Columbia (Hnitiem'tp intieCttpoflmgork THE LIBRARIES Bequest of Frederic Bancroft 1860-1945 Te^-^ ^^ j/y-i~^ , , /^, ^ ^ ^'^^ ^C^^ LIGHTS and SHADOWS of SEVENTY YEARS By J. E. GODBEY, D. D. ST. LOUIS, MO. ST. LOUIS CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE CO. Pr'.ssof NIXON-JON^S PRiN'i'ING CO. ST. LOUIS, MO. 3 ^'7/<>c Copyright Secured 1913 J. E. GODBEY TO THE MEMORY OF MARY, WHOSE HAND WROTE MANY OF THESE PAGES AT THE DICTATION OF THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. Chapter. Page. I. Memories of Childhood 1 II. Tossed About — War Experience 36 III. When the Cruel War Was Over 69 IV. .On Salem District 101 V. Memories of Work in the Ozarks 122 VI. At First Church, St. Louis 144 VII. Further Experiences in a Down-Town Church 171 VIII. At Page Avenue 187 IX. The Wars of the Lord 203 X. The Southwestern Methodist 212 XI. On the Kansas City District 240 XII. Editor of the Arkansas Methodist 258 XIII. Under the Shadows 266 XIV. The Sunlight Returns 278 XV. At Heudrix College— Death of Mary 297 Addendum 311 (v) Foreword. To one who has finished his "three score years and ten" life is chiefly a memory, and, like the Ancient Mariner, he j^earns to tell his story to every one who will hear him. It may be the natural garrulity of age, en- couraged by the request of a few friends, that has prompted me to publish this book. I know not. "Who can understand his errors?" Howbeit, the book is published and submitted to the friends whom I love, and who, in years past, had patience to hear me talk. I have entitled my book ' ' Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years," because it deals with the changes of these years more than my personal work. The record of what I have done will be of some interest to those who know me; to others there may be a general interest in a rec- ord of changes which, through the lapse of three-quarters of a century, have taken place in church and society, and our mode of life. It will be observed by dates, here and there, that what is recorded in these pages has taken form through a period of seven years. Mem- ory has been my guide and I have given only sketches of life's journey and experiences. At the age of seventy-four I am still a busy man. I feel sound and vigorous and have not yet heard the Master's call to retire from labor in His vineyard. This book will go chiefly to my friends, to all of whom I send greeting. St. Louis, Mo., 1913. J- E. G. (vii) Family Tradition and Histoey. The writers of history have been strangely unobservant of the merits of the Goclbey fam- ily, or else the family is of so recent an origin that it has not had time to make history. I find not the name on any honor roll of ancient worthies, neither is it so much as mentioned, so far as I know, in any Encyclopedia or Bio- graphical Dictionary. It is reported to me, however, that the Vir- ginia Historical Magazine, vol. 1, page 191, has this record: ''Thomas Godbey, of Kiccoughtan, Elizabeth City, yeoman, an ancient planter, as his first dividend, 100 acres, between Newport News and Blunt Point, granted, December 1, 1624. "Thomas Godbey, born 1587, came to Vir- ginia in ship Deliverance, 1608, and Joanna Godbey, in Flying Heart, 1621." I understand that the first settlers of Virginia were mostly bachelors, and that after a few years some of them bought waives w^ith tobacco, and so began to establish families, and that this circumstance gave rise to the term "First Fam- ilies of Virginia." Of course these first fam- ilies, getting the start in the new country, be- came the ruling aristocrats in time, so the title "First Families of Virginia" became a badge of aristocracy. The record cited above is my ground of claim to have descended from this distinguished class. In support of my opinion that our family has been but latelv introduced on the world's stage, (ix) X Family Tradition and History. our tradition is that tlie name originated in the time of Cromwell, and was, at first, Godo- bey. This seems to be fairly well estalDlished, and brings me some comfort in the thought of an ancestry distinguished for piety. I am the more disposed to this persuasion, as I have knowledge of twenty-eight Methodist preachers among the descendants of my grand-parents, and, further, because I have never known a drunkard among any of my kindred. My mother's name was Kelly. The Kellys stoutly contend that they are descendants of the Kelly clan, which was virtually wiped out at the battle of Augrim, fought on their prop- erty in the County of Galway, Ireland. Their coat of arms bore the inscription, '■'■Turris fortis viiJii Dens," which further suggests pious ancestry. The marriage of a son of the Kelly clan with the house of Marr merged the fam- ilies under the name of ' ' Marr and Kelly. ' ' As to the coming of the Kellys to America, it is a family tradition that it was on this wise : Two boys by the name of Kelly were playing on the beach on the coast of Ireland, when a sea captain told them if they would come aboard ship he would teacli them how to play the ''hautboy." They ventured, expecting to learn a new game. The captain sailed away with the lads to Virginia, and put them in the field to hoe corn. I suppose this is true, because the family has been especially devoted to agricul- ture. One of the boys got tired of "lioeboy" and escaped to England. The other became the ancestor of Thomas Kelly, my great-grand- father. Definite history begins when the Godbey and Family Tradition and History. xi Kelly families emerged into the light in adjoin- ing counties, Montgomery and Botetourt, Va., about thirty years before the Revolutionary War. Both great-grandparents were soldiers of the Revolution when my grandparents were babies — Wm. Godbey, born in 1775, and Samuel Kelly, in 1776. Both grandparents came to Kentucky, and there settled in adjoining counties — Casey and Pulaski. My parents, Josiah Godbey and Sena Kelly, were married in 1836 ; father being nine- teen and mother eighteen years of age. In the Minutes of the Southwest Missouri Conference for 1890 is the following memoir: ''Josiah Godbey was born June 30, 1817, and died April 20, 1890. Between the above dates was lived a quiet, contented, industrious, happy, useful, and successful life of seventy-three years, less one month and ten days. Brother Godbey was converted and joined the Methodist church September 7, 1833, was licensed to exhort in 1840, and to preach, March, 1841. In October of the same year he joined the Kentucky Conference. He was ordained a deacon in 1843, and an elder in 1845. He trav- eled Albany, Burksville, Somerset, Perryville, and Maxville circuits in Kentucky — one year each on the first and last, two years each on the other three. He was superannuated in 1846, and put in a supernumerary relation in 1847-8. In 1852 he located, moved to Missouri and bought a farm in Cooper county. He served as a supply that year in the Boonville station. In 1853 he re-entered the itinerant ranks in the St. Louis Conference, since which time he has served the following charges: Bell- Air, nine xii Fainily Tradition and History. years; Georgetown, four; Sedalia, four; Long- wood, two; and Arrow Rock, Marshall, and Windsor, one year each. He was presiding elder of the Boonville district in 1864-5. Josiah Godbey was married to Miss Sena Kelly, October 27, 1836. She died in 1888. He married a second time in 1889. Four of his sons and one of his sons-in-law have been itin- erant Methodist preachers in Missouri. One, Rev. J. E. Godbey, D. D., is now a member of this Conference, and another. Rev. S. M. God- bey, is a member of the Pacific Conference, editor of the Pacific Methodist and professor in the Pacific Methodist College at Santa Rosa. Brother Godbey preached the gospel forty- nine years and one month. For several years before his death he had been on the superan- nuated list, but preached frequently. His last message was delivered in Otterville, where he lived from the time of his second marriage. This was April 13, 1890. The next Sabbath he entered into rest." AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF REV. JOHN EMORY GODBEY CHAPTER I. Memoeies of Childhood. ''The family Bible that lay on the stand" in my childhood home contained this record: "John Emory Godbey, second son of Josiah Godbey and Sena, his wife, was born in Casey county, Kentucky, August 11, 1839. ' ' At that time my father cultivated a small farm. He afterward became a minister of the gospel in the Methodist church, and traveled as an itinerant preacher and served in the Kentucky and Missouri Conferences for almost half a century. My father had two brothers who were preach- ers; my mother, four. They were all Meth- odists. My father's brothers, John and Joshua, served in the Kentucky Conference. My mother's brothers, Clinton, Gilby, Samuel, and Albert, all served for a time in the Ken- tucky Conference, but later Samuel trans- ferred to the West Virginia Conference, and Clinton and Albert emigrated to Oregon. Gilby 2 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. died at Covington, Ky., while presiding elder of the Covington district. Thus it would ap- pear that by natural causes I was predestined to be a Methodist preacher. I have record of twenty-eight Methodist preachers descended from the families of my grandparents. I am sure there are others. My earliest recollection is of a log cabin, with a shed on the back side as a shelter for a rockaway, a great chestnut tree a few yards to the left of the door, a rail fence in front, and across the fence and the public road, a well from which the water was raised by a sweep. This w^as when we lived on the Albany Circuit. I was but three years old when we left the place, but from that time forward all my life history stands distinctly in memory. An incident in the experience of the family, while on the Albany Circuit, will serve to illus- trate the hardships of a preacher's life in those times. The circuit had fourteen appointments, and my father made the round once a month. He was generally from home two weeks, and then could be with his family only a day or two. I think my father's entire stock of earthly goods was his horse and the rockaway, and the pots, pans, chairs and bedding in the cabin, and, as he received just $28 for the year's work, we were often reduced to great want. Bread and meat made a good living, but once, when my father came home, he found that his family Memories of Childhood. 