her marriage ceremon3\ 
 Now, this lady was one of the most conspicuous in the 
 place, and she was to be married to the cashier of the 
 bank. You know the officiating minister is quite a 
 factor on such occasions, and can augment or detract 
 from the convivial enjoyments thereto pertaining. I 
 therefore resolved to make myself as agreeable as circum- 
 stances would allow ; the more so, as I expected a nice fee 
 for my brief services. A ga}^ company was present, the 
 marriage ceremou}' passed off satisfactorily, and then the 
 wine was freely indulged in. Presently, the pretty bride, 
 with several attendants, approached me and insisted that I 
 should drink her health and happiness. "With great 
 pleasure," I replied, and I took up a glass of water. The 
 bride protested, and insisted that I should drink wine with 
 her if with no one else. In an undertone I playfully de- 
 clined. Still she persisted. I did not wish to attract the 
 attention of the jovial audience, and still hesitated. At 
 last she declared that a refusal on my part to drink wine 
 with her would be considered a personal offense ! I now 
 had only one way left to extricate m5'self from the predica- 
 ment into which she (this adversary or Satan) had crowded 
 me. I looked her full in the face, and, addressing her by 
 
 the new name I had just given her, I said, " Mrs. W , I 
 
 thought 5^ou were my friend." 
 
58 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " I ajn your friend, and I think I have shown it," she 
 replied, with some surprise. 
 
 " And yet you want me to do an act that would disgrace 
 me in time, and, perhaps, damn me throughout eternity?" 
 
 " Why, Mr. Conser, you frighten me ; " and her face sud- 
 denly became very grave. 
 
 " Mrs. W , I am the sworn friend of the Lord Jesus 
 
 Christ, and to comply with your request would be an in- 
 fraction of ni}^ oath. If I can retain your friendship only 
 at such a price, I can not for a moment hesitate — / can not 
 drink that wine ! " 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, she grasped my hand and 
 earnestly begged my pardon. In spite of my efforts to the 
 contrary, our dialogue did attract attention, and I was 
 forced to explain what had happened. I said, "The wine, 
 ladies and gentlemen, is a small factor in this case. It is 
 the force of example. Drinking that wine might disgust 
 yoii, but a child or grandchild might learn the fact and 
 think or say, ' My grandfather was a good man, and he 
 drank wine at weddings, ' and God only knows whereunto 
 this incident might lead." One of the directors of the 
 bank remarked, " Mr. Conser, you need make no apologies. 
 It would be well if we all took such comprehensive views 
 of the subject." 
 
 For a few moments the company was sobered, but soon 
 the gayety was resumed and the evening passed merril)- 
 away. I lost no fee, and best of all, no friends, by main- 
 taining my principles. This was one of the severest temp- 
 tations of my life, and beautifully illustrates the meaning 
 of the Hebrew Hasatan. In this particular instance we 
 came in conflict or were adversaries to each other without 
 any moral turpitude on either side. I say again, " the 
 worst devils are \\\^ pretty girls.'' 
 
PERSONAL DEVILS. 59 
 
 " All that may be true, but you certainly know the New 
 Testament is full of the possession of devils," said the pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 " Professor, you, as a Greek scholar, certainly know that 
 your language is very equivocal." 
 
 "Well, it's the language of the bible," he retorted. 
 
 "What Bible? Certainl}^ not the Greek. Demoniacs, w: 
 those possessed, were not possessed with Satans, but Demons 
 — a very different order of beings — supposed order, I 
 might say; for I believe them to be imaginary! The 
 account given of their origin, in the apocryphal books of 
 Enoch, is certainly mythical. As for witchcraft, thank 
 God ! like pagan mythology, it can not endure the test of 
 intellectual investigation." 
 
 " But, Bro. Conser, you certainly know that the bible is 
 full of witches and witchcraft." 
 
 "No, professor; I know no such thing. I do know, 
 however, that such terms occur there, but the ideas are en- 
 tirely different. Biblical witchcraft and modern or heath- 
 enish witchcraft are as different as a May rose is from an 
 Arctic iceberg. Witches in the bible were simply for- 
 tune-tellers, and were put under interdiction because they 
 abused their superior knowledge by imposing on their 
 more ignorant neighbors. Such a witchcraft as a combi- 
 nation with the devil and the possession of supernatural 
 powers is never mentioned in the bible." 
 
 " How about the witch of Endor? " he queried. 
 
 " The witch of Endor was simply a fortune-teller, and 
 had no more to do with Samuel than you or I have." 
 
 " But did she not bring up the ghost of Samuel? " 
 
 " Professor, there is not a word in the narrative about 
 any ghost, and you have no authority to interject it." 
 
 " Well, was not Samuel there ? " 
 
60 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 " No, sir; Saul was there." 
 
