THE LIBRARIES 
 
 Bequest of 
 
 Frederic Bancroft 
 
 1860-1945 
 
Along the Trail of the Friendly Years 
 
JOHN JASPER 
 
 By W. E. HATCHER 
 
 Illustrated, 12 mo, cloth, net $1.00 
 
 ** A book that stirs every 
 emotion of the human 
 heart. Once taken up the 
 book cannot be put down 
 until it is finished, and in the 
 reading, one will laugh and 
 cry, and worship and pray, 
 and resolve, and stand amazed 
 at the marvelous genius. 
 
 — Watchword and Truth, 
 
Along the Trail of the 
 Friendly Years 
 
 By 
 WILLIAM E. HATCHER, LL. D., L. H. D. 
 
 Author of John Jasper'' 
 
 New York Chicago Toronto 
 
 Fleming H. Revell Company 
 
 London and Edinburgh 
 

 Copyright, 19 lo, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 ^^?^^^ 
 
 //^^3 
 
 y/7/^ <^ 
 
 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago: 125 No. Wabash Avenue 
 Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. 
 London: 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh: too Princes -Street'. 
 
To my son Eldridge Burwell Hatcher^ 
 whose filial devotion, cheery comrade- 
 ship and constant helpfulness have added 
 immeasurably to the joy and com- 
 fort of my life I dedicate this volume 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. 
 
 Discovering the World 
 
 
 9 
 
 II. 
 
 Discovering the Other World 
 
 
 . 29 
 
 III. 
 
 Self- Discovery 
 
 
 . 39 
 
 IV. 
 
 Training for Action 
 
 
 • 47 
 
 V. 
 
 Going at It . 
 
 
 67 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sitting in the Ashes 
 
 
 . 90 
 
 VII. 
 
 A Brief Sojourn in Baltimore 
 
 
 120 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Richard Fuller as I Saw Him 
 
 
 123 
 
 IX. 
 
 Seven Years in Petersburg . 
 
 
 • 137 
 
 X. 
 
 Twenty-six Years to a Day . 
 
 
 158 
 
 XI. 
 
 Quitting the Sheepfold 
 
 
 186 
 
 XII. 
 
 Wayside and Outside . 
 
 
 . 188 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Inevitable Boy 
 
 
 . 204 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Bethed Building . 
 
 
 . 213 
 
 XV. 
 
 Shreds of a Transatlantic Outing 
 
 . 222 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Glad Days with Spurgeon . 
 
 . 
 
 . 241 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Work in Colleges and in the Editorial 
 
 
 
 Chair 
 
 
 . 253 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Nerve Shakers 
 
 
 . 277 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Rather Too Personal . 
 
 
 . 297 
 
 XX. 
 
 The PEt OF THE Evening 
 
 
 309 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Incomparable Jeff 
 
 
 . 313 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Gleams of Humor Along the Way 
 
 . 332 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Home- Coming . 
 
 . 
 
 . 353 
 
Along the Trail of the Friendly 
 Years 
 
 I 
 
 DISCOVERING THE WORLD 
 
 WHEX I opened my boyish eyes and looked 
 around, it was a primal and rustic scene which 
 came in view. What I did not see was a 
 mother — that was a vision denied me, — the loss of which, 
 dumbly and bitterly enough, I realized. They tell me she 
 was fair, highly cultured for her day, a teacher until she 
 married my father, — then not far from fifty years of age 
 and with six children well-nigh grown up. On the day I 
 was four years of age I saw my mother on the bed of 
 death and never forgot it and then saw her buried beneath 
 the cherry tree back of the garden and understood noth- 
 ing of it, though faintly remembering it. That was all of 
 a mother that ever crept into my consciousness. They 
 told my brother and myself that she used much of her 
 dying breath in praying that we might be ministers and 
 in that way it seems she entered as a silent factor among 
 the forces which set for us the course of life. 
 
 As my look became more capable, I saw great moun- 
 tains round about our habitation and one especially they 
 pointed out to me very often. They called it the '' Peaks 
 of Otter" and it looked so high and blue I thought I 
 could climb to heaven on it. My boyish wonder hovered 
 around its heights and in some way it became ''my moun- 
 tain." I grew up, loving it and for a long time it has 
 been to me the fairest and most wondrous mountain on 
 
 9 
 
10 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 the earth. I saw in time the blue, burniug mountains of 
 Mexico, saw the weird mountains of Northern Scotland, 
 saw the Alps with their crags, brakes, peaks, glaciers and 
 cascades, but not one, nor all together, could ever sup- 
 plant the great mountain of my boyhood wonder. It has 
 come to be a personal friend. The train never takes me 
 through Bedford but that I watch for that majestic, 
 friendly, beautiful mountain. In my boyhood it was one 
 of my friends and there were many others of kin and 
 acquaintanceship that I had a heart for. Now, when I go 
 that way, my fine old "Peaks of Otter" is the only 
 friend who has not changed ; others have scattered or died 
 but this friend always awaits me and stands up to greet 
 me. 
 
 The look about my neighborhood, as my untutored 
 eyes saw it, was plain, indeed, but my passion for place 
 and people has always been overmastering. I loved 
 nearly every visible thing when I was a boy; except, 
 possibly, I drew the line on a few impossible folks, but as 
 I peer back into that morning of my beginning, I see very 
 few that I did not believe in and not one that I hated. 
 At home I found my big brother Henry, an incorrigible 
 tease, a man of infinite humor, a laugh-breeder known in 
 all those parts but, with it, sweet as a mother in his love 
 to me and nearly always on my side when a crisis came ; 
 two sisters, one of whom married and went away. I 
 cried my eyes out about it but she went and in later years 
 I got even with her. She became a widow and I was a 
 young bachelor preacher and I beguiled her into keeping 
 house for me for five years and we were as twins in our 
 devotion to each other. She bore the Bible name of Dam- 
 aris. Then there was sister Margaret, serious minded, 
 fond of books, deeply religious and her example lit the 
 way that lay open towards the heavenly gate. Only a few 
 months ago she, the last of all the children, went within 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 11 
 
 the veil, ready, if anybody ever was, to see the King in 
 His beauty. Then, there was my mother's sou, my full 
 brother Harvey, two years older than I, and we two 
 pulled together, though with temperaments, tastes and 
 pastimes pulling us apart. But of him I will speak in 
 another ijlace. 
 
 My father was about fifty years older than I was. He 
 was a stalwart old farmer, with a rugged plantation, a 
 few slaves and the most primitive and inadequate equip- 
 ments. I slept with him through my boyhood days and 
 for companionship preferred him above all comers. He 
 was very affectionate and insisted on carrying me in his 
 arms almost until my dangling feet came down to his 
 knees. He thought I was grievously and unpardonably 
 lazy. He took it much to heart but would not drive me. 
 I may be mistaken, but I believe now, as I believed then, 
 that I was not made to work in the dirt. I covered him 
 a thousand times with my embraces and endearments but 
 I always drew the line when he wanted me to work on the 
 farm. As a fact, I did work, sometimes with a plow, 
 sometimes with a hoe, sometimes with an axe, sometimes 
 with a wagon and sometimes out in the field with the 
 negroes but I can cordially acquit myself of the faintest 
 desire ever to do anything of that kind. This fault of 
 mine, my father sought by all adroitness to heal. I 
 remember on one occasion he asked me if I was very fond 
 of sweet potatoes, a fact about which he needed not to in- 
 quire, and proposed that I would go with him out to the 
 patch and see the condition of the crop. Going with him 
 was the top of life to me but when the journey meant work 
 to come, that was quite a different matter. We reached 
 the potatoes and found the vines sorely beset with grass. 
 He began to pull it up and finally invited me, in a cheery 
 way ; I joined, but not in a cheery way, and after a while 
 I said to him, brazenly enough, perhaps, but with utmost 
 
12 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 seriousness, that I had come fully to the conclusion that 
 the Lord did not intend for me to work in the dirt. I 
 saw that the utterance caused him to quiver but he did 
 not lose his temper ; he said, with a fine touch of sorrow- 
 ful satire, ^'I begin to think that it is true and I have 
 been studying why it was that God made you at all and I 
 have concluded that He created you to starve, as a warn- 
 ing for all idle boys that may come on later." 
 