3 had lived several days on bread alone, and that my mother's appeal for help to a well- to-do steward, who owned a large farm and several slaves, had been refused with rudeness. My father 's feelings w^ere greatly stirred when he found his family in such a situation, and he declared he would not spend another day in the place. But my mother urged his call to preach the gospel, and with tears begged him to stand to his work. So he went, the next morning, several miles, to a week-day appointment. He declined all invitations to take dinner, resolved to eat nothing till his family was supplied. He returned home at nightfall to find my mother thanking God, and the children happy, for the neighbors had brought both meat and meal. How much grief comes from unkind speech. My poor, sweet mother, then twenty-two years of age, w^ith three babes to care for, had borne her burden until there was no oil in the cruse and only a handful of meal in the barrel, and then, in her extremity of need, had gone to a steward in the church to beg for a piece of meat, to be answered : ''This is a poor place to come for meat; we haven't as much as we need for ourselves." That she came back to weep was like a woman, and like a woman, no less, to en- dure and to pray. This same steward, I sup- pose, secured the supplies that came in two days later. But that rude speech was never for- gotten by my mother, though I know it was for- given as soon as spoken. 4 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. The cliiircli owes much to the wives of the preachers. My father was a successful min- ister of the gospel, loved and honored by the church, and, long before his career was closed, blessed with a comfortable home. But often- times, Avhile I have listened to his stirring ap- peals and marked his power to move men, I have said within myself, ''It is my mother that is in the pulpit." My father would certainly have abandoned the Methodist itineracy after one j^ear's experience, had my mother not held him with prayers and entreaties to the work. My father was appointed to Burksville Cir- cuit in the fall of 1842 and spent two years on this charge, and here I spent the time from the close of my third to the close of my fifth year. I remember well the move to this place, the house in which we lived, with two rooms, or rather one room with a half-story finished above, and a stair in the corner; the great Catalpa tree at the stiles, the mulberry down by the lane, the orchard on the other side of the house; the tobacco field, and barn on the hill, and the creek back of the orchard, where I first saw fishes caught with a hook. The names of all the neighbors I remember Avell. Here my brother, William Clinton, two years my senior, started to school. During this time an incident occurred which made a deep im- pression upon me. There was a house-raising made by our neighbor, Mr. Frazier, on whose farm we lived. I was most of the day near the Memories of Childhood. 5 men, looking at their work. Some of tliem used profane language. I had no knowledge of its meaning, and a day or two afterwards, while in the orchard with my father, I used the same words I had heard from the men. My father, whom I had thought to please by this exhibition of manliness, sat down upon the grass, took me in his arms, and talked to me a long time about the wicked men, and the Avicked words that I had learned from them, until my |v_>art was very sad. Then he told me if I would pray to God he would forgive me. I knelt on the grass, at his knee, and repeated the prayer after him. I never again used profane language, and I am sure that a deeper conscientiousness and a stronger faith were mine in after years, because of this wise and loving correction. We were on the Burksville Circuit but two years, then my father was appointed to the Som- merset Circuit. On our way there we stopped at my Grandfather Godbey's, in Casey county. It was the first time I had seen my grandfather. He was very old. His appearance impressed me with a great veneration. I saw him but twice afterward; that was during the ensuing two years. He died at the age of ninety-six. He was a devout Christian and a member of the Methodist church. There were no parsonages in those times. We found a home in a log cabin on the edge of a meadow on the farm of James Rece, who had 6 Lights and SJiaclows of Seventy Years. married my fatlier's sister. Gregg's Chapel, a log churcli lialf a mile away, was one of fatlier's preaching places. It was there I first heard preaching, so far as I remember. The same year I was at a camp-meeting at Gregg's camp ground. The majesty of the forest, the weird scene of light and shadow, when the torches burned at night; the penitents, praying and pleading for mercy at the altar; the wild mel- ody of the singing, the fervent and fiery preach- ing made an abiding impression upon me, and I obtained some knowledge of what it is to be stricken with penitence for sin and saved by faith in Christ. While at this place I first went to school. The school house was a mile and a half away. I was six years old and had learned to read — when or how I cannot tell. I have no memory of earlier teaching, though a clear memory of many scenes and events connected with the daily ongoing of my life during these early years. After two years on the. Sommerset Cir- cuit my father took a superannuated relation for ojie year, and was supernumerary for two years following. During this time we lived on a farm on Clifty creek, eight miles from Som- merset. The farm had been owned by my mother's father, Samuel Kelh", and came into my father's possession partly by purchase, and partly by inheritance. The three years spent on Clifty constitute an idyllic period in my memory. The wide Memories of Childhood. 7 flat, constituting the body of tlie farm, was cov- ered with chestnut and poplar trees of heavy grov.th, and with varieties of smaller timber. The creek, which ran near our house, was walled with precijiitous cliffs, along the summits of which was a growth of spruce and ivy. The ivy is a bramble of very hard wood with crooked, serpentine branches, and a heavy green leaf like mistletoe. It grew in dense thickets and bore in the spring beautiful white flowers. Under the ivy grew abundance of wintergreen, so extensively used in the manu- facture of salicylic acid, much used in the treat- ment of rheumatism. These growths, vrith other evergreens and ferns, made the cliffs a perpetual charm to me. In the winter, when the snow weighed down the pines and ivies, and hung its great icicles along the cliifs, and the low clouds and mists shadowed the scene, my fancy peopled the caves of Clifty with bears and panthers. They had been there in the childhood of my mother, and many a thrilling- story had she told me about them, but now only occasionally did the hunter find a bear or a catamount. But when the clouds and mist cleared away, and the sun lit the snowy pines and icy cliffs with flames of rainbow hues the scene wrought in my fancy pictures of the heavenly city, of which my mother had told me, lighted forever by the glory of God. Our house was an aristocratic mansion for the times. It had been built bv mv Grandfather 8 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. Kelly in 1803. It liad four rooms in tlie main building and two in the ell, which served for kitchen and dining room. It was of logs, but weatherboarded. The siding was sawed by hand and dressed with beaded edges. My grandfather had devoted his time to milling. He had two mills on Clifty, one a grist mill, the other a mill for manufacturing powder and flax- seed oil. Every part of the machinery of the mills he made with his own hands. The reader will pardon a digression here, while I relate a story, authenticated by my mother and the members of her family. Mr. Kelly's sons tended his mills at night. They slept at the upper mill, and about 2 o'clock in the night went to the lower mill, which was the oil mill, and shut down the floodgate. The mills were half a mile apart, on opposite sides of the creek, and the crossing was on a pine log. When it was Sam's turn to stop the mill, he Y\'ould get up in his sleep, go down and cross the log and let down the gate, return and lie down, without awaking during the time. I have heard of many feats of somnambulism, but nothing better than this. While on the farm I went to school, when we had school, which was three months in the year. It w^as a typical, old-fashioned district school. Its type has passed long ago. I describe it in this year 1913 that the reader may have a dis- tinct picture of the schools which the farmers' boys attended sixty years ago. The best edu- Memories of Childhood. 