 " But did not Saul converse with Samuel? " 
 
 " No, sir ; Saul conversed with a ventriloquist person- 
 ating Samuel." 
 
 " Then you think demons and witches are heathen su- 
 perstitions? " 
 
 " Most assuredly," was my reply. 
 
 Our conversation then drifted into materialism and fatal- 
 ism, and we had not half exhausted this highly interesting 
 theme when I was forced by the lateness of the hour to 
 excuse myself and retire to my home. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A SEVERE TEST. 
 
 There was a small village near Staunton called W — B — . 
 It contained a tavern, a store, a blacksmith shop, and a 
 few scattered houses. It also had, at this time, a neat little 
 Methodist Church, which owed its existence largely to the 
 following circumstances : 
 
 It had been the boast, some years previous, that there 
 was not a religious person in W — B — . At this period 
 in the moral history of W — B — ., the following incident 
 
 occurred : A Miss B obtained a situation there as 
 
 school-teacher. This young lady improved a vacation bj^ 
 attending a bush meeting in the neighborhood, during 
 which she became impressed with the propriety of making 
 her peace with God. Sympathizing friends gave her what 
 instruction they could, but to no purpose ; her state of 
 mind became apparently worse and worse. A pious min- 
 ister obtained an interview. The young lady informed the 
 minister that she was teaching in W — B — and wished to 
 make her peace with God. 
 
 "And are you willing to give up anything and do any- 
 thing God may require?" asked the minister, 
 
 "I certainly am," she replied. 
 
 "Well, Miss B , suppose God were to require you to 
 
 open or close your school with prayer, would you be willing 
 to do it?" 
 
62 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 "I can not do that, because the community is entirely ir- 
 religious and I would at once lose my situation." 
 
 "And that may be the secret of your present embarrass- 
 ment," said the preacher. "So you are willing to do all 
 but that. But God accepts no divided services." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I can not be religious without 
 praying in my school." 
 
 "No, Miss; all I mean to say is, if you sincerely believe 
 that God wants you to do so, will you do it ?" 
 
 She hesitated a moment and then said, "I will, God help- 
 ing me." It was enough. The consecration was complete, 
 and as such accepted, and peace and joy resulted. 
 
 But the time came for her school to re-open and with it 
 came the impression that she must have prayers. All was 
 auspicious. The day was pleasant and the attendance good. 
 Finally the lessons had all been rehearsed and the time for 
 closing school arrived. With a quaking heart the young 
 teacher arose and said: "Children, when I dismiss the 
 school, you can all go home right away, but if any of you 
 will stay with me a few minutes, we will read a lesson from 
 the Bible and have prayers." This took them all by sur- 
 prise and they all remained. The exercises were brief, but 
 all appeared pleased at the "new departure" and some 
 seemed much impressed. 
 
 There lived in W — B — a Mr. M , who was mag- 
 istrate, store-keeper and school trustee. He was the chief 
 man of the town, and was looked to in every emergency. 
 
 This Mr. M had a little daughter, some twelve years of 
 
 age, who was an attendant at Miss B 's school. On her 
 
 return from school that afternoon the little girl said, 
 "O papa! you should just have been at school this even- 
 ing. Oh! we all cried, and were awful sorry." 
 
 "What did you all cry about?" queried the father. 
 
A SEVERE TEST. G3 
 
 Then she rehearsed the circumstances of Miss B 's 
 
 reading, and singing, and praying. This was sad and bad 
 news to the squire ; so the next day he held a consultation 
 with another of the trustees, and it was finally agreed upon 
 
 that the squire should admonish Miss B to quit her 
 
 religious freaks or close her school. The following morn- 
 ing he sent a note to the teacher by his little daughter, 
 
 asking her to call at his home in the evening. Miss B 
 
 too well suspected his object, but she came as he had re- 
 quested. 
 
 "Well, Miss B , they say you have commenced a re- 
 ligious revival in your school; how is this?" 
 
 "Squire, I have attended to all my school duties. I have 
 regularly dismissed the school, announcing that those who 
 wished could stay for prayers. Have I neglected any of 
 my duties in so doing?" 
 
 "None whatever. Miss B . But you know the sense 
 
 of this community. We want no religious fanaticism here. 
 
 Miss B , you must either quit your fanaticism or quit 
 
 3'our school," was the reply. 
 
 "Squire, I suppose you mean by my fanaticism, my 
 religion." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose you call it religion," was his grufFy 
 response. 
 
 " Well, if I must quit either my religion or my school, 
 I suppose I must quit my school. When shall I close?" 
 the poor girl asked with trembling voice. 
 
 "Friday evening," and he left the room. 
 