 ^' No," said I, *^ I hope not j I do not expect to starve ; 
 I have a hope that I will always have enough to eat and 
 a great deal of it that is good but I do not think that I 
 will have to dig it out of the ground. ' ' 
 
 The shadow deepened on his face but he was full of a 
 noble tenderness and he said no more. 
 
 A little while after that Dr. Jeremiah B. Jeter, a 
 nephew of my father's and quite a distinguished minister 
 at that time, came on a visit to our house from Richmond, 
 where he was then pastor of the First Baptist Church in 
 that city. My father was thoroughly devoted to him, 
 trusted him and admired him and it was always a great 
 point of pride with him that he selected the woman who 
 became Dr. Jeter's third wife. It was a momentous time 
 with us when ' ' Cousin Jerry ' ' came to see us. The 
 slaughter among lambs, shoats and fowls was something 
 frightful, in view of his coming. It was a treat to me 
 because my father gave up everything to entertain ' ' Jerry 
 Bell," as he called the doctor and from morning till night 
 I had nothing to do except to hear Dr. Jeter, so racy, 
 buoyant, hopeful and great-hearted, talk. It was truly a 
 millennial dawn to me. 
 
 One afternoon they walked over to see my Uncle Tom, 
 my father's only surviving brother, — except one or two 
 who were in the distant West. I was the uninvited guest 
 of the occasion and rarely missed a word. On our return 
 they had to cross a rail fence and they took seats on this 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 13 
 
 fence aud had quite a long conversation. I cliauced to 
 pick up a piece of soft rock and sat down in one of the 
 corners of the crooked fence to carve out a book, for once 
 forgetful of them and they entirely forgetful of me. 
 
 Presently, I heard Dr. Jeter ask my father how his 
 children were doing and my father made reply, which 
 carried quite a good measure of pardonable pride, sum- 
 ming up the statement by saying that all of them were 
 fully satisfactory except one and then, beginning at the 
 oldest and coming on down the line, somewhat minutely 
 described each one. I listened largely to find out which 
 one it was who was so imbittering the life of my father 
 by misconduct and I was quite ready to break my vials 
 of fury on the head of the ingrate as soon as his name 
 was called. Slowly he came along down the list, having 
 good things to say about every one, until he reached the 
 end of the line and I only was left. He spoke with 
 fatherly gentleness but uncovered his sorrow in regard to 
 me by saying that he trembled as to my future. He 
 stated that he felt more concern and unhappiness about 
 me than he did about all the other children put together. 
 Hid back in the corner of the fence, I heard his state- 
 ment, shocked with shame, and I was a little curious to 
 know how it was that I was breaking the old gentleman's 
 heart in such a pitiless way. Dr. Jeter expressed much 
 regret and seemed to be wonder-struck that I was turning 
 out to be such a miscreant. The thing struck him as a 
 tragedy and, after beating around the bush a while, he 
 spoke. 
 
 ^'Is he vicious?" he asked, with grave anxiety. If 
 somebody had shot me, I do not believe that I would 
 have jumped higher. That word '^vicious" I had never 
 heard before in my life and really did not know exactly 
 what it meant, but there was something deadly in the 
 emphasis put upon it by Dr. Jeter. If my father had 
 
14 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 said that I was vicious, I would hav^e felt that the day of 
 my execution ought to be set. I waited in a tremor to 
 hear what would come next. To my infinite consolation, 
 my father broke into the pleasantest laugh that I ever 
 heard from him. 
 
 '^Why, no,'^ he said, ^'he is not vicious, but is the 
 most affectionate of all my children and would never get 
 out of sight of me if he could help it." 
 
 That put the matter in a better light and my self- 
 respect, so suddenly shattered, began to pick up again. 
 
 '^What is the matter with him?" Dr. Jeter asked, as 
 if he were bewildered. 
 
 *'He is no account upon the earth," said my father, 
 ^'for work. He hates any kind of work in the dirt and 
 says that he does not believe that God has made him to 
 work in the dirt." 
 
 ''What does he do?" said Dr. Jeter. ''How does he 
 spend his time ? ' ' 
 
 "Why, he does nothing except to read," said my fa- 
 ther ; "it is books when he gets up, books all day and 
 books at night j he knows every book on the plantation 
 by heart." 
 
 There my good father went astray ; I did not know all 
 the books by heart on the plantation, though if I had, I 
 would have still been mortally ignorant of very many 
 things, for the books at our house were few and dull. 
 
 Then came Dr. Jeter's time to laugh. 
 
 " Send him to school," said Dr. Jeter. " It may be that 
 the Lord has made him that way, sure enough ; there are 
 many things for people to do besides work on the farm 
 and, while I am sorry he has such an aversion to it, I am 
 glad to know that he is not rebellious nor wicked nor hard 
 to manage." 
 
 I was still sitting back in the fence corner and the out- 
 come of it left me in a tremor, for I was yet uncertain 
 
DISCOVEEING THE WORLD 15 
 
 whether my father felt towards me as I would have him 
 feel, for largely my life was wrapped up in him. 
 
 He never mentioned that interview to me at all but about 
 a month afterwards I was placed in quite an excellent 
 school ; there I remained for nearly three years ; there I 
 laid the foundation for the moderate education which it 
 was my good fortune afterwards to gain. 
 
 Life was on a narrow scale in my little Bedford neigh- 
 borhood. We were twelve miles from the county seat, 
 had mail once a week, and church once a month, when 
 the weather was good. A blacksmith^ s shop, a tan-yard 
 and a store, with a mill farther on, constituted all of our 
 public interests. As I had no horse to shoe, no letters to 
 write or receive, not a copper to buy anything with and 
 did not belong to the church, my communication with 
 the outer world amounted to naught. This statement 
 was modified by one exception. I did attain to the 
 honor of being a mill boy and every Saturday morning 
 *' Old Fillie^' was bridled, a bag of corn was balanced on 
 her back and the giant arms of my brother hoisted me 
 astride the mare and bag and, with only the necessary 
 garb in warm weather to save me from public disgrace, I 
 jogged my way over to Chilton's Mill. There I always 
 had an interesting time. The proprietor of the mill had 
 a most unsavory name in that community but he was 
 rich, he had quite a handsome assortment of books, al- 
 ways welcomed me into his office, was a glib and captiva- 
 ting talker and was one of two or three men on the earth 
 at that time who seemed to be conscious of my existence 
 when I came along. It added immeasurably to my self- 
 respect that he would frequently invite me, while I was 
 waiting for my grist, to accompany him to his house for 
 dinner. This pleased me exceedingly and I was always 
 quick to report, when I returned home, with what ex- 
 traordinary consideration I was treated. But let me say 
 
16 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 here aud possibly explain afterwards that for some rea- 
 son, not at all understood by me at the time, I could not 
 eat the great man's dinner. There was a constraint in 
 the house that weighed upon me like a mountain ; the air 
 seemed freighted with death and, while I could not tell 
 why, when I got out and away from the house, I had an 
 irresistible impulse to fill the hills with my shouts. In 
 after days the secret came out — the darkest, most tragical 
 and the most ruinous of all the secrets that I have known 
 on the earth. 
 