9 catecl farmer was selected to teach the school. He was expected to teach reading, writing and arithmetic to the rule of three, or proportion. He also was expected to be expert in making pens for the children out of goose quills. We had no steel pens. The pay of the teacher was thirteen dollars a month, in corn, potatoes, or other produce. The children started to school as soon as they got breakfast, and were ex- pected to go to work at their studies, though the teacher should not arrive for an hour. When the teacher came he began recitations by call- ing, ''Come first." That meant that the first child who got to the school house, and, there- fore, had studied his lesson longest, should come and recite. There were no classes, and each scholar was expected to keep his number. Sometimes two or three boys came at the first call and disputed as to which one got into the school-house first. Often they sa^\'one another coming and made a race for the door. After the first comer recited the call went on, "Come next," the day through. All the children at their lessons spelled and read aloud, for the teacher wanted to hear them, and know that they were at work, hence the loudest was apt to be reckoned the best scholar. One could hear the school at work, in this way, a quarter of a mile. The teacher was equipped with a long switch. If there was any lull in the noise, he brought his switch, thrash, upon the floor, and shouted, ''Mind you books." Solo- 10 Lights and SJiadoivs of Seventy Years. mon Newel, my old sclioolmaster, I see thee yet. Tliy broad face, firm set jaw, large gray eyes and bushy hair upon a massive head, com- pleted my early ideal of dignity and wisdom — verily a second Solomon. ''Turning the teacher ont" at Christmas was a standing custom of those days. The big boys planned the job weeks before hand. They were np an hour before day on Christmas morning, and off for the school house. They must beat the teacher, who would also try to head them off by getting there early. In this case posses- sion was ''nine points of the law." If the big boys got in first they shut and barred the door, by nailing planks across it, and piling the benches against it. If the house had a loft of loose boards, a reserve corps was sent up there to see that the master did not climb up and come through the roof. When the master came the contest began and lasted for hours, he ex- hausting his resources to get in, for once in pos- session the boys would surrender. It was a point of manliness to get in if he could. When he despaired of getting in the boj^s would pro- pose to let him in if he would treat. That meant give a day's holiday and a basket of apples to the school. We never got but one day's holiday at Christmas and that only when we "turned out" a teacher. Poor Solomon! I saw thee brought to this stage one Christmas day, while we small fry stood out in the snow waiting to see how the battle would end. But Memories of Childhood. 11 wlieii Solomon despaired of getting in lie de- clared he would not treat. Then planks and benches flew from the door and the big boys came forth with a yell like Comanches, and Sol Newel ' ' took to the woods. ' ' It was like hounds chasing a stag. The echoes of the chase waked the hills of Clifty after silence had settled wide and still about the school house. At last the schoolmaster was run down and caught. The boys were prepared for all emer- gencies. When Solomon still refused to treat they produced ropes, tied him hand and foot, heaved him up on their shoulders, and started for Clifty. Through the woods and snow they tramped, taking turns in carrying their load. It was only when Solomon saw the icy hole of the creek into which the boys were ready to plunge him that his wisdom came to him and he agreed to treat. We got the day 's holiday and the basket of apples. How we did honor the big boys when the apples were distributed in school, and wish we were big! The whole af- fair, when ended, was regarded as royal fun by teacher and scholars. Outlandish it seems now, and it is best, no doubt, such customs should pass away. But good humor and manly pluck redeemed, in a measure, their rudeness. It w^as during our three years ui3on the farm that I received my first impression of the uncer- tainty of life and the solemnity of death. A farmer, Elisha Gregg, a good man, was killed by the falling of a tree, while ploughing in his 12 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. field. The funeral was very romantic and awe- inspiring to me. I stood w4th my parents on the hill slope, before the log meeting house, Mount Zion, waiting for the funeral procession. We had a view down the road through the beech and poplar trees for a third of a mile. The pro- cession came, with the coffin borne on a farm wagon; some of the people following on horse- back, but most on foot. Brother Burke, the class leader, walked before, singing with a voice that could be heard afar : "W'hy do we tremble to convey Their bodies to the tomb?" My father preached the funeral. As he read, "Dangers stand thick through all the ground To push us to the tomb," the hymn seemed to me prepared for the occa- sion. No other church service during these years is so vividly impressed on my memory. Once in six months a funeral comes to a quiet rural community and all the people are arrested in their business and give thought to the solemn issues of life. Funerals are passing daily in our great cities, but they are too common to make us serious. One cannot always be listen- ing to exhortations. Too much admonition hardens us ; too much lecturing makes us heed- less — a truth this, not always remembered by parents and preachers. My parents held family prayers morning and Memories of Childhood. 13 evening; not hastily, as now we do, who still ob- serve family prayer, bnt giving the occasion time. The family and hired hands were all as- sembled. A chapter was read from the Bible, a hymn was sung, and prayer was offered. When father was away mother held the prayers. My mother lived in daily communion with God. I well remember how, one day, I came upon her engaged in private prayer down by the spring. There, unconscious of any one near, she was praying God to take care of her children and make them good men and women. Sweet mother, she seemed to me as pure and perfect as God's angels. In pious parents I had God's best gift and life's greatest opportunity. The big wheel for spinning wool, the little wheel for flax, and the loom for weaving the cloth which clothed the family were essential to the housekeeper of those times. Our fam- ily, both parents and children, dressed in gar- ments of jeans and lindsey, spun, woven and made up by mother. Father made the shoes for us all. I remember when father started to Conference dressed in a suit of blue jeans that mother had woven and made up. I seem to see him now as he rode away, with his high hat, long saddlebags and swallowtail coat, the skirts coming down to his stirrups. No other Meth- odist itinerant looked braver than he. He came back, I remember, somewhat crestfallen. Some boys, gathering chestnuts, had run after him as he passed them in the woods, shouting, ''Yon- 14 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. der goes long-tailed blue!" Ever after that coat was known as "long-tailed blue." The circuit riders of those times preached nearly every day. I have known a preacher to carry his hammer, awl, last and leather in his saddlebags, and sit down and peg away making shoes while the congregation came in, and economize time in the same way when he lodged in the homes of his people. Such was the custom of Clinton Kelly, my uncle, and the uncle of my talented cousin, Dr. Gilby C. Kelly, who has served many prominent city churches. The farmers' wives of Clifty took up enthusi- astically the raising of silk. The silk moth, which lays the eggs, can not fly. It is milk white and has a heavy body and short wings. If put upon a newspaper, w^hen they cut out of the cocoons, the flies will not move two feet away in their life time. They eat nothing and die in a few days. But they produce hundreds of tiny eggs which stick fast upon the paper where they are deposited by the mother. These papers are put in a cool place and when the mul- berry leaves, which begin to come out in the spring, provide their food, the silk worms can be hatched in a few days by putting the eggs in a warm place. The worms are placed on scaf- folds and constantly supplied with fresh leaves to eat. I have gone miles on horseback, with ax and bags, cutting down mulberry trees and stripping leaves for silk worms. We learned later that bois d'arc leaves are about as good. Memories of Childhood. 15 In a few weeks the silk worms attain their growth and wind themselves up in the cocoons. The pupa would soon turn to a moth and cut out, spoiling the silk, but a day's exposure of the cocoons in the hot sun kills them, and the balls are laid aside for reeling at convenience. Forty bushels of cocoons was the crop which one of our neighbors raised in a single season. I have seen young ladies come to church in silk dresses which they had spun, woven, cut and made up. Domestics, linens and calicos were bought; but for heavier wear the people de- pended on their own manufactures. A flint, a good piece of steel, such as a rasp, and a tinder box of cotton and powder, or a piece of punk, were kept on hand for use is case the fire went out. It was quite common for the people to send for a chunk of fire to a neigh- bor's a mile awa5^ In 1849 my father sold the farm and resumed work in the Conference. He was sent to Per- ryville Circuit. This was in the blue grass region. Most of the farmers were slavehold- ers and well-to-do. I remember when we came to Perryville, the good people had a beautiful home ready for us. But father refused to live in the town. He said he would quit the min- istry sooner than bring up his boys in town, with nothing to do but loiter about and learn badness. So he went a mile into the country and rented a log house and a few acres of ground, and set 16 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. his boys to cutting briars. We boys greatly deplored the blunder, and thought that "blind- ness in part had happened" to our father. But in later years we were thankful for his good sense. And here I will record an opinion which I have held unfalteringly for forty years. It is that at the plough-tail is the best place to bring up boys. We had a good school, a mile from our home, in the country, and we lost no time from at- tendance, while the school lasted, and made good progress in reading, writing, geography, arithmetic and grammar. We attended Sunday school at the Old School Presbyterian church in Perryville because it was a better school than we had at the Methodist church where my father preached. A good man asked us to be members of his class, and it was my father's wish to have us under the care of a man who would influence us for good. It may be that this is the reason that I have always had the highest regard for Presbyterian forms of serv- ice, though anything but a Calvinist in doctrine. But I love the quiet dignity of the Presby- terians, and think they carry about as much re- ligion as we Methodists, and make less noise about it. But, when we consider that the busi- ness of a church is to harvest sheaves for the heavenly garner, the Presbyterian machine seems to be narrow gauge and heavy draft. The Methodist machine cuts down more stuff. Both winters that we spent on the Perry- Memories of ChildJiood. 