 Poor Miss B ! With a heavy heart she walked down 
 
 the road towards her boarding place. All the other schools 
 in the district were taken, and what to do for a living she 
 did not know. Friday afternoon came. Again she re- 
 quested the children to remain for prayers if they felt so 
 
64 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 disposed. After reading a short lesson she prayed for the 
 children, for her persecutor, and then while all were on their 
 knees, she sang : 
 
 "Jesus, I my cross have taken, 
 All to leave and follow the," etc. 
 
 Meantime the squire's daughter became greatly affected 
 and suddenly throwing her arms around her teacher's neck, 
 kissed her and begged her not to quit the school, saying : 
 
 " O, teacher, I love Jesus ! I love Jesus ! " 
 
 But the school was closed. The squire's daughter 
 hurried home. She met her father in the hall and ex- 
 claimed, " O, papa, papa, I love Jesus! I love Jesus !" 
 
 The squire was taken by surprise, and before he could 
 speak, his happy daughter said: 
 
 "Papa, will you promise me one thing?" 
 
 "What is it my child?" 
 
 "Well, promise first." 
 
 Almost instinctively he said, "Yes, I will." Then, tak- 
 ing him by the hand, she led him up-stairs to her room and 
 said, "Now, papa, I want you to get on your knees and 
 pray until you love Jesus as I do." As if pressed by an 
 iron hand, the squire fell rather than kneeled and began to 
 pray, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner," Soon the mother 
 came up, and then the little girl's brother. And in a few 
 moments she had three mourners on their knees. The 
 dear child, like an angel, kept flying from one to the other 
 begging them to love Jesus. No one in the little company 
 thought of supper just then. Presently the squire ex- 
 pressed a desire to see the young school-teacher. Some 
 
 one went to her boarding-place and said, "Miss B , 
 
 squire M wants to see you immediately." She was 
 
 then busy packing her trunk, but she obeyed the stimmons 
 and .started for the squire's mansion. As she walked along 
 
A SEVERE TEST. 65 
 
 she thought, "What on earth can the old tyrant want with 
 me now? He has driven me from my school, and, perhaps, 
 to the poor-house. Oh ! it is too hard. But God will help 
 me to love even an enemy." As she entered the house the 
 little girl met her teacher in the doorway and cried, "O 
 
 Miss B , I think papa loves Jesus, and I am so happy, so 
 
 happy! Walk up to the room." True enough, the little 
 girl had guessed the truth. The squire had found peace, 
 and when the young teacher approached him he said, " Miss 
 
 B , I dare not, but I would like to kiss you ! God 
 
 bless you a thousand times ! Miss B , have you got re- 
 ligion enough to forgive me? You know- Saul was as bad 
 as I, and he was pardoned." "Why, certainly, squire. 
 Though you have driven me from my school, I pity you 
 much more than I blame you," was the noble answer. 
 
 "Miss B , I propose to call a meeting of the school 
 
 trustees to-morrow morning. Will you be present, too?" 
 
 "If you desire it." 
 
 On Saturday morning the trustees met, reversed their 
 
 act of cruelty, and begged Miss B to resume her 
 
 school on Monday, with the distinct understanding that 
 .she might have full liberty to introduce any religious ser- 
 vices into her school that she pleased. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A SNAKE STORY. 
 
 My way being hedged about in Staunton, I spent much 
 of my time in the country. My Presiding Elder, E. P. 
 Phelps, frequently sent me out on his district while he 
 attended to my work in Staunton. In this way I traveled 
 over much of the ground I had occupied the former year. 
 The topography of all that country is rugged, though the 
 valley is fertile. My accommodations, though genial, were 
 often quite rustic ; straw and leaves, gathered in the 
 woods, served as mattresses, and wooden troughs as 
 wash bowls. A large comb suspended from a nail 
 by a long string served for a whole family. Acorns 
 were frequently used as a substitute for coffee, and 
 mountain herbs for tea. The army-worm had crawled 
 all over this country, and the remaining inhabitants 
 had not recovered from its dire effects. What loyal people 
 there were, not cowed by the tyranny of conventional rules, 
 received me with open arms and made me as happy as they 
 possibly could. 
 
 Much of my time was spent among mountains infested 
 with snakes. I had a natural antipathy to these repulsive 
 reptiles and I feared them exceedingly. On one occasion 
 in the dead of winter (when snakes are not as a rule roam- 
 ing around) I passed the night with some friends who 
 lived in the mountains. A thoughtful member of the 
 family placed a warm brick in my bed, for there was no 
 
.-; SNAKE STORY. r,7 
 
 fire in the room. I retired in good season. After dis- 
 robing I hurriedly jumped into bed, when to my horror my 
 foot came in contact with something warm, which I instantly 
 concluded was a huge snake coiled up ! With a yell, I 
 sprang at least ten feet from the bed at one leap ! The house 
 shook, the windows rattled, the water splashed from the 
 pitcher on the stand, and altogether I made a great racket. 
 The lady below hearing the uproar, came rushing to my 
 door and cried: "Mr. Conser, Mr. Conser, what is the 
 matter? " 
 
 "Oh Mrs. M !" I shouted "there is a snake in my 
 
 bed." 
 