 At that mill there was employed a modest but sensible 
 and attractive young man. He looked after the grinding 
 of the grain and also the carding of the wool and, while 
 perhaps almost ten years older than myself, he was the 
 most congenial and helpful person in the entire neigh- 
 borhood to me. He came of a plain but respectable 
 family but it was by his own merit that he won his way 
 in the neighborhood. He went out of that mill to enter 
 school as a ministerial student and, after graduating at 
 the old Columbian College in Washington City, he took 
 a little mission church in a repulsive part of Washington, 
 where he encountered the gravest drawbacks and diffi- 
 culties j but he went there to stay and that was his only 
 pastorate, which lasted over fifty years. He saw that 
 part of the town traDsformed into beauty, saw his church 
 grow into strength and fill up with large numbers, 
 and saw completed one of the handsomest churches in 
 the city. On all the earth I had no better friend than 
 Rev. Dr. Chastain C. Meador, who was my soul's un- 
 changing brother,, and when that notable memorial service 
 was held in his honor in the city of Washington, I was 
 chosen to make the historical address on the occasion. 
 
 We were not rich enough to have many servants, but 
 we had some, and my recollections of them are very 
 tender and interesting. Uncle Sam was an old man, or 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 17 
 
 Seemed so to me, when I was a boy. He was not very 
 bright, but was the soul of honesty, always ready to work 
 and full of kindness to me. He drove the wagon, and it 
 was a part of the pride of my childhood that he was 
 always glad to let me go with him when he could and he 
 would please me by letting me handle the reins and some- 
 times crack the whip. Aunt Charity, his well-behaved 
 wife, kept her cabin clean and nice. She was high- 
 tempered enough to give the boys the pleasure of fretting 
 her sometimes, and I would not disturb her sleeping dust 
 by misrepresenting her, but if she did not henpeck Uncle 
 Sam, then I was incapable of understanding what form 
 of amusement henpeckiug was in those days. But Uncle 
 Sam adored her — in his dull eyes she was perfection on 
 the earth and nothing he had or could do was counted 
 dear to him if it would please her. They had a daughter 
 and her name was Charlotte, a proud, haughty and over- 
 bearing woman. She was the cook and the children knew 
 that they had to keep on the right side of her, and she 
 affected all sorts of tyrannies and cruelties to keep us 
 in proper subjection, so that we would not invade her 
 kingdom and rifle her shelves. She would lock the 
 kitchen on us and call high heaven to witness that she 
 would not give us a mouthful to save us from an untimely 
 tomb and then set biscuit and other things in the window, 
 where she knew that we would steal them ; and this she 
 did, partly because in reality she loved us, and partly 
 because she wanted to provide a new pretext for break° 
 ing forth in other volcanoes of pretentious wrath. 
 
 Charlotte married the most aristocratic negro in the 
 neighborhood. He was a widower, with enough dig- 
 nity to start a palace and with a right snug little treasury 
 of his own ; he was head man on a great plantation and, 
 of course, had the proud distinction of being hated by all 
 the least respectable of the slaves who worked under 
 
18 ALONG TPIE TRAIL 
 
 him. I never believed that Charlotte loved him, but she 
 did not need a husband to love, she needed a man to 
 be proud of, one who could set her above the common 
 run and take her around on spectacular occasions. They 
 had their house and little yard fixed up with a special 
 view of exciting the envy of all of the neighbors. There 
 were others. But peace to their ashes ! They can have 
 no place here. 
 
 I never had but three companions outside of our home 
 and they were three cousins. Eobert was the oldest of 
 the three, five or six years older than I was, good-na- 
 tured, mortally dull and too grown-up to covet any inti- 
 macy with me. In my boyhood days the turning out 
 place for a boy was when he got a broadcloth suit of 
 clothes. It was with a quaking heart that I heard that 
 Robert would appear the next Sunday in his ''broad- 
 cloth." It was a straining event with me. It meant that 
 he was to be grown, that he would be expected to go to 
 see the girls and that the days of his boyhood were clean 
 gone forever. It was almost as if he was about to die. 
 I really wondered what he would look like and whether 
 I could talk to him just as I had done before. To my 
 surprise, almost to my contempt, he walked over that 
 afternoon pinked up in his ''broadcloth." Even I could 
 see that it did not fit ; I saw too that he had his pants, as 
 we called them then, rolled up, and he looked about as 
 common, except his clothes, as I had ever seen him. It 
 was a distinct disappointment to me ; "broadcloth" did 
 not fulfill my expectations. It could not make a star out 
 of plain and stupid Bob. The enchantment of the change 
 was gone and from that time Bob swung between a re- 
 luctant companionship with the boys and a grotesque 
 struggle to mix with the girls. 
 
 My second cousin was Tom. He was handsome, grave, 
 and, as he stayed in a store, he wore store-clothes. What 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 19 
 
 added incomparably to his significance in my eyes was 
 that he had a sweetheart, whom he never mentioned and 
 rarely went with. He sang charmingly ; indeed, I envied 
 him his beautiful voice and the rich tenor notes. It cut 
 me very low when it was announced that he was going to 
 Missouri. That was in the long, long ago and, though 
 he is living, I have never seen him and have never ex- 
 changed a letter with him since we parted. So cheap 
 and perishing are childish friendships, and yet he lives 
 in me and influences me to this day. 
 
 The youngest of the trio was Henry. He was nearer 
 to me in age, very kindly uatured but motherless and 
 dependent and my boyish soul clung to him with ardor 
 undying. A thing occurred with Henry that struck me 
 a blow from which I never recovered. He was probably 
 three years older than I was, himself about thirteen and I 
 about ten. Up to that time I had never had any very dis- 
 tinct religious convictions. In a boy' s crude way I thought 
 religion was a good thing and that some time it would 
 come my way, but little did I know what it was, nor how 
 it would come and surely I was not in any hurry to have 
 it come. They had their August meeting at the Mount 
 Hermon Church, a church founded at first by my grand- 
 father, Jeremiah Hatcher, and called for many years after 
 his name. Quite loog before my appearance upon the 
 earth they had moved the church and changed its name to 
 Mount Hermon. One day during that meeting I went 
 into the church in the afternoon and sat far back towards 
 the door and Henry had a seat on a bench in front of me. 
 I recall him now, a biggish, rough boy ; his hair long 
 grown and unkempt ; his clothes coarse of stuflF, home- 
 made and ill-fitting ; his face sunburned and disfigured 
 with reddish bumps and his look, even to my eyes, was 
 desolate, though I thought he had been made that way 
 and would have to stay that way. The sermon was over, 
 
20 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 the congregation was standing, the revival song was 
 breaking with almost cyclonic power through the house 
 and people were going forward as ** mourners, ^^ as relig- 
 ious inquirers were then called. I was back there, eye- 
 ing things with shy curiosity but with not a religious 
 twinge in any part of my being. I chanced to look up 
 towards the pulpit and saw a young woman walking 
 down the aisle in my direction. The sight startled me, 
 for in those days men and women sat apart in the church 
 and the sight of a young girl venturing down our aisle 
 startled even me. She was dressed in spotless white, 
 evidently timid and unused to what she was doing. 
 When she got down to Henry she turned into the bench 
 and walked in and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 She was my sister and one of earth's purest, but for that 
 time I was shaken with great surprise. I wondered what 
 she wanted with Henry and presently I found out. I 
 heard her say, ^' Henry, I have been praying for you,' ^ 
 and I know perfectly well that I never heard anything 
 before that had such tenderness and sweetness as marked 
 her words. As for Henry, he melted at once and began 
 to weep and I, dumb with wonder, looked on and felt ex- 
 cited in a new spot of my being. I stood at an angle that 
 enabled me to see Henry's face. It ran with tears and I 
 saw some of them leap from his eyes to his rough clothes ; 
 his frame shook with convulsed emotion. That was all 
 she said and it seemed to me that that was enough. I 
 knew what she meant ; I knew what she was down there 
 for. ''I came for you, Henry, if you feel that you want 
 to make a start for the Christian life ; and if you do, I 
 would like to take your hand and go with you.'^ 
 
 It seemed to me that I was in another world and such 
 a jumble of emotions and perplexities stormed through 
 my soul that I knew not what to do except to watch 
 Henry. Slowly he lifted up his big, rough, battered hand 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 21 
 
 and held it out to her. She took hold of it with one hand 
 and put the other around his shoulder, and, as they 
 moved out into the aisle and went towards the pulpit, there 
 thumped into my soul the tremendous conviction that re- 
 ligion was about the biggest thing that had ever gotten 
 into this world. I knew also that the young woman was 
 fall of it and that Henry had gone to look for it and, 
 what was more, I wanted to go too, but I was a mere 
 scrap of a chap and about all that I knew was that every- 
 body in that house would think that I was a fool if I went 
 and I did not go. 
 