17 ville Circuit, Brother William and I tended a sugar camp from the first of January to the middle of March. Making- maple sugar is in- teresting to a boy. We made a camp in the maple woods, tapped the trees with elder spiles, made troughs to catch the drip of sugar water, built a furnace for the kettles, brought barrels and tubs to the camp to hold the sugar water when it had to be taken from the trees faster than our kettles would boil it, and so the work was inaugurated. Of course we spent the nights in the camp, tending the kettles, turn about, one keeping up the fires while the other slept. "V^Hien the kettles were all full and a good hickory fire made in the furnace, the watcher could take the dogs and scurry around for an hour to catch a 'possum. Once we be- came aware that the town boys had a plan to raid the camp and carry away the molasses. We loaded for them — prepared a pot of soap and retired, hiding behind trees when they came. They lost no time in filling their bucket with the dipper, then struck out. When fairly away they cooled a bit of the syrup and tasted it. Smell and taste showed them that the trick was on them and not on us. They threw away their prize in disgust and went back to town. The trick cost us something, but we imagined that we had the best of it. The sugar camp was not without wholesome educating influences. There has ever been, to me, an awe-inspiring power in solitude, and God 18 Lights and Shadoivs of Seventy Years. lias never spoken to me more clearly than in the voices of nature. Sitting alone before the flaming camp fire, under the quiet stars, while winter held the waste in the hush of death, made conditions favorable for meditation. And I was even then a dreamer, living much in fancies of the future, recognizing, and not very dimly, the purposes and principles which should guide my life. I may say here that I was constitu- tionally puny and had often overheard my parents tell others that they did not expect me to live to be grown. It was not well that I heard this, but I think it did not much depress me. About this time I bought a Bible and resolved to read it through once a year, which I did for a few years, and, having an unusually good memory, I became familiar with every part of the sacred book. I had read Bunyan's Pil- grim's Progress with great avidity at an earlier age, and Bishop Morris' sermons. I had also bought and read books of history. By good fortune, or the wise guidance of my parents, I never read a single worthless or injurious book while I was growing up. At that time Meth- odists still had respect for the rule which for- bids *Hhe reading of such books as do not tend either to the knowledge or love of God." There were no bad books in my father's library, and I had little need to seek for books elsewhere. From Perryville we went to the Maxville Cir- cuit, in 1851, and remained there a year. My Memories of Childhood. 19 time during tliis year was spent almost entirely at school in Maxville, tlioiigli, true to his pur- pose of keeping his boys away from town, my father had rented a house a mile away. Both the Perry ville and the Maxville Circuits were good charges, for those times, and my father's salary was more than his expenses. We had also received some money from the sale of the farm, and were able to live very comfortably. At the close of the conference year on Max- ville Circuit, my uncle, Eli Haynes, who had married my father's sister, and who had lived for years in Missouri, came to see us, and per- suaded my father to emigrate to what w^as then called the ''Far West." About the first of August, 1852, we left Kentucky in a two-horse wagon. The novelty of traveling, the camping each night amid new scenes, and our expectations of the new country to which we were going made the experience of moving quite animating at first. I remember vividly our first encamp- ments under the leafy forest, always by some creek or spring. The solemn forest, the cease- less chatter of the katy-dids, the hoot of the owl, the distant horn of the huntsman, wrought in my dreams w^eird visions of fairy lands. But as days grew to vreeks, and the weeks lengthened into a month or more, the journey became monotonous and camp fare stale, and it was with feelings of vast relief and a longed- for goal attained that we reached the home of 20 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Tears. my Uncle Haynes, in Pettis county, Missouri, about the tentli of September. We soon rented a house and a small farm and went into winter quarters. My father had located from the Kentucky Conference on starting west, but as soon as he arrived in Missouri he was pressed to take charge of the Boonville station and consented. He left us in our home, thirty miles away, and came to see us once in two weeks, for the trip had to be made on horseback. So, for the first year we spent in Missouri, my mother kept the house with the children, of whom there were six, the eldest fifteen years of age. They were, in order of age, William Clinton, John Emory, Martha Jane, Milton, Sarah Helen and Samuel McGinnis. My parents did not at first like the new coun- try, but to us boys it fulfilled our most alluring- fancies. AVild fruits abounded — plums, grapes, persimmons, haws, hickory nuts, hazlenuts were every^vhere in great abundance. There was abundance of game. Deer, turkeys, prairie chickens and ducks fed in the fields. Most of the farmers left their corn on the stalk through the winter, gathering it as needed, and one-third of the crop was eaten up by the wild fowls, but it was scarcely counted a loss. We soon found that the trap was almost as effective as the gun in taking ducks and prairie chickens. The farms, which were open at this time, were either wholly in the timber or on the edges of the Memories of ChildJiood. 21 prairies, where there was ready supply of rails and firewood. Miles and miles of prairie spread out, unbroken by any settlement and covered with grass as high as a man's head. My father used to calculate that it never would be fenced, but remain always a range for herds of horses and cattle. There was scarcely any market. No one thought of selling potatoes, turnips or apples. Those who had an over- supply gave to their neighbors. Corn was the only provision which we bought, from the fields during our first winter, and this we got at ten cents a bushel. Sugar, coffee and bacon Ave bought from the store. We caught abundance of fish out of Shavetail creek, a quarter of a mile from our house. Even in the winter season when we could get a hook into the water we had no trouble taking fish. Most of our neigh- bors had good homes and lived well. The ma- jority of them were slave-holders and some had very large farms. They got money by the sale of cattle, mules and hogs. The cattle herders of those times bought corn on the stalk in the field, and turned the cattle and hogs in to gather it for themselves. A good cow was worth eight dollars ; pork two dollars and a half a hundred. The moral tone of our community was high. There Vv^as not a worthless person in the neigh- borhood, and the majority of the people were religious. There was less wild revelry and dis- sipation then than in after years. I call to 22 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. niiiid few yoiui.i;' moii who were not temperate, industrious and ni^riglit. Durin^i»- the year we lived in Pettis county a terrible tragedy occurred near us. John Raines, a prosperous farmer, coming home at nift'ht, found liis wife with her brains beaten out with an ax at the woodpile. His little daugh- . ter of five years said, ' ' Dennis did it. ' ' Dennis was a negro man who worked on the farm. The negro was arrested, taken to Georgetown, tried, and sentenced to death. It was understood tliat he would not be hanged, but burned; and so, on the day of execution, a mob, or what passed for a mob, took the negro from the jail and burned him at the stake. I hear it often said how that such crimes were not committed by negroes in the slavery times. They were far less frequent than now, but not wholly un- known. On Sunday, May 10, I heard my first sermon in Missouri. Two circumstances made it memorable. It was the first sermon preached by Rev. William Leftwich, D. D., afterward a prominent preacher and one who served the church for near fifty years; also a snow, three inches in depth, had fallen Saturday night though the forests were then green and the orchards in l)loom. Louisa Porter, our neighbor, had consump- tion when we came to the state, so the physi- cians said and continued to say for forty years, until she died past ninety years of age. Her Memories of ChildJiood. 