 " A snake ! Can it be possible? " she exclaimed. 
 
 For a moment there was silence. Then I heard a ripple 
 
 of laughter and Mrs. M softly said, "I wonder if it 
 
 isn't the warm brick? " 
 
 I had not another word to say, but crept quietly back to 
 bed and for ver}^ shame covered my face and went to sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 In the spring of 1868 my time at Staunton expired, and 
 I asked to be placed nearer to Baltimore, where my family 
 was. Bishop Ames accordingly sent me to Fairfax, in 
 sight of Washington City. Here I was entirely separated 
 from the Secessionists. Northern people were numerous, 
 and a goodly nvimber of native Virginians were loyal. Several 
 years had now passed since the war closed, and the church 
 was pretty well reorganized. The few rebels I encountered 
 seemed sour. They still smarted under the mortification 
 of defeat. The country around Fairfax had a God-for- 
 saken look. Here the armies of both sections had swayed 
 to and fro, leaving destruction and desolation in their path. 
 Here with McClellan's army I had lain ( I was chaplain of 
 the Fifth Pennsylvania Reserve Corps) all the fall and 
 winter of 1861-62, held at bay by ^Quaker cannon at 
 Manassas. 
 
 During my year at Fairfax I was entertained on one 
 occasion by Bro. A , one of the members of our con- 
 gregation. 
 
 Soon after tea he adroitly turned the conversation to 
 nautical subjects. He inquired: 
 
 " Bro. Conser, were you ever on the high seas? " 
 
 " Only once, Bro. A ." 
 
 •■'Quaker cannon were simply painted logs, imitating cannon. 
 
FAIRFAX. 69 
 
 " Well, do you know anything about pirates? " 
 
 " Nothing but what I may have read." 
 
 " But I do," eagerly replied Bro. A . 
 
 " Were you ever on the ocean ?" I inquired. 
 
 " O, yes, many a time, and among pirates, too." 
 
 And then he narrated his adventures among pirates that 
 utterly surprised me. 
 
 "Once upon a time," he went on, " as the merchantman 
 aboard of which I was, passed near the Isle of Pines, we 
 were chased b}- a pirate. The captain put on all sail and 
 tried to escape; but in vain. The pirates soon approached. 
 The captain then ordered all hands on deck, and ordered a 
 fight to the death should the pirates attempt to board our 
 vessel. Among the passengers was a Quaker who could 
 not conscientiously fight, so when the pirates boarded 
 our ship the Quaker ran down a hatchway. The pirate 
 pursued him, and as he ran up on deck again to escape 
 them, one of the villains grabbed the Quaker and was 
 about to throw him overboard, when the Quaker hit the 
 pirate a blow that laid him flat upon the deck. Then 
 another pirate grappled with the Quaker. Finally the 
 Quaker got the advantage, and pitched his assailant over- 
 board. By this time the pirate who had been felled to the 
 deck recovered somewhat from his blow and made a dash 
 for the Quaker. He, too, after a brief struggle, was thrown 
 into the yaw^ning waves. By and b}^ we succeeded in fight- 
 ing the pirates off, and when all became calm again, the 
 captain said to the Quaker : 
 
 "I thought you Quakers wouldn't fight?" 
 
 "Well," replied the brave Quaker, "thee knows I should 
 not have done so, if they had stayed on their own ship." 
 
 "Did you ever fall in with Captain Kidd?" I inquired, 
 somewhat quizzicall}', I confess. 
 
70 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 "Well — yes. Do you know anything about Captaift 
 Kidd?" 
 
 "Nothing but what I have read." 
 
 "Captain Kidd was a bad man," he declared. 
 
 "I suppose all pirates are bad," said I. 
 
 "Well, yes, but there is a diflference. Did you know 
 Gibbs and Wansle}'? " 
 
 "I once saw them hung in effigy." 
 
 "In what? " with an inquiring look. 
 
 "Effigy. Why, I have been hung in effigy twice." 
 
 "Did it hurt much? " 
 
 "It may have hurt the effigy, but it did not hurt me." 
 
 In this vein we conversed the entire evening. 
 
 The next day after this conversation, I called upon a 
 
 neighbor of Bro. A 's. On learning that I had spent 
 
 the night preceding with Bro. A , he said, "Did he tell 
 
 you his pirate stories?" 
 
 "Stories? He told me of his adventures upon the high 
 seas." 
 
 "Bro. Conser, do you know that Bro. A has never 
 
 been on the sea at all?" 
 
 "Is that so?" I replied, wnth astonishment. 
 