 In a little while it was abroad that Henry was converted. 
 I had no idea on earth what it meant except that it must 
 be that something had happened to him in the way of 
 religion. I looked at him with awe and when he was 
 baptized I loDged to know what was the matter and how 
 he felt and all about it but I hid my thoughts. Henry 
 proved to be no saint ; indeed, he was a little too much like 
 he had been for producing the best effect on me and yet I 
 never doubted him. He was truth embodied, not fond 
 of books, not gifted, but there was a genuineness in him 
 that I feasted on. A few years turned him into a man 
 and entangled him into a premature but a most devoted 
 and happy marriage. Then came that unforgetable hor- 
 ror, the Civil War, and Henry, with wet face, kissed his 
 wife and baby good-bye and went to be a soldier. Some- 
 where near Harper's Ferry on the Potomac a hostile shot 
 crashed through him. They took him to Winchester 
 and for days he languished in the hospital. It was said 
 that he wrote back to Bedford that he was greatly dis- 
 tressed that he could not get to Mount Hermon any 
 more. He loved his church and loved his Saviour and 
 loved the good old people at Mount Hermon and wished 
 that he could come again before he died but that it did 
 not matter so much, he was ready for his end j the hope 
 
22 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 which broke into his soul in that revival had never died 
 and was with him in the hospital as his abounding com- 
 fort and support and that if they could not meet on earth, 
 it would not be hard to wait until they could be together 
 on the other shore. After I became a Christian, Henry 
 and I were true yokefellows and we used to meet in the 
 woods, sing the mountain songs and cheer each other 
 in our religious struggles. 
 
 Only a few months ago I was summoned to Bedford to 
 attend the funeral of that woman who, over sixty years 
 before, had prayed for Henry and had brought him out 
 into the light. Her body was put to rest in the rude 
 cemetery at the old church. A generation that knew not 
 Henry surged around her grave and I told the story of 
 Henry's conversion, feeling sure that it was a bit of his- 
 tory that carried in it the seeds of eternal life and that 
 others would come the way that Henry came because 
 they heard how he came, and that others yet would pity 
 motherless and lonely boys and offer a hand of help to 
 them in their struggle to attain eternal life. 
 
 I learned early in life that it was a contradictory thing, 
 and yet possible, for a boy to love a man to idolatry and 
 yet be teased out of existence by the waggishness, buf- 
 foonery and satire of that identical man. That man was 
 my brother Henry. In my estimate, princes and kings 
 were trivial circumstances compared with him. He could 
 put me into convulsions by blinking his eye or by an odd 
 pantomime or by a witticism or even a look. He could 
 almost break up a dinner party by a single remark sug- 
 gested by the occasion and irresistible by reason of its 
 aptness and humor. His fun-making, I suppose, was 
 always kindly intended but it was as sharp as needles and 
 sometimes as stinging in its effect. 
 
 I do not think that I had but one every-day suit for 
 winter and that was made of wool taken from the backs 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 23 
 
 of our sheep, carded, spun and woven in our house, 
 dj^ed with ill-odored, home-made dyes, cut out and war- 
 ranted not to fit and was ugly and unattractive and 
 usually very slow to wear out. But one winter mine did 
 wear out and I was not sufficiently presentable to go to 
 school where the rich boys and girls of the neighborhood 
 went and, after long consultation, it was decided that a 
 pair of my big brother's trousers should be cut and 
 whacked and knocked up for my use during the rest of 
 the season. I opposed it openly and with scornful de- 
 fiance. I told them that I did not want to wear anybody's 
 old clothes and what added to the horror of it all, when 
 they were ready for me to try them, the reconstructed 
 pants refused to fit me in any single spot. I was angry 
 enough to fight the whole earth when I tried them on and 
 with cowering shame I fled from inspection. "What added 
 grievously to my discomfort was the infinite ridicule and 
 merriment of my brother. To him it was a jubilee, a 
 revel, a comedy and the sparks of his wit never flew 
 thicker or faster than when, in dire necessity, I was com- 
 pelled to wear those pants. It was a humiliating, embit- 
 tering, infuriating experience and the more I was miser- 
 able about it, the richer was the strain of hilarity and 
 merriment on my brother's part. I threatened several 
 times to hate him for the balance of my natural life and 
 would have been delighted to do it except that I felt 
 sometimes even when I wanted to choke him that I merely 
 wanted to hug him. One time, however, my patience 
 went wild and in my towering rage I confronted him and 
 they say I delivered the following eloquent address on the 
 occasion : 
 
 ^^ Very well, go on with your gibes and cruel treatment 
 of me. I will wear your old suits, though I despise them 
 while I do it. I wear them because I can do no better 
 now, but I tell you the day of vengeance will come. I 
 
24 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 expect to live yet to see the day when you will be glad 
 to wear my old clothes." 
 
 This added to the jests of the hour and whenever 
 friends came in and I was about, the pants, ill-fitting and 
 horrible to me, became the topic of talk and it was gen- 
 erally added that I had uttered a prophecy that the time 
 would come when my brother would feel proud to inherit 
 my cast-off clothes. Truly it can be said that the episode 
 of the breeches left no scars on my soul and never abated 
 one jot my admiring affection for my brother, but it must 
 be admitted that my prophecy clove to my memory and 
 I was earthly minded enough to hope that its fulfillment 
 would come. 
 
 It did come, and came sooner than I expected and in 
 a way that I could not enjoy very much because the sur- 
 prise of it was something that my brother could not enjoy 
 at all. When I finished at college I went to be a pastor 
 in Manchester, Va. Every young preacher of any parts 
 has his little run of popularity and I had mine. It did 
 not run very far, nor very long nor very high but in the 
 matter of clothes, in no great while, I became overstocked. 
 My brother was a farmer, kindly taking care of the old 
 home and full of courteousness to our old father, and I 
 went for the first time after my pastorate began up to the 
 old Bedford home for a week's visit. In packing to go I 
 determined to take along some cast-off clothing for the 
 servants, which I knew they would be glad to get for Sun- 
 day wear and, while doing this, the memory of the red- 
 yarn breeches loomed before me. I had quite an elegant 
 suit ; one capable of much respectable wear yet, but I 
 slipped that suit in. My brother and myself roomed to- 
 gether. All the week I had those clothes in my trunk 
 but said nothing. I was to remain over Sunday and 
 preach. Saturday morning as we were dressing, I drew 
 out the clothes that I carried for the colored people and 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 25 
 
 told my brother that he could distribute them in the way 
 that would count best and then I said in a casual, far- 
 away manner that there was a suit that I thought pos- 
 sibly he might put on to ride over the farm, to the post- 
 office or at such times as might suit him. I spoke doubt- 
 fully and modestly and landed the bundle on the bed in 
 plain view and went on talking about other things. 
 Meanwhile, I watched my brother and I actually gurgled 
 with glee as I saw him pick up the clothes and sample 
 them piece by piece. 
 