23 daughters, meantime, took consumption and died in their early womanhood. The case is worth recording, thongli I learn from physi- cians that it does not stand alone. During the summer and fall of 1853, I went to school to William Westlake, a good Christian man, a fair scholar and an excellent teacher. The moral influences of the school were health- ful. The students were the children of intelli- gent Christian people and had ambition to make the best use of their opportunities. There was not a bad boy or girl among them. The curriculum embraced a common English educa- tion. Algebra, Geometry, and the preparatory course in Latin. The school house was our place of worship, ])ut the people were talking of building a church, and when Mary Porter, a sweet girl, died, and left her five dollars in gold, with request to give it to build a church, the subscription began, and the needed amount was soon secured. A good brick church was built, and Dr. C. B. Parsons, then a pastor in St. Louis, came up and dedicated it. Then I gave my first subscription, ten dollars, to the church, and vowed, like Jacob, to give one tenth of all my income, during my life, to the Lord's cause, and so have I done. There is today, a neat brick church where we built the old Salem church long ago. The old house was much larger than the present one. It used to be filled with worshippers. The country has settled up. 24 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. The population has trebled, but the big brick church had diminishing congregations. It was pulled down and a much smaller house built in its place. This is one instance of many. Many of the churches which we built forty years ago are too large for our congregations now. As a pioneer church Methodism leads grandly. Episcopal authority gives mighty emphasis to the Master's "Go ye into all the world"; Under this system many a preacher goes where he. would never choose to go. But, as per- manent and crowded settlements follow pio- neer stages, the churches which are congrega- tional in government become strong competi- tors with ours. It is not her itinerant system but the soundness of her doctrines, and the evangelical character of her ministry which en- able Methodism to hold her place in the great centers of population. In the fall of 1853 my father bought a farm in Cooper county and moved to it, and there he lived from 1854 to 1888. The farm con- tained, originally, 214 acres, but was added to by later purchases. Here the family was brought up until the youngest of the ten chil- dren — six boys and four girls — was grown. Here, more than anyAvhere else, were the condi- tions which shaped our lives, and from this place, as from the old nest, when fledged, we took flight to different lands and climes. From the age of fourteen to twenty-one my life was spent on the farm in Cooper county, Memories of ChildJwod. 25 Missouri, and during those seven years I was never more than twelve miles from the old home. I did everj^ sort of work that farm hands did in those times. Father was not much at home. He generally hired a hand to work with us boys, always requiring of them a pledge not to drink or swear, but as for the rest only to work as we did. Opportunities for going to school were limited to three or four months each winter. We were fortunate in having good teachers, and the schools were of good preparatory grade. They were always taught by men, which I regard as fortunate. There is nothing so important in education as the de- velopment of proper ideals of character and the establishment in right principles and aims. One may be well prepared to instruct pupils in text-books, who, nevertheless, ought never to be allowed to teach a school. And I hold that girls or women never can be proper teachers for young men. No young man can think of a lady as a model of character after which he should pattern his own life. Let my son be taught by a man worthy of admiration, and my daughter by a model woman. Our common schools have lost their value in the training of boys because girls teach them, and our young men are going in evil ways more than in the days of our fathers for lack of influential lead- ers in their school days. The schoolmaster was, in those days, the most influential person in the community, as he ought to be today. He £6 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. was a leader of the young men, from sixteen to twenty years of age. During the seven years I had ten teachers, all of them worthy men and most of them good scholars. But I was taught that I must not rely upon the schools for educa- tion, but that any one who has the purpose to do so can become a scholar, whether he goes to school or not. There were many examples to confirm this view. Not knowing that I should ever go to college, I secured the college cata- logues and followed the college course of study at the plough-handle, going to the field with my Greek and Latin grammars in a wallet, and holding a book in my left hand day after day, as I broke up the fields or ploughed the corn. Evenings and rainy days were employed in study, and what I learned in this way was more than I learned at school. '^Cobbit's Advice to Young Men" fell into my hands during this period and had much in- fluence in shaping my views and fixing my pur- pose of self-education. William Cobbit was left an orphan in boyhood. He entered the British army as a means of sustenance. He learned to write in the army, using for paper the Avrappings of army goods. He became pro- ficient in French and German, published a grammar of each of these languages for English students. All this he did while serving as a soldier. He was afterward a statesman of note and a member of the British Parliament. He never went to school. He insisted that in a Mcmoncs of Childhood. 27 world of books any man of average mind can make himself, in time, an educated man. There is nothing more important in the education of a boy than to be imbued with such views. Schools are not to be disparaged, and the ad- vantages of a good school are longed for by everj^ lover of learning. But no young man should for a moment accept the idea that fate has doomed him to ignorance because he has had no opportunity of going to school. "Learning to read" is a term which expresses all education. All the knowledge which man has gathered in the history of the world is stored in the world's libraries. One who goes through a college curriculum but is not after- ward a reader of books is never an educated man. The very aim of school studies is de- feated in him. Some of our college graduates can not read even our best English literature. The books on science, philosophy, theology, politics, civilization, art, inventions, discover- ies, hold the stores of knowledge which the labor of man has gathered through the ages. These wait to be read, and college studies are to prepare us to read them understandingly. The life-long reading of good books makes an educated man, if the books be read with thought and purpose. In the fall of 1854 I attended a camp-meeting, held by the Cumberland Presbyterians, half a mile north of the town of Otterville. My father came to me in the congregation and 28 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. asked if I would go forward for prayers. . I went at the suggestion without a word, and be- fore the service closed felt that all was settled. I had surrendered myself to Grod's service and my future was well defined. Many Methodists would call this my conversion. I do not re- gard this as the beginning of my spiritual life in Christ or of my experience as a child of God. I had prayed daily from my earliest memory and had felt, often, that my prayers were heard and answered. I had never fallen into vices of any sort. Indeed, I will say that I never in my life formed a habit which I afterward felt called upon to abandon. I never entered upon a path to turn back. It was not a change of life, or purpose, or will, that I sought at the mourners' bench, but rather a full decision in regard to a call to preach, which I already felt. A¥ould I, who held myself a Christian, and who never thought of being aught else, now consent to turn from the thought of secular employment to that of serving God, as a preacher, anywhere and at any cost? This was the question which I then settled. And yet, under my Methodist training, I had been led to think that a truly re- generate life had to date its beginning at the mourners' bench. But I know now that I was a child of God before the time referred to, and I know, further, that that is the greatest and fullest salvation through Christ which brings a little child to pray and trust daily in the Savior, and sanctifies a life to God's service Memories of Childhood. 