 "Wh)', sir, all those piratical stories are imaginary." 
 
 "But he narrated these incidents 2ls facts, and you say 
 they are false,''' I returned. 
 
 " I do not say they are false, but I do say, as far as Bro. 
 A is concerned, that he never saw a pirate." 
 
 "Then he lied to me shamefully. And do you have such 
 men in your church here?" said I, indignantly. 
 
 "Bro. Conser, Bro. A — — is one of our best members. 
 You will never catch him in a lie or other crime, excepting 
 his mania for telling piratical tales. He may have read 
 these tales in his younger days, and, by repeating them 
 
FAIRFAX. 71 
 
 often, at last has come to believe that the adventures he 
 narrates were really his own. With him this is a weakness, 
 not a wickedness. You could not get a committee that 
 
 would find Bro. A guilty of falsehood; he is too good 
 
 a man." 
 
 I could but commend the charitable vindication of a 
 weak brother's faults by his neighbor. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BORN OF WATER. 
 
 One day, as I was waiting for the train at Arlington Sta- 
 tion, an ex-slave approached, and, with a smile that indi- 
 cated sociability, said, " Good evenin', sar." 
 
 I returned the salutation. 
 
 " Gwine to Falls Church, mister? " he asked. 
 
 "Uncle, I am going to Herndon, beyond Falls Church." 
 
 "Des ye live at Herdin?" 
 
 "No, uncle; I live in Baltimore." 
 
 "Wat is ye gwine to Herdin for? " 
 
 "I expect to preach there to-morrow, uncle." 
 
 "Is 3'e a pritcher? " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "A Baptis' pritcher?" 
 
 "No, uncle; I am a Methodist preacher." 
 
 "D n the Met'dis' preacher." 
 
 " Why, why, uncle ! Do 3'ou use profane language? " 
 
 "Ugh ! Dat nuthin'. I do wuss dan dat." 
 
 "But that is wicked, uncle." 
 
 "Ugh ! You d n Met'dis' preacher say so, but it ain't, 
 
 nuther." 
 
 "Uncle, do you profess to have religion? " 
 
 "Yes, sir; right smart." 
 
 "And still you use such bad words? " 
 
 "Mister, 'scuse me. Use so used to dat word dat I can't 
 help sayin' it. I mean no respecs ; Lord knows, I don't." 
 
BORN OF WATER. 73 
 
 "Well, but such words are unbecoming a Christian. 
 Doesn't your conscience upbraid 5-ou?" 
 
 " Now massy, you talk 'bout conscience. Ise know all 
 about conscience. When I was a boy I 'tended a Met'dis' 
 camp-meetin' and de brederen 'suaded me to get 'ligion an' 
 I tried hard, but I was jis givin' up, an' den it come all at 
 once, and O ! I make an awful fuss ! Then my conscience 
 was tender jus' like a baby's an' all de time botherin' me, 
 and I daren' say no hard words, and say no wite lies, and 
 hook no chickens, and drink no grog, so I jus' let 'ligion 
 go, and tried to cult'vate conscience to be stronger, and not 
 weak and tender like baby's. 'Cause you know conscience 
 can be cultivated like 'backer." 
 
 "But why let your religion go?" 
 
 " 'Cause Methodis' 'ligion no good. Won't stay nohow. 
 Jis as de war begin, I said, Bob (my Baptis' name, Robert 
 lyce) I says ' Bob you better get ligion, cause you may go to 
 de war too, and ma}^ be killed. So better get 'ligion fust, 
 but not Met'dis' 'ligion — dat won't stick.' So I tried Bap- 
 tis' 'ligion, and was born again of water, an' the spirit, an' 
 dat stick good." 
 
 "So your Baptist religion sticks good. But how about 
 using such profane words?" 
 
 "'Fane words! I use no 'fane words." 
 
 "Why, Bob, did 3^ou not say *d — n' several times in my 
 presence? " 
 
 " Dat no 'fane word." 
 / " But no Christian should use such words. Does not 
 your conscience upbraid you." 
 
 " Dar, you Met'dis' blind leadin' de blind. You can do 
 nothin' but conscience bothers you. Why does you not 
 cultivate conscience ? When I was born of water and de 
 spirit, conscience tried hard to bother me again. I was jis 
 
74 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 like a little chile. But Paul says, Tut away childish things.' 
 Den I tried some bad words. At fust conscience tried to 
 — what do you call dat big word — 'uproad ?' 
 
 "No Bob, I said ' upbraid.' " 
 
 "O, yes! now I 'member. Well, as I was sayin', con- 
 science tried to upbraid me for usin' such words, but I kep' 
 on cultivatin' conscience, till it got strong and manly-like." 
 