 *' Why do you not wear these clothes?" he asked, evi- 
 dently interested. I told him in the most careless, non- 
 chalant manner that I had rather an overstock of clothes 
 and I did not believe that I would need that suit again 
 but that he must not be bothered with it. 
 
 ^' Bothered with it? " he inquired ; ^^ it's an excellent 
 suit and quite handsome and I will be delighted to accept 
 it if it does not deprive you." I told him that settled it. 
 
 The next morning he and I rode to church on horse- 
 back in company. When we were dismounting quite a 
 string of my friends, kins-people, schoolmates and others 
 came forth to give me a greeting and, after a hand-shake, 
 one of them turned to my brother and congratulated him 
 upon being dressed so handsomely and threw at him the 
 joke that he was evidently going out on one more roman- 
 tic campaign. Several joined in to compliment him upon 
 his handsome appearance and he carried it off with char- 
 acteristic ease and humor. 
 
 Just the same I knew that he had on my old clothes 
 and that all of this demonstration bore on the little 
 matter between him and myself, which occurred just ten 
 years before, but I said nothing. That afternoon there 
 was a sort of neighborhood rally at our house; the 
 great room which we called the parlor was filled up and 
 the tide of friendly chat and rustic humor rolled high. 
 
26 ALOiS^G THE TRAIL 
 
 I had put one or two friends into my secret and in the 
 midst of all our genial clatter, one of these men tempted 
 my brother to revive some of his favorite jokes on me. 
 That opened the flood-gates and such a train of laughable 
 and ludicrous stories my brother turned loose on me that 
 afternoon. 
 
 ^'Tell the story of the red breeches/^ some one cried 
 out and my brother, blissfully oblivious of what might 
 come, told the story with infinite gusto and almost turned 
 the company into a mob of laughter and happy excite- 
 ment. 
 
 *' What was it he said about his old clothes ? ^^ another 
 asked and even then my brother, though, I think, dimly 
 apprehensive that he was treading on the crumbling edge 
 of things, told all about it in his inimitable way. Then 
 came the explosion — far more overwhelming than I could 
 have dreamed of. 
 
 ^* Where did you get those fine clothes you got on now, 
 Henry ? " he was asked and then the whole story came 
 out. They scourged him with a tornado of jests and 
 rollick and banter. I cannot say that I enjoyed the 
 victory very keenly. I was human enough to plan it 
 and to push it but the retribution of it had scant rplish 
 for me and never in a lifetime afterwards was the matter 
 again mentioned between us but once and that in a casual 
 and by no means jocular way. 
 
 When I peer back into those far-away days and see 
 myself as a lad, I confess that my soul melts with com- 
 passion for the motherless, lonesome, ambitious boy that 
 I was. I fairly died for appreciation. I did not know 
 what was the matter but I suffered unutterably for the 
 want of a mother, for an intelligent sympathy, for some 
 one who could mark my little sorrows, dress my little 
 wounds, wipe off my tears when I cried and kiss me 
 when I went to bed. A thousand times or more I have 
 
DISCOVERING THE WORLD 27 
 
 stated tliat I did not know what was meant by the 
 pleasures of childhood ; they did not come to me. I 
 dare say that there was little in me that was attractive ; 
 they tell me that I was sickly, sensitive and too fond of 
 being alone. Books were my companions and it was a 
 sorry lot of books I had, but if I could feel fit to give 
 people advice in regard to boys, I would urge that they 
 treat them with more reverence. Men shy off from boys as 
 if they were an incurable nuisance and incapable of being 
 shaped up for the future. I verily believe that of all 
 classes of human beings boys, if properly respected and 
 duly recognized and delicately appreciated, are the most 
 flexible and responsive of all human material to work on. 
 I recall three men who did more to inspire me than 
 everybody else put together. They were not great men 
 — they were not popular men and they did not have very 
 much opportunity to help me but they said things that 
 counted with me. One was a man with fatal blemishes and 
 of a tragic nature, but he gave me books to read and 
 talked with me about what I read and made me feel that 
 the book world was created for boys. Another was an 
 old farmer, a Methodist and many said a skinflint, but 
 he reared a beautiful family and one of my brothers 
 married his daughter and in that way I used to have to 
 go on occasional errands to his house. He talked with 
 me about my school and complimented me on reports 
 which had come to him from others and, though un- 
 cultivated himself, he made me feel that it was something 
 great to get an education. He said to me one day that 
 he wished his boy loved to go to school as I did and it 
 had not occurred to me before that I did love to go to 
 school so much, until lie said it. The other benefactor 
 was the venerable old doctor and deacon in the Mount 
 Hermon Church — not a doctor in reality, but he was a 
 very respectable doctor after his own sort. He was the 
 
28 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 one that gave me help in the first steps of my religious 
 life and I could almost write a book about him, an ap- 
 preciative and grateful narrative of all the kindly, 
 friendly things he said to help me in making my start. 
 
n 
 
 DISCOVERING THE OTHER WORLD 
 
 IT almost brings a blush to my cheek to undertake to 
 write even a few paragraphs concerning the begin- 
 nings of my religious life. It is a matter of wonder 
 to me that my childish soul was transfixed with so many 
 serious convictions. My mother died the day I was four 
 years old ; my father, though a true believer, was not a 
 member of any church. We were quite a distance from 
 the church which it was our custom to attend ; there was 
 preaching only once a month and as I had no way of go- 
 ing except on my two small feet and that through nearly 
 two miles of forest, I was not often found among the 
 worshippers. True they had the bare semblance of a 
 Sunday-school which bloomed with the April flowers and 
 dissolved usually during the revival meetings of August. 
 About all we did in the school was to fumble and balk 
 and stammer through some of the long chapters of the 
 Bible, our teacher doing his full share of the stammering. 
 We had no singing, never a breezy and cheery address, 
 no pictures, only one or two unduly protracted prayers, 
 a dreary waste of empty benches and nothing to do when 
 it was over except to retrace our steps through the dense 
 woodland back to a motherless home. 
 
 Not altogether motherless, however. The youngest of 
 my sisters was one of the most Christlike of young women, 
 a woman whose words were few but meaningful. In spite 
 of the absence of so much that goes to make up a home 
 there was a straightforward, sensible and kindly old 
 father — fifty years older than I was — a few good books 
 
 29 
 
80 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 and almost too much time for thinking. Not even the 
 blindest admirer could have found anything suggestive 
 or prophetic in my youth except frequent and most 
 pungent religious feelings. Religious habits I knew 
 nothing about and it was by fits and changes my seasons 
 of religious anxiety came. I undertook to read the Bible 
 as soon as I could read at all, but had nothing except the 
 family Bible — a ponderous and unmanageable load. I 
 started with Genesis for I hadn't the faintest idea that I 
 could start anywhere else, and about the only well articu- 
 lated results which I can now recall were the many crash- 
 ing falls the Bible had from slipping through my feeble 
 arms and from my repeated readings of Genesis until the 
 front part of the book was mutilated and I also slightly 
 mutilated for not treating the Holy Book with more care. 
 
 Just the same I longed to know the way but there was 
 no one to show me. My yearnings struggled within my 
 bosom, and it ran on until I had gotten into my early 
 teens and yet religion was something longed for but un- 
 attained. I got into a school of which the teacher him- 
 self was anything but a Christian, and in which many of 
 the scholars were larger and older than myself, and 
 among them all not one who wore the Christian name, and 
 a few of them were very irreligious and had already 
 learned to scoff at sacred things. 
 