29 from cliildliood to age. Many of the most per- fect Christians have no mourners' bench ex- perience, and can fix no date in their lives when they began to serve God, simply because there was never a time when they served Satan. In later time I learned that Methodists should especially set forth the doctrine of full salvation through Christ, as salvation from the cradle. Holding that infants are in a saved state, shall we teach that it is necessary that the child should ever fall under condemnation and become of the number of the unsaved? If this is necessary, then there is a point, a period in life, to which the plan of salvation through Christ does not extend, where sin is necessity, condemnation a necessity, spiritual death a ne- cessity. We draw across the path of every child a chasm over which it must pass without even the light of heaven. If we teach this we insist that every soul must, at some time, hang on the brittle thread of life, over the pit, and in a place of utter darkness. Methodism does not teach this. Infants are born into the kingdom of heaven, and the provisions of grace are suf- ficient to keep us in the kingdom from infancy to age. We are all by nature the children of wrath, but God's plan of salvation is schemed with regard to this fact at all times. We are born in the kingdom of grace. AVithout the scheme of redemption we would not have been born at all. After deciding to be a preacher I remained 30 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. out of the clmrcli a year, I should have joined the Methodists at once, but my views upon in- fant baptism were not settled. I had heard much preaching against it and almost none for it. This w^as because the nearest church to our home was a Baptist church and I had attended preaching there more than anywhere else. As a private member the Methodist church would have received me, for the Methodist church ex- amines its candidates for membership only upon the essential doctrines contained in the Apostles' Creed. Of a member the church re- quires only what is essential to salvation. Of her ministers the church requires the proper understanding of a consistent theology, and ca- pacity to teach it. A private member may be- lieve in free grace, or decrees, in baptism by im- mersion or sprinkling. He may have his chil- dren baptised or not, according to his judgment. The church makes no positive demands and in- terposes no authority in such matters. It is quite a different matter for the church to ac- cept and commission one as a sound teacher of a consistent and scriptural system of theology. Being entirely convinced, after examination, that infant baptism is scriptural and that it ought to be taught and practiced in the church, I entered the Methodist church without any reservations. Our home was, in the fullest sense, a Chris- tian home. Family prayers were held morning and evening, generally led by myself or one of Mrmorifis of ChildJiood. 31 my brothers when father was away. I think all the boys held the family prayers in turn as they grew np. We lived in a Christian com- munity. We knew nothing of the temptations of the towns. Our time was closely employed in needful labor. Hunting and fishing were our only pastimes. The preachers counted on us for active service in the church. At one time there came to our neighborhood a young man from Ohio, gentlemanly, viva- cious, and well educated. We admired his sprightliness. But he made no claims to be re- ligious. One Sunday morning he came, on horseback, to go with us to church. Brother William and I went with him. He entertained us on the way with laughable stories, mostly about droll happenings in church. We arrived a little late and had to go to the front seat. At the close of the service the preacher asked my brother to pray. He requested to be excused. As we returned home our vivacious friend was silent for some time. At length he said to my brother: ''Will, do you ever pray in public?" ''Sometimes," was the answer. "Why didn't you do it today?" he continued. My brother was silent. He went on: "I know the reason. I joked with you boys as we were going so much you were embarrassed because I sat beside you. Pardon me this time ; I shall never do so again. I wish I were a Christian as you are." This was manly. It did us more good than a ser- mon. It was an illustration of a truth which 32 Lights and Shadoivs of Seventy Years. I have known grandly illustrated in later years and upon which a true Christian can always depend. Eugene Smith was a student in the senior class of the Virginia University at Charlottes- ville, Va., when Chester Arthur was president of the United States. Mr. Arthur was strictly a man of the world. The president, with some of his cabinet, came to Charlottesville on a hunt- ing and fishing excursion. He met Eugene Smith and found him to be bright, gentlemanly and well acquainted with the neighborhood. President Arthur asked Smith to join their company and go with them into camp. The young man answered: ''You gentlemen will be out in camp on Sunday. I belong to the church here and teach a class in our Sunday school. Accept my thanks for the honor of the invitation, but please excuse me. My duties are here." The president asked Smith what were his plans. He said: "I will graduate here this term. Then I will go to work to make some money, and when I get it will take a post-graduate course at Berlin, after which I will return and study and practice law." So President Arthur and Eugene Smith bade each other good-bye. A few days after Smith graduated, a letter came to him from Washing- ton city. He opened it and found it contained his appointment as vice consul to Berlin from President Arthur. So will steadfastness and noble Christian character always impress noble Memories of Childhood. 33 men of whatever state or profession. In after years I became acquainted with Eugene Smith in Kansas City. It was an epoch in a young man's life in those days when he attained twenty-one. Till that time he was expected to serve his parents, and from the day he reached his majority he was just as surely expected to quit the parental home and go out to make his fortune in the world. This epoch came to me August 11, 1859, I took license to preach in September of John R. Bennett, presiding elder, preparatory to en- tering college as a ministerial student. I had read the preparatory^ course in Greek and Latin and was reckoned to be especially proficient in mathematics. I had read most of the books in our home library, among which were not only the theological works one may expect to find in a preacher's library, but almost all the stand- ard English poets and such metaphysical works as Cousin's ''History of Modern Philosophy," ''Essays on the True, Beautiful and Good," and books on intellectual and moral phil- osophy from various authors. It was not until the first of November that I was ready to go. Then I bade farewell to my boyhood and my boyhood home, to find my own way through the world. Our home had always been sweet and happy and no shadow of death had ever crossed its threshold. There had never been a calamity in our family history, and never a reverse of fortune. My boyhood home and history stand 34 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. in tliouglit beautiful as a dream of heaven. I Avent away strong in faith that "goodness and mercy would folloAv me all the days of my life." In taking license to preach I felt that I had settled definitely my life work. I meant to give myself unreservedly to the work of a preacher in the Methodist church, to serve in any sphere that the church might appoint. Be- ing the son of an itinerant who had passed through the roughest experiences of pioneer service, I understood what I might expect. I had no thought of worldly wealth or honor ; but I felt I could trust the church to take care of me if I proved efficient and faithful. My faith and consecration I sought to express in these verses : Here on Thine altar, Lord, I lay All that I am, and humbly pray Accept the sacrifice. Now the consuming zeal impart. So shall the homage of my heart As grateful incense rise. Let meekness like Thine own possess My soul, and keep in perfect peace My spirit by Thy love. On Thee alone may I depend. Be Thou my never-failing friend, While here on earth I rove. Memories of Childhood. 35 Afflictions may I humbly bear. And confidently cast my care On Him who died for me. So shall a Father's chastening rod But bring me closer to my God, From sin my soul set free. O God, as onward still I go, , A pilgrim through this world below, Sustain me by Thy might. And in the straight and narrow way That leads to realms of Heavenly day Direct my steps aright. CHAPTER II. Tossed About — Wae Experience. It required no prophetic vision to see, in the fall of 1860, the shadow of impending war. Yet I turned my thoughts to the completion of my education. The St. Charles College seemed to be the best school available. It had been established by the Methodist church at St. Charles, Mo., in 1838. I set out for St. Charles College, November 7, taking the train on the Missouri Pacific at Otterville, which was its terminus at that time. I had never traveled by rail before. AYe reached St. Louis in ten hours. Eighteen miles an hour was counted good speed. When we reached the city it was dark. Hack- men, bus-drivers and carriage-drivers rushed upon us as free game, and without let or hin- drance by police, pulled us this way and that. ' ' This way to Olive street. " " This way to the Planters." I took a stubborn stand; told the drivers to let me alone. Soon it seemed I had been taken at my word and left alone. I then stepped to a carriage, handed the driver my check and told him to drive me to the Virginia Hotel. Where the driver took me I could never guess. On and on he went. Street lights flitted by, brilliant show windows were left be- (36) Tossed About — War Experience. 