 " Is your conscience strong enough now to steal poultry, 
 tell white lies, etc ? " 
 
 "Well, yes; 'pend much on cir'stances." 
 
 " When you said you were born again of water and the 
 spirit, what did you mean by being born of water?" 
 
 "Good grashus! You knows Ise 'mersed in de water." 
 
 "You were immersed in water, and that you call ' being 
 born again of water and the spirit?' " 
 
 " Zackley so. Caze ' mersion is the true baptism." 
 
 " But why is immersion the only true baptism? " 
 
 " Caze the Greek always mean 'mersion." 
 
 " Can you read Greek, Bob?'" 
 
 "No, massy. But I understan' de Greek langwidge." 
 
 "You do!" 
 
 " Why, bless de Lord ! De Greek is de Baptis' langwidge." 
 
 "Indeed! But how you can understand the Greek lan- 
 guage when 5"ou can not read, I can not see." 
 
 "Well, the parson understands Greek, an' he tells us." 
 
 " So you have the parson's word for it. But suppose he 
 knows no more Greek than you do? " 
 
 " He says he knows all about it." 
 
 " My dear Bob, that is easily said." 
 
 " I knowd he never went to college ! But did Christ ever 
 go to college? " — this with a triumphant air. 
 
 " I do not think he needed to go." 
 
 " All college men is not good men — is they? " 
 
BORN OF WATER. 75 
 
 " I suppose not. Nor are all ignoramuses good men. 
 But how much water had you when you were immersed?" 
 
 " All the 'tomac ! " 
 
 " All the Potomac ! My dear sir, you had quite too 
 much water for the amount of spirit in your baptism. 
 The next time you are ' born again of water and the spirit,' 
 please take less water and more spirit to rid yourself of 
 such black spots as swearing, lying, stealing and drinking 
 rum ; for water, evidently, can not wash them away." 
 
 Just then the train approached. Bob entered the first 
 car, I the second, and we met no more. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ARMY REMINISCENCES. 
 
 While at Fairfax, I had abundant opportunity to visit my 
 home in Baltimore, and on the whole the year was prosperous 
 and pleasant. But my health, which had heen seriously im- 
 paired in the Chickahominy swamps during McClellan's 
 siege of Richmond, began to fail. I could no longer do effect- 
 ive work as an itinerant Methodist preacher, and at the 
 close of my year at Fairfax I retired from the active ministry. 
 
 I am proud to say that I was always an anti-slaver}- man. 
 During all the exciting time, from the enactment of the 
 fugitive slave law until actual hosilities commenced in 1861, 
 in my pulpit and everj^ where I preached what I practised, 
 loyalty to God, church and country. I was quite too loyal 
 for the semi-rebs of Baltimore, and the church authorities 
 saw proper to remove me in i860, from Baltimore to 
 Huntington, Pa. After the bombardment of Fort Sumter 
 I went to Washington, and through Gen. Cameron (then 
 Secretary of War) offered my services to my country. Gen. 
 Cameron, whom I had known for many years, wishing 
 probably to favor me, asked whether I would not prefer a 
 post-chaplaincy. I replied that if I had a choice I would 
 prefer going to the front ; I had come from a patriotic 
 family, and did not wish to be hid in a fort. He sent me 
 home to await orders. While waiting to hear from the 
 Secretary of War, all my leisure time from my ministerial 
 work was occupied with Senator Scott in recruiting ; I find- 
 
ARMY REMINISCENCES. 77 
 
 ing the recruits, and Senator Scott taking care of them un- 
 til called for. Hon. A. G. Curtin, Governor of Pennsylvania 
 had organized a corps of volunteers known as the Reserve 
 Corps of Pennsylvania Volunteers. Two regiments of this 
 corps, the "5th" and "Buck-tails" had been ordered to 
 West Virginia early in the summer of 1861. Immediately 
 after the Bull Run disaster, this corps was called for by the 
 United States. The two regiments beyond Cumberland 
 were ordered to report at Harrisburg, Penn., and they re- 
 turned through Huntingdon. Here I joined the " 5th," 
 and accompanied them to Washington as chaplain. We 
 were camped in the vicinity of Washington from August, 
 1 86 1, to March, 1862, with an army of nearl}' 200,000 troops, 
 held at bay by the Quaker cannon before referred to. 
 
 On Thanksgiving day, Col. Simmons requested me to 
 make a patriotic address to our regiment. Accordingly 
 the regiment deployed into a hollow square around a small 
 platform extemporized for the occasion. The officers of 
 the regiment occupied the platform, and our regimental 
 colors supplied all the decoration required. In the course 
 of m}' address I called attention to that flag and remarked : 
 "It is blue, but notboosled with rum; it is spotted, but not 
 with crime ; it is red, but it has never been stained with 
 innocent blood ; it is white, but not palsied with fear ; it 
 bears the stripes, but it has never been whipped." Here 
 my voice was completel}' drowned by the shouts of the 
 battalion and I left the stage. 
 