 My school took me away from the church neighbor- 
 hood, but I heard that there was a great revival meeting 
 in progress at Mount Hermon, the church to which we 
 usually went. The news put a strange fluttering in my 
 boyish heart ; I felt that I was in the neighborhood of 
 divine things. All the ardors of my religious nature 
 were kindled into flame. Day after day as I went to 
 school I felt a pungent sense of guilt, and in a lonely 
 ravine which lay near my path I turned aside and found 
 a little altar between the crooked roots of a mighty white 
 
DISCOVERING THE OTHER WORLD 31 
 
 oak, and there going and coming I would bow down and 
 tell the Lord of my troubles. I was hearing already of 
 the conversion of other boys — my brother Harvey among 
 them— and I was sorely afraid that I would be left. 
 
 Friday night came and I sped homeward on swiftest 
 feet. That night the moon was friendly and broke the 
 darkness of the great forest, and with no sense of danger 
 but a deepening sense of penitence I went through that 
 forest marking almost every step with a cry for mercy. 
 The house was crowded and I found a seat far. back from 
 the pulpit. I saw in the pulpit two men — one. Elder 
 William Harris, — Father Harris the young people called 
 him, with his hair white as the snow and falling in silken 
 softness around his shoulders, with a face tinged with an 
 Indian hue and cheek bones very high, with an eye blue 
 as the sky and radiant with a light not of this world, 
 with a voice mellow, musical and irresistible when he 
 sang, with a white handkerchief tie around his neck and 
 a spotless collar. His coat was like a modern cutaway, 
 black with vast flaps over the side pockets, and out of 
 one of the pockets protruded a clean pipe-stem that 
 pushed back the flap and lifted its unblushing length into 
 full view. He was tall, well rounded, the very figure 
 and form and glory of a fine old man. He preached in 
 that country for over fifty years ; fully fifty preachers 
 came into service under his influence and he was every- 
 body's friend, and when he died the land mourned for 
 him and mourns for him yet. 
 
 The other minister was a collegian and an orator — 
 Francis M. Barker. I thoroughly believe that he could 
 have preached to ten acres of people and could have been 
 heard by all. That night he preached, and used as his 
 t^xt, ^^ Choose ye this day whom ye will serve." I heard 
 every word of the sermon and trembled as I heard. The 
 trouble was I was not fit and I had no thought that mercy 
 
32 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 was in reach uutil I was good euougli to claim it. I was 
 ready to make the choice if I only could feel that I was 
 ready to appear at the throne of grace and receive salva- 
 tion. In those days they had the mourners' bench, and 
 surely enough I was a fit subject for the bench, but a 
 crushing sense of uncertainty, unfitness, and depression 
 held me back. I was not ashamed but it looked as if it 
 was not worth while to go — not for me. The people were 
 singing and the crowd was standing up, but I sat still 
 and hardly knew what I did. 
 
 At last a venerable gentleman walked down the aisle 
 — I knew him well ; it was old Dr. Falls, a deacon in 
 the church, and truly the church had no more ardent 
 lover, and to my surprise he stor)ped at me, he stooped 
 down so that others could not hear, and I liked him bet- 
 ter for that, and in a low voice said to me, ''Did you 
 hear the call to-night ? '' 
 
 " I heard it," I said, '' and felt that I ought to answer 
 it but I could not start ; something is holding me back." 
 He stretched out to me his wrinkled old hand and said in 
 a tone wondrously assuring, "Maybe that might help 
 you to start." There was his hand, stretched out to me 
 and wide open and he was waiting. That made a differ- 
 ence and I put my hand in his and I got strength by his 
 touch and was lifted to my feet by its grasp. 
 
 But this must be too common for any one to read, and 
 yet it has worlds of meaning to me. That moment I 
 took my first step, I put my back towards the world, I 
 planted my feet on the Zion road. 
 
 And yet when I got to the front seat I was awkward, 
 self-conscious, tearless, distracted, and knew not what to 
 do. The meeting closed and I went home and seemed no 
 better than before. I went back to the Saturday meeting 
 and the dear old doctor, living near the church, made me 
 go home with him to supper and showed me a kindness 
 
DISCOVERING THE OTHER WORLD 33 
 
 in the gentlest sort of way which made me believe in 
 heaven. The house was full of company but its joy and 
 laughter suited me not, and ahead of all the others I 
 started alone for the church, sad enough but thankful 
 that I could be alone. 
 
 It was an August night and the moon was near its full 
 and my walk was across a field. Anxious about religion 
 I surely was and yet hard-hearted, clumsy and utterly 
 bewildered. I was waiting for a whirlwind to catch me 
 in its embrace, and in some unscheduled way to drop me 
 into the kingdom of God. As I made my way towards 
 the church I heard a step behind me. I glanced back 
 and recognized a man who had been one of the most 
 reckless and blasphemous men in that country, but who 
 not long before, after an experience much talked about in 
 the neighborhood, had united with the church. His 
 name was Monroe Hatcher. He walked up in a rough but 
 kindly way and said that he was glad to see that I had 
 started out to be a Christian. In bungling fashion I told 
 him I would like to be a Christian but that it was a thing 
 that I did not understand and I did not know what to do. 
 
 *'What do you think of yourself as you stand in the 
 sight of God? '^ he asked me. The question confused me ; 
 I knew well enough what I was in the sight of God, but 
 I had it in me that no one could be saved as long as he 
 was a sinner. I felt that if I told the man how sinful I 
 knew myself to be he would be ready to give my case up, 
 but it was no time for quibbling and I blurted out the 
 truth. I told him with an anxiety not unmixed with 
 despair that I was much distressed to find that I was so 
 unworthy of the mercy of God, for I felt that I was very 
 sinful before the Lord. '^ I am glad to hear you say so," 
 was his blunt and startling reply. For a moment he 
 shocked me by seeming to be pleased by a confession 
 which it was most painful for me to make, and I told 
 
34 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 him so. ^'But," lie said, ''do not think that I am glad 
 you are a sinner. That I knew before. But I am glad 
 that you have found it out." Then in terse phrase he 
 told me that Jesus was not the Saviour of good people, 
 but of sinners, and only of those sinners who know their 
 condition and were ready to make confession. This put 
 the matter in a new light. It seems strange that I could 
 have been so stupid that I did not see it that way before. 
 I walked along quickened in every power of my mind 
 and soul, and for the first time in my life saw Jesus as 
 the Saviour and myself as the sinner brought together. 
 I am sure that I had never heard that there was such a 
 thing as logic in the world, and yet in my rude way I 
 knocked up a little syllogism of my own which ran about 
 thus: "Jesus Christ is the Saviour of sinners; I am a 
 sinner, and therefore I know He will save me." These 
 truths struck me with a new pleasure and a ray of light 
 flickered through the darkness of my heart. 
 
 By this time we had passed a gate into the public road 
 and were neariDg the church. 
 
 ''Do you know what to do to get Christ to save you ? " 
 inquired this plain but godly young farmer. I told him 
 with unblushing candor that I had no idea what I ought 
 to do. "You must have faith," he said. I told him 
 that I had heard much about faith and about believing, 
 but that somehow the words did not seem to bring me 
 any light. I remember that I spoke with almost a de- 
 spondent gloom, as if the whole thing was beyond me. 
 My friend stopped abruptly in the road and told me to 
 stop ; pointing upward, he called my attention to a long, 
 immense limb of a mountain oak which stretched across 
 the road far above my head and he told me to look at 
 that limb. 
 