37 hind, and still our team pounded the pavement. I began to think St. Louis a very large city. At length the carriage stopped. The driver left it and went away for twenty minutes or more. Then two men came up, opened the carriage door, and one extended his hand and said : "How do you do, Godbey?" as if he had met an old friend. I folded my arms sullenly, and said, "How are you?" "Get out and stay with me tonight." I said, "I have made other arrangements." "Godbey," he said, "I don't believe you know me." "Yes I do," said I; "that is the reason I don't want to stay with you." At this they turned away and I heard one say, "Someone has posted that boy." I now put my head out of the carriage and cried, "Police!" Immediately the driver mounted the carriage and drove away. When I arrived at the hotel the passengers who came with me on the train had taken their supper. I had not been taken by surprise by the sharpers. When the driver left me I knew a trap was being set for me. My name was on my trunk. The driver got it there and gave it to these scamps. These city prowlers are expert in marking- strangers. I have lived in St. Louis since this, thirteen years, have gone through every part of it by night and was never disturbed. I spent one day visiting the city. Twelfth street was then fashionable as a residence quar- ter. They said that the new Presbyterian church just built on Fourteenth street was too 38 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. far out. The pride of the city was the court house, still counted a symmetrical building and having a most shapely and stately dome, fres- coed by Bingham, Missouri's most noted artist. The college did not equal my expectations. The building was a small, two-story brick, with six rooms. The campus was only the space of one block. There was no dormitory, and I found only fifty students in attendance, under the instruction of four professors. But our teachers Avere men of character and ability, and the students were a choice body of young men. I took boarding in a pleasant family home and had J. S. Frazier and W. H. Leith for room- mates. They were ministerial students, and delightful associates. My school association was happy, and I en- tered npon my studies with zest. But college days were few. I recall no incident of especial interest now, while I was at St. Charles, except my first effort to preach, which was at Cottle- ville, thirteen miles away. I went on horseback throngh the rain, glad that it was raining, for I Yv^anted the congregation to be small. I found about twenty at church. My chief concern had been to fall npon a text that would enable me to give out all the theology I had learned and to talk half an hour. My teachers said I ex- hibited great genius in this, and so gave prom- ise of a successful ministry. This was the text : "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; who, according to his abundant Tossed About — War Expcncnce. 39 mercy, liatli begotten us again to a lively hope, by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God, througli faith unto salvation, ready to be re- vealed in the last time." After the service David Pitman held a class meeting. I refused all invitations to dinner and rode back to St. Charles through the rain. Brotjier Pitman mentioned this service to me thirty years afterward. I never tried that text again but once, and that was in Otterville, after returning from college. I was told that an old farmer said of the performance, he thought the preacher would ^'finally never stop." I had gotten more lil}erty than on the first occasion. I have since learned that the chief danger as to preaching is to have too much liberty. In these times, if a preacher prolongs the church service bej^ond the limits of an hour his hearers will think that he uses his liberty ''as a cloak of maliciousness." The winter which I spent at college was a time of great excitement and anxiety through- out the nation. The election of a president by the abolition party was taken by the South to be a presage of the end of negro slavery un- less an independent government should be es- tablished by the slave states. Seven Southern states had passed ordinances of secession be- fore Lincoln was inaugurated, and four others 40 Lights and SJtaclows of Seventy Years. quickly followed. Actual hostility began by the attack of tlie Southerners upon the national fortress, Fort Sumter, in April, 1861. None felt the thrill of excitement in the prospect of a great war more than the young men at col- lege. To our enthusiastic fancy the Southern Confederacy seemed a certainty. A steam- boat passing up the Missouri river in front of the college, bearing the Confederate flag with a band playing "Dixie," set us wild. At St. Louis, eighteen miles away, a Confederate camp had been established, named Camp Jackson, for Clabourne Jackson, then governor of Missouri. On the 10th of May there was a fight between the soldiers of this camp and the government troops at the Arsenal. This ended, in our minds, the thought of college studies. The faculty dismissed the school on the following morning. Thus began and ended my college days, a brief term, from November 8th, 1860, to May 10th, 1861. While at the school at St. Charles, I first met and became acquainted with the Rev. Enoch M. Marvin, then pastor of the Centenary church, in St. Louis, and afterward, in 1866, elected Bishop. Brother Marvin had accepted the duty of directing the studies of the class of minis- terial students in the college, and came over, occasionally, to meet with us and help us. The simplicity of his manners, his genial spirit, and above all, the ease and naturalness with which he introduced religious instruction into his con- Tossed About — War Experience. 41 versations greatly attracted us. One charge which he gave us seemed to me especially worthy to be laid to heart as the guide of a preacher's life. ''Young brethren," said he, "for your own sakes, and for the sake of your calling, lose no time and neglect no opportunity of development and progress. Resolve to be all that God and nature have qualified 3^ou to be. But never desire to excel another for the honor of excelling. When you have done your best, rejoice for every one who does better, and wish that, for the cause of the Master, every one may be more useful and more influential than yourselves. ' ' President Shields returned to his home in Central Missouri, Prof. Johnson w^ent into the Southern army, fought through the war, and was soon after killed by the accidental dis- charge of his pistol. Prof. Gaines was after- ward state treasurer of Tennessee. My room- mates, Frazier and Leith, served faithfully in the ministry till death, the former in the St. Louis and Missouri Conferences, the latter in the Holston and Virginia Conferences. The breaking out of the Civil War cut off my hope of graduating from college. I spent a few days at home and then went to Independence, where my brother William, who had joined the Conference the year before, was serving the Independence Circuit. It was a two-days ' jour- ney on horseback. I had anticipated trouble by securing, as a riding animal, a very small 42 Lighfs and SJiadoivs of Seventy Years. mule, not fit for army service, and so not likely to be taken from me. It was a wise precau- tion, as I fully experienced during a few months that followed. At the town of War- rensburg, where I stopped for the first night, I was taken from my lodging and the mule from the stable, and we were both conducted to head- quarters of Col. Grover, to give account. The mule had no trouble. He was too small for service and was at once dismissed as having taken no part in the rebellion, although he was in fact a very rebellious mule. I was told that being a Southern Methodist preacher was an unfavorable circumstance in my case, but when some Union men vouched for me as a peaceable citizen I was let go. I spent the sum- mer preaching on my brother's circuit or travel- ing with the presiding elder, D. A. Leeper, on his district. We vrere in the midst of war's alarms and dangers. Nearly all the people were in s^onpathy with the secession and most of the men who were of age for service went into the Southern army at the start. We had the women and children and old men to care for at home. Kansas had been admitted into the Union as a free state that same year, 1861, by vote of the people, as provided for in the Kansas-Ne- braska bill. The contest had embittered the people of Kansas and West Missouri against each other, and furnished occasion for lawless- ness and violence, which found further and fuller Tossed Ahouf — War Experience. 43 opportiinity in the war, and within a year re- duced the Missouri border to a field of deso- lation. I was in the immediate sphere of plun- ders, strife, and murders. Burnings and raids were of daily occurrence. Some of the leaders were afterward known as brigands and outlaws. A few months before the war began a stranger came to the house of Mr. Walker, a farmer, who lived on Blue river, Jackson county, and reported that the following week a band of thieves from Kansas would come at night to rob his house, and stated that he was leader of the band. He gave directions how the band could be captured or killed. Mr. Walker should place a company of armed men in a little room on the end of the front porch, and another at the back end of the entrance hall, so that men standing on the porch at the front door would be in a cross-fire from these concealed bands. The man said he would order the men to stand at the door until he gave fur- ther orders, while he would step into the hall and turn through the parlor door. The mo- ment he cleared the hall the concealed men should fire. His advice was followed and all turned out as he stated. Three men were shot down on the porch. Two escaped into the woods, one being mortally v/ounded. They were pursued the next day and the man who was guarding his wounded comrade was shot down. The leader of the band remained in the home of Mr. Walker. He said that the 44 Lights and Shadoivs of Seventy Years. band, whose home was in Kansas, had killed his brother; that to be revenged he had joined it and succeeded in becoming its leader, and that now his work was accomplished. The man was of athletic but rather slight frame. He had light hair and blue eyes. He said Ver- mont was his native state and that his name was William Quantrell. This was Quantrell's in- troduction to the Southern people of Western Missouri. He ever posed as one who had an implacable hatred for Kansas and its people. During the summer that I spent in Jackson county Quantrell was regarded as the chief de- fender of the homes and families of the South- ern farmers, who were away in the army, for the people suffered from continued raids of the Kansas " Jayhawkers," as they were called, led by Col. Jenison, Lieut. Col. Anthony, and Capt. John Brown, son of John Brown, of Har- per's Ferry fame. I have seen in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch an account of the origin of the name ''Jay- hawker." It stated that there is a bird, com- mon in West Missouri and Kansas, called the jayhawk, because it resembles the jay in ap- pearance, but is very formidable as a hawk, preying upon mice and small birds, and that Kansas marauders were called '' Jayhawkers" because they simply made a predatory warfare for the gain of pillage. But one of Jenison 's own party told me that they first called their leader the ' * Gay Yorker, ' ' and that they heard Tossed About — ^Yar Experience. 