 Oh ! how grieved I was to see that flag, afterwards rid- 
 dled by rebel bullets, shot by those who once had kissed it ! 
 
 In March, 1862, we broke camp on Arlington, and were 
 marched to Manassas, where we had full opportunity to 
 examine the dangerous ( ? ) Quaker cannon that held 
 McClellan in awe so long. From Manassas we marched to 
 
78 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 Fredericksburg, which we easily captured. We camped 
 on Mary's Hill, which Gen. Burnside failed to take. From 
 Fredericksburg we embarked on a rickety steamer, and 
 were sent to the Peninsula to re-inforce McClellan's army. 
 We landed at the White House (Fitzhugh Lee's), thirt)-- 
 four miles east of Richmond. From this point we were 
 sent by rail to the famous Chickahominy. Here we began 
 our march to Mechanicsville, six miles north of Richmond ; 
 and on the 27th of June we were repelled by the over- 
 whelming rebel guns. I came very near being captured 
 that day. We were camped on the east bank of a small 
 stream east of Mechanicsville. Our battalion was on 
 picket that day beycnd the town, but I remained in camp. 
 After dinner I took my hammock and went into a grove \)y 
 the little run. Tying my hammock to the trees, I got into 
 it, fell asleep, and dreamed of a thunder-storm. What I, 
 in my dream, believed to be a thunder-storm proved in 
 reality to be cannonading ; and before I could recover my 
 senses, our troops came running pell-mell past me and ral- 
 lied just beyond where I had been sleeping. By the time 
 I was fully awake I was just between the two armies, a con- 
 spicuous target for both. Fortunately, the rebels halted on 
 the west bank of the run. They immediately commenced 
 firing. I sprang from my hammock and ran to the rear of 
 our troops, where we all lay flat upon the ground. Our 
 men were ordered to hold their fire. Now, if there is a 
 painful position in a battle, it is to be shot at without per- 
 mission to return the compliment. But soon the time 
 came, and the order was given to fire. The "Johnnies" 
 attempted to cross the stream between us, but we held 
 them at bay. The scene was appalling. It appeared to 
 me that no sacrifice of men could check the rebels. Our 
 men were brave, however, and held their ground. It was 
 
ARMY REMINrSCENCES. 79 
 
 a drawn battle. Both armies remained upon the field that 
 night, sleeping upon their arms. Early on the morning of 
 the 28th we retreated to Gaines' Hill, a few miles down the 
 Chickahominy. There we had a severe battle, and lost 
 heavily, especially our artillery. We began to realize that 
 we had demons to encounter. War is essentially barbar- 
 ous. The nearer the savage, the better the soldier. You 
 commend the soldier for his bravery, but civilians are not 
 good judges of braver}- in a soldier. None more brave 
 than a coward when he must fight. Fighting is purely 
 mechanical. The soldier in battle has not time to calcu- 
 late causes and effects. lyike a fisticuff, when you are 
 struck, you want to strike back. Right or wrong is a 
 matter for after consideration. The ranks of an army are 
 just so many machines. How a Christian can pray for his 
 enemies and then shoot them dead, indifferent whether he 
 sends them to heaven or hell, I do not understand. The 
 battle-field is no place for Christians! 
 
 As chaplain of the battalion I belonged to the colonel's 
 staff, and during a battle should have been a certain num- 
 ber of paces on his left in the rear, but I always volunteered 
 to carry wounded from the front, which would bring me 
 often between both armies, and in danger from both. I 
 found it no sinecure position to carry or drag men wounded 
 and helpless back through our ranks. On Monday, during 
 that seven days' battle at Turkey Bend, our corps was 
 on the extreme left. We were vigorously attacked and 
 we as vigorously defended our position. Our temjK)rary 
 regimental hospital was under a clump of trees in the rear 
 of the regiment. Dr. Donaldson, assistant surgeon, asked 
 me to hold a wounded soldier while he attempted to ex- 
 tract a bullet from his neck. I held him under his arms, 
 his head resting on my shoulder and I kneeling on my 
 