 "Suppose," he said to me, "you were up on that limb ; 
 yon would be afraid to leap off, would you not 1 " I told 
 
DISCOVERING THE OTHER WORLD 35 
 
 him very emphatically that I would, and probably added 
 that I would not think for a moment of doing such a 
 thing. 
 
 ^*Look up there again, '^ he said. ''Suppose you were 
 up there and I was to call you by name and tell you that 
 if you would jump off I would catch you and not let you 
 be hurt, would you do it ? '^ 
 
 ^'ISTo, sir," I said, rather doggedly, I fear j ** I would 
 not think of doing it.'^ 
 
 "But," he asked, "if I told you outright that I would 
 catch you as you fell, why would you not leap off ? " 
 
 "Why, because," I said, a little afraid that I had 
 wounded him, "why, because I cannot believe that you 
 would have the power to catch me, or that you would 
 even dare to try to catch me." I wondered how he 
 would receive my emphatic reply. 
 
 "Why, that is it," he said ; "you would not leap off 
 because you would not believe that I could catch you, or 
 that I would dare to try it ; that would be unbelief." 
 
 "Is that unbelief?" I asked, with an unaffected sur- 
 prise. " Is that all? " and my new tone evidently stirred 
 his hope. "Yes, that is all," he said very hopeful. 
 "That is unbelief, and it is that unbelief of our God 
 which keeps His blessings back." At that moment I felt 
 the guilt of not believing as I had not felt it before. I 
 started forward, but he halted me. 
 
 "Look up at that limb again," he said. "Suppose 
 you were up there ; look up at it and suppose that Jesus 
 Christ was down here in the road where we are and you 
 knew that it was He and He should stretch out His arms 
 and look up and call you by name and bid you leap into 
 His arms, would you do it? " 
 
 I did not make quick reply. I thought the matter 
 through and sounded the depths of my heart, and there 
 arose in my soul a clear and gladsome conviction that I 
 
36 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 would not be afraid to make the leap. I remember that 
 I felt distinctly the wish that I could in that way attest 
 my faith in the word and the power of Jesus. Turning 
 to my good instructor I said to him, ^' Yes, sir, I could, 
 and I gladly would. '^ *^ Why," he said, ^* would you? " 
 
 ''Because," I answered, "if He said He would catch 
 me He would do what He said, and if He tried to catch 
 me He is able to do what He tries." 
 
 ''Why, boy," he replied in joyous strain, ''that is 
 faith in the Son of God." Then he went on to tell me 
 that faith was taking the Lord at His word about my 
 soul, just as taking Him at His word about my body 
 would be. 
 
 We started on. The only question that I asked before 
 we reached the door of the church was, ' ' May I under- 
 stand that if I move out just as I am, not waiting for any 
 sort of change, but simjily committing myself into the 
 hands of Jesus Christ, will He save me ? " 
 
 "He says so," said the man. Then we were at the 
 church door and he told me to go in and he fell back and 
 walked off. That night marked my entrance through the 
 gate into the kingdom of God. I entered the church, an 
 old quadrangular frame house — sealed and unpainted and 
 unlighted except by a few flickering tallow candles hang- 
 ing on the wall, and as yet with only a few people in the 
 house. I sat down near to the pulpit, more than willing 
 to be as near as possible to the children of light who 
 already were fast coming in. I looked not at them ; I 
 had made progress and found myself face to face with the 
 Saviour. He was at hand and was ready for me to come. 
 I said with the dogmatism of a boy's faith, "I will give 
 myself to Him ; I will do it to-night ; I will do it before 
 I go out of this house ; I will do it if I have to stay all 
 night in this house in the dark and by myself and I will 
 do it now." I did it there and then, did it actually and 
 
DISCOVERING THE OTHER WORLD 37 
 
 did it ouce for all ; did it in such a way that it has never 
 come undone ; did it once and forever. 
 
 As to what the effect of it would be I never thought 
 and strangely enough did not seem to care j the sense of 
 the transfer was distinct and satisfactory. I had passed 
 over into the hands of my Saviour by my own glad choice 
 and I had His word that it would be all right and I sat 
 still before God and felt that I was in a new world. 
 Presently the singing commenced and there had never 
 been quite such singing before ; the church filled up with 
 people that I had knovf n from my earliest years, but I 
 must candidly say that they had a better look and I had a 
 better feeliug for them than ever before. There was no 
 impulsive outbreak, no lack of self-mastery ; indeed I 
 had never known such a peaceful and wondrous sense of 
 self-mastery before. Immediately I looked around and 
 about me and saw afresh the old doctor who had given 
 me the hand and truly I felt that I could kiss his feet 
 with grateful joy ; I caught a glimpse of old Father 
 Harris, and if I had not been such an awkward and bash- 
 ful lad I should have hugged his knees, and over among 
 the singers I saw my grown-up brother, my double 
 brother though they told me he was a half brother, and 
 the sight of him was simply irresistible. The sermon 
 was over now and they were singing and I got up and 
 slipped through the tangled throng and went over and 
 found just a little space between my brother and his next 
 neighbor. I squeezed in, put my hand up on his tall 
 shoulder and said, "Brother Henry, I have some good 
 news for you ; I can trust in the Saviour." He said not 
 a word but the tears came to his eyes and his great arm 
 squeezed me to him until I felt I should die with the joy 
 of it. 
 
 After the meeting he and I walked back through the 
 forest and there was a light shining in the forest fairer and 
 
38 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 softer tlian the silver radiance of tlie moon. When we 
 reached home my father was in bed and my brother 
 knocked at the door and went in and I heard him say, 
 ''Father, great news to-night, great news j your baby 
 boy came into the kingdom of God.'^ 
 
Ill 
 
 SELF-DISCOVERY 
 
 AVAST mist of confusion hangs around what is 
 usually spoken of as a ministerial call. There 
 are some who make it an absolutely spiritual 
 affair — a thing which God does directly and authorita- 
 tively. Others, differing from this view, see nothing in 
 the conviction whljh puts a man into the ministry ex- 
 cept what can be accounted for with the divine element 
 left out. This is one more case in which the truth lies 
 about midway between the extremes. It would rob the 
 ministry of much of its dignity and about all of its 
 authority to eliminate from it the voice of God. They 
 who preach from preference or other supposed adaptation 
 or for more human reasons can never speak with highest 
 authority. . They are likely enough in the long run to be 
 played upon by other personal influences which may lift 
 them out of the ministry and send them into pursuit of 
 things more clearly in sight and more convincingly 
 tangible. 
 
 On the other hand, there are those who are led to believe 
 that the ministerial call is the living voice of God, that 
 it must come with an overmastering voice or as an en- 
 trancing vision, looking in vain for what they think they 
 must have or else stubbornly refusing the ministry. I 
 heard the matter of a ministerial call set forth in a most 
 dogmatic way and for several years I listened day and 
 night to hear the peremptory and overwhelming summons 
 from heaven to preach the Gospel. Of course I listened 
 in vain. 
 Many influences, however, were continually playing 
 
 39 
 
40 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 upon me. There were ministers who came into touch 
 with me who gave me stirring impressions as to the 
 preacher's life. They had a clean, manly, courtly 
 bearing ; their excellencies, their dignity, called forth 
 my reverence and affection and their earnestness and elo- 
 quence moved me most powerfully. They had a noble 
 indifference about certain things that charmed me. They 
 opened up to me a life that built up fine men and fur- 
 nished excellent motives. I do not recall a single word 
 spoken to me by ministers about preaching the Gospel 
 except by the venerable and saintly William Harris, and 
 that was when I was very small. He was spending the 
 night in our home, and the next morning, as he was led 
 from the parlor through my father's chamber on his 
 way to breakfast, he found me sitting at a window read- 
 ing and he swung out of his course, touched my head 
 with his fingers and expressed the hope that God would 
 call me to preach the Gospel. After all, it is just possible 
 that that single utterance, so mellow and gracious, from 
 that extraordinary preacher-maker might have been the 
 call of God which settled the question at the last. I 
 think, too, of that old doctor who had the hand which he 
 stretched out to me with offered help when I took my first 
 step towards religion. He had a courteous kindness 
 towards me. He always greeted me when I came near 
 him according me a certain attention and respect to which 
 I was unaccustomed and several times he would drop a 
 word about the ministry, all of which had a direct influ- 
 ence which I never lost. 
 