45 him called " Jayliawker" by a Missouri farmer, by mistake, as they supposed, but thinking it a fine joke on Col. Jenison they called him ever after that the ''Jayhawker." I could fill a volume with my experiences in Jackson county from May to December, but will only record a few incidents illustrating daily occurrences. I was sitting with Dr. Leftwitch, the sta- tioned preacher of Independence, in the office of his church, one morning, when Mrs. Left- wich stepped in and said, ''The Jayhawkers are coming." We went upstairs to the audi- torium, and from the windows saw about six hundred soldiers entering the town on the Kan- sas City road, and a number of houses in flames in their track. As soon as they reached town they set guards upon the streets and began to arrest all the men and march them to the pub- lic square. Dr. Leftwich suggested that we go up to the cupola, from the windows of which we could have a better view; but his real mo- tive was to find a hiding place. We went up, climbing over the cross timbers, and seated our- selves astride one of the beams, face to face. We saw everything and recognized many ac- quaintances as they were marched up the street. The stores were broken into and wagons were loaded with goods. An elegant residence near by was set on fire. A woman, sick of typhoid fever, was carried from the burning house to the house of a neighbor. 46 Lights and Shadows of Seventy Years. Thus hours passed. The meu of the town were all before us under guard on the square. But when we had kept our places astride that beam from 9 till 3 o'clock, the situation be- came irksome. At length Dr. Leftwich said: ' ' Godbey, I believe these soldiers mean to camp on the square all night." I made no reply. Half an hour later, he said: "Godbey, these fellows are likely to stay in town a week." I remained silent. Directly he said, "Godbey, what had we better do?" I said, "Let him that is on the house top not come down." But soon the soldiers came and began to batter the door of the church, saying they would burn it. Then we came down, faster than Zacheus from his sycamore tree, but not so joyously. We were arrested and joined the company of our friends. The purpose of the Jayhawkers was only to put the men in a situation to be help- less while they robbed stores and houses and took jewelry from the women. Jenison made a speech to us on the public square, instructing us in the duty of loyalty. He said he would leave an enrolling officer to enlist every man able to fight under his service, and return in a week and burn out every man who refused to enlist. Near sunset the bugle sounded and the Jayhawkers withdrew. When the sun went down upon our little city, said to be the most beautiful and aristocratic in the state, every one was in deep sorrow. An old Presbyterian lady, who had always said to Tossed Ahonl — War Experience. 47 her neighbors, "Be patient, the Lord will bring all out right," was standing in her door looking down upon the pavement. A friend, passing, stopped and said: "What do you think of things now ? ' ' She answered, ^ ' The Lord says, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay.' " Then breaking into tears, "But it looks to me like it's mighty near time ho was getting at it." No people ever believed more firmly that they were on the right side than our Southern- ers. At the close of a Sunday service at a country church I called on an old man. Col. Cogswell, to pray. He prayed: "Lord, stop these men that are hawkin' up and down this country. Stop these Jayhawkers. Lord, thou knowest we are right; thou knowest we South- ern rights men are right. Lord, give us the vic- tory." Col. Cogswell was about sixty; too old for war, but a red-hot secessionist, of whom we shall hear something later. Brother Bowman, the old ironside Baptist preacher, said in his sermon: "Ain't we in a fix? Here we are, fightin' one another like all fury; the North against the South, and the South against the North. Well, I know one thing, whichever side the Lord's on will whip. But I'm a secession- ist, anyhow. ' ' A brother preacher told me he was taken out of his pulpit while preaching one night and threatened by the soldiers. When they left him he called his indignant congregation to or- der and asked a Dutchman to pray. After 48 Lights and Shadoivs of Seventy Years. praying about other things, he came to the war trouble in this style: ''Now, Lord, we dues have a few dings to say bout dese malishies. Dese malishies do awful develment. Dey rest our breacher and dey dries to break up our meetin's. Now, Lord, you shust done let 'em do dat. You shust show your hand and show 'em how much good you can do in spite of all der meanness. ''Lord, dey steals mine bacon, and mine sheep ram, and mine wife's finetooth comb. For dat I dues tank de, 'cause me tink he need it. If it will be any means of grace to him, shust let him keep it. Now, Lord, I dink you knows all 'bout dese tings, and I better vind dis brayer a leetle up. But, Lord, here are dese Nort Methodists and dese Sout Methodists and dese Gambellites and dese Baptist, and dey's all quarrelin' mit each oder, and dat is awful bad. Now, Lord, you shust have mercy on de whole Capoodle. Amen ! ' ' Almost a week had passed since Jenison's raid on Independence. The enrolling officer had gotten many names on his list, for the men knew that they periled not only their homes but their lives by refusing to enroll. Mean- time, it was learned that Gen. Price, in com- mand of a Confederate army, was at Wilson's creek, and the people began to hope for relief. One evening a lythe young man rode to the en- rolling office, walked to the desk and asked the officer to show him the roll, which he did. The Tossed About — ^Yar Experience. 49 man took the roll in liis left hand, drew a re- volver with his right, walked backward out of the house, mounted his horse and rode away, saying the list belonged to Price, not Jenison. The young man was well known to most of the citizens. His name was Jesse James. During the summer of 1861 Quantrell and Jesse James were considered our defenders against Jenison and his subordinates. Almost every man in the country able to fight held him- self subject to Quantrell's call. When the Jay- hawkers came into the county they were gen- erally in force of three or four hundred. They made a camp and plundered and burned in all directions. Quantrell would send runners through the country, notify his men to meet at a certain place, make a night attack, rout the camp, and by sunrise his men would have hid- den their guns and gotten back to their homes. No company of soldiers ever found Quantrell or his men, or knew who his men were. The St. Louis Conference met in Arrow Eock, September 25th, 1861. I went to the confer- ence to enter the itineracy. The Conference then embraced ail the state of Missouri south of the Missouri river. Not more than thirty preachers attended. There was no bishop. Gen. Price had just captured Mulligan at Lex- ington. The Conference called D. A. Leeper to the chair. The session was no sooner opened than Dr. AVilliam Prottsman moved to adjourn to Waverly, that we might be near the Confed- 50 Lights and Shadoivs of Seventy Years. erate army, and more secure from molestation of Federal soldiers. Rev. Nat. Tolbert ridi- culed such exhibition of cowardice and the mo- tion to adjourn was laid on the table. An hour or two later the sight of a boat approaching up the river created a panic. Dr. B. T. Kavanaugh called for the motion to adjourn and it was adopted in a twinkle, and a resolution of regret to ''kind friends of Arrow Rock." A few min- utes later the Conference, in buggies and on horseback, was performing a ''hegira" to Wav- erly, Mj brother, L. F. Aspley and I had sent our horses to pasture and were the last to get away. We were much amused by the excite- ment of negroes on the road, of whom we asked questions regarding the strange crovrd of peo- ple who were sweeping on before us. I tried my poetic gift in some impromptu rhjaiies on the subject, which Aspley insisted on my re- peating several times on the trip. Next day v\"e proceeded to business at Waverly. I was examined for admission by Dr. Prottsman. He asked me but one question. That was: ''Do you know as much as your brother?" This I answered in the affirmative. Prottsman knew us well, and meant to inquire if my literary attainments were equal to Wil- liam's, who had entered the Conference the year before. But when my case came before the Conference the next day, Prottsman took me by surprise in the statement that I had pre- pared a literary production to be read to the To.^.