80 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 right knee. While thus engaged, the rebels flanked us on 
 the left and began shelling our extemporized hospital. 
 Dr. Donaldson was busily working to secure the bullet, 
 when suddenly a shell exploded near by us and one of the 
 flying pieces lodged in my left thigh. The surgeon sprang 
 up and exclaimed: "Chaplain are you hurt?" I excit- 
 edly replied, " I haven't time now. I^et us take this man 
 away." But almost before I had finished speaking, the 
 terror-stricken surgeon had disappeared and the wounded 
 soldier and I were left alone. At that critical moment a 
 deserter passed along and I caught him by the foot and 
 cried out, "Take hold of this man and help him away 
 from here!" Fortunately the deserter obeyed and we 
 carried the poor man back, I helping as best I couM. In 
 a few moments I espied, lying directly in our path, a rebel 
 fuse shell all aglow ! It was an awful sight — the thought 
 of stepping over it, like walking into the jaws of death ! 
 As we came closer the deserter saw it and tried to get out 
 of the way. If he should turn and run what would 
 become of the wounded man and myself? Before he had 
 time to fully realize the situation I thundered, " Go ahead ! " 
 and over the shell with our burden we went. How soon 
 the missile of death exploded we did not remain to inves- 
 tigate. In this battle our brave corps lost heavily. The 
 next morning on Malvern Hill the noble 5th Pennsylvania 
 Reserves mustered only a little over three hundred men ! 
 Where were the rest ? Wounded and slain ! O, the 
 horrors of war ! 
 
 I did not work long on Tuesday on Malvern Hill. My 
 leg felt sore and I was completely worn out. After the bat- 
 tle had progressed several hours, I lay down with the 
 wounded behind a little hill just in the rear of our ranks, 
 
ARMY REMINISCENCES. 81 
 
 and slept soundly perhaps two hours. I never realized how 
 soldiers could sleep in and during a battle until then. 
 
 Next day we came to Harrison's Landing under cover 
 of our gunboats. Here we were safe. I was, by this time, 
 quite sick. As soon as a hospital could be erected, I lay 
 down in charge of Surgeon lyane, and hovered between 
 life and death, until aroused one night early in August by 
 the booming of cannon and the explosion of shells, we 
 were notified to flee for life, as the rebels were on us. I 
 left my cot, went out and saw the shells, like rainbows 
 bursting all around the sky. But the Galena soon got into 
 position and replied, and I crept back again to ni}' bed. 
 
 Twice did I, through friends, tender my resignation, 
 
 and t\\'4ce was* it refused. At length a member of the 
 
 Christian Commission took my case to Gen. McClellan's 
 
 headquarters in person, and secured the following general 
 
 order: 
 
 Headquarters Army of the Potomac \ 
 August 5, 1S62. Camp near Harrison's I-,anding, Va. ( 
 
 Special Order, No. 227. 
 
 Leave of absence for twenty days, for the benefit of his health, is 
 granted to Chaplain S.X. M. Conser, 5th Pennsylvania Reserve Corps. 
 At the expiration of that period, should he be unable to rejoin his 
 station, he will proceed as directed by General Order No. 61, of June 
 7, 1862, from the War Department, Adjutant General's Office. 
 
 By command of Maj-Gen., George B. McClellan. 
 
 B. Williams, A. Adj.-Gen. 
 
 This special order was read at the dress-parade of every 
 regiment of the Army of the Potomac, and I, through the 
 kindness of Surgeon G. Lane, of Chambersburg, was sent 
 home to Baltimore. As Dr. Lane and others were helping 
 me into the ambulance to convey me to the steamer, Maj. 
 Dare put the following note into ray hands : 
 
82 VIRGINIA AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 Headquarters sth Penn. Reserve Corps. 
 We take great pleasure in bearing testimony to the correct moral 
 deportment of Rev. S. L. M. Conser, chaplain of this regiment, and 
 we cheerfully commend him to public confidence. 
 
 Signed, J. W. FiSHER, Col. 
 
 George Dare, Maj. 
 
 The following was forwarded to me while in the hospital 
 in Baltimore : 
 
 To the Honorable Secretary of the Navy : 
 
 Sir: — I have pleasure in recommending the Rev. S. L,. M. Conser 
 as chaplain in the Navy. He is a pure Christian, an educated gentle- 
 man, and a man of talents. He has the entire confidence of his 
 
 Church. 
 
 Signed, Simon Cameron, 
 
 Secretary of War. 
 
 I most cheerfully and cordially indorse the foregoing. 
 J. W. P'isher, 
 
 Col. ^th Penna. Reserve Corps. 
 
 These certificates were very consoling to me, e.speciall}^ 
 Secretary Cameron's recommendation to Secretary Welles, 
 to place me in the navy, but my health was gone, and my 
 age precluded all hopes of recovery. As my resignation 
 had been twice rejected, about March i, 1863, I asked 
 through our medical purveyor, Simpson, for a court of med- 
 ical inspection to consider ni)' case. I appeared before the 
 court, and I suppose was pronounced unable to endure the 
 exposure of camp life, for I was at once discharged. And 
 so ended my militarj^^ career. I did all I could to save my 
 country. I am thankful that my loved flag, though insult- 
 ed and torn by ungrateful rebels, was born victoriously 
 through the fierce contest, and I do not regret any sacrifice 
 I may have made to keep that banner afloat 
 
 "O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." 
 

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