 It came out in the talk of the family, also, that my 
 mother, who died rather suddenly, spent much of her 
 dying breath in praying that my brother Harvey and 
 myself should be ministers. All these things in connec- 
 tion with my reading and my thought were so many 
 heavenly winds that seemed to bear me onward and up- 
 
SELF-DISCOVERY 41 
 
 ward towards the work which I could not see, but which 
 it was always settled that I was to do. There came also 
 quite a revival in our community — not in the usual shape 
 of a protracted meeting, but expressing itself in neigh- 
 borhood prayer-meetings, unusual services at 'the church, 
 conversions here and there and much godly talk among 
 the best Christians of the neighborhood. Into that 
 courageous little movement I was brought. They called 
 upon me to lead in prayer and I had a word or two with 
 some of the boys who were in the church about our 
 spiritual condition and what overmastered me with grate- 
 ful wonder, I led a young man to the Saviour. Oh, those 
 days of unworldly joy ! The light of the Christian world 
 shone round me with ineffable beauty. 
 
 To be candid about the matter, the greatest obstacle in 
 the way of my entering the ministry was my irrepressible 
 eagerness to do so. My soul cried out for the ministry ; 
 indeed, I quite lost patience with myself. It seemed 
 preposterous, for such a one as I knew myself to be to 
 have such a restless longing. I called it a carnal motive 
 and branded it as a disqualification. I put it aside and 
 set myself down to wait the coercive call of God. I hung 
 up at this point for two or three years. Kot entirely on 
 this account but because I was so absolutely hedged in ; 
 I could not have undertaken to preach as I was then and 
 there seemed to be no human outlook for my preparation 
 for the ministry. My father was much limited in his 
 means and yet more limited in his views of higher 
 education and so for myself poverty was my meat and 
 drink. I do not know that I had as much as one dollar 
 for my own up to the time when I was seventeen years 
 of age, and when a little after that I went out to teach, it 
 was little that I made and less that I spent. 
 
 When I was nineteen years of age I went beyond the 
 big mountains to teach school. I made an engagement 
 
42 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 for a solid session of twelve months, for a consideration 
 of three hundred dollars and my board for the year. It 
 was truly into an ill-sorted family that my lot was cast. 
 A beautiful and capable woman had married in her early 
 youth and had a noble husband and a magnificent home. 
 Later on she was made a widow by the untimely death 
 of her good man and left with five children, — orderly, 
 sensible, lovely children. There came along a widower, 
 colossal of frame, a murderer of grammar, an incarnation 
 of bad manners, a fortune hunter, and one of those in- 
 explicable infatuations, which sometimes overtake the 
 noblest of women, brought on an ill-fated marriage. I 
 ought to add that the uncouth widower, later on the 
 husband, imported his domestic stock in the shape of 
 three as incorrigible youngsters as could be found on any 
 road and added them to the newly made family. A few 
 weeks after that alliance, I went into that family as a 
 teacher. A few outside children were added to my con- 
 stituency and I started in to do my twelve months' work. 
 That woman, so fatefully allied with this man and so soon 
 awakened to the incompatibilities of the situation, was at 
 once a diplomat and a martyr in my eyes. A queen in 
 form and bearing, she adroitly covered the rigors and 
 coarseness of her spouse and filled the home with a 
 warmth and light that almost brought unity and safety 
 there. I think of her always with a reverence and an 
 admiration in no degree diminished by the blunder of 
 her infatuation. 
 
 Things moved along without change from December 
 till July and I fell somewhat seriously ill. I was ordered 
 to the Springs— rather an inaccessible place in the moun- 
 tains not far off, and I was kept there for several weeks. 
 One day I was sitting in a little park about the Springs 
 and a gentleman and his wife from Eichmond, Ya., came 
 over and sat down by me and we entered into conversa- 
 
SELF-DISCOVERY 43 
 
 tion. A choice pair tliey proved to be, beneficent, large- 
 souled — and by some means they induced me to confess 
 my secret hope as to the Christian ministry. They talked 
 with sympathetic enthusiasm and when I told them of 
 my hopeless limitations it only whetted their interest. 
 They made haste to tell me of Richmond College, but 
 lately established, by my own denomination of which they 
 were members, and they told me of the exceedingly 
 moderate terms and certain help vouchsafed to min- 
 isterial students, and advised me to write to the president 
 of the college. All this I did with misgivings, for my 
 heart beat when I thought of the audacity of what I was 
 doing. 
 
 In a few days I returned to my school which now be- 
 came an element in my way, as I was committed for five 
 months of additional work. IsTothing came from the 
 president of the college and I fell into the humdrum of 
 my little school. Quickly enough I discovered that total 
 depravity was a growing feature in the incorrigible three 
 and by vast leaps and jumps in number one of that three. 
 He was about fourteen years of age and had about him 
 some of the colossal symptoms of his father. I took him 
 apart and delivered a sage and admonitory lecture and 
 closed by a distinct promise of the rod if he leaped the 
 boundaries any more. In a little while his transgres- 
 sions, bald, open, and daring, faced me. I had already 
 provided myself with a gum switch of rather formidable 
 dimensions, and candor compels me to say that the 
 dust and lint bore ample testimony to the energy of my 
 performance. That evening I returned to the house of 
 the discordant elements and went up to my room. 
 Presently I heard thundering steps on the stairway and 
 ^y gigantic proprietor lunged into my room. He was 
 panting with rage and breathing threats of the direst 
 sort. He burst into venomous speech — confused, broken 
 
44 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 and furious, with the vengeful inquiry as to why I had 
 punished his boy, also indicating that he would probably 
 drop me out at the window. I confess that my life was 
 not at its best at that moment for I felt as helpless as if a 
 cyclone had struck the house and was about to crush it 
 into ruins. I did manage to tell him that I had chastised 
 his boy only after long provocation and as a last hope of 
 managing him. After saying that much I found my 
 speech fully come back to me and I told him that I 
 judged from his mood that he was not willing for me to 
 use such methods as I deemed necessary in oider to pre- 
 serve the order of the school, and that if such was the 
 case, it would be better for me not to continue the school. 
 I had already taught seven months and I had not received 
 one cent of compensation. I suggested that he settle 
 with me and that the school close at once. I told him 
 that I would not trouble him with entertainment over 
 night. I packed my trunk and went to his wife's sister's, 
 where I was most hospitably entertained. The next 
 morning he sent me more money than I had ever had in 
 all my life at one time, and putting it with a little that I 
 already had, I saw the college looming up for the first 
 time in possible reach. I passed the post-ofiice next day 
 on my way to the train and found a letter from the 
 president of the college and he told me to come on. I 
 crossed the great mountains, returning to my native 
 Bedford, and almost the first thing that I heard upon my 
 arrival was that my brother had also determined to enter 
 the ministry. In the smallest while it was decided that 
 he and I divide my little pile and go to college together 
 — undoubtedly the happiest incident that up to that time 
 had ever occurred in my life. 
 
 This is the way it happened. Since it became possible 
 for me to get ready to preach I found myself filled with a 
 conviction of my duty to preach so powerful and so^over- 
 
SELF-DISCOVERY 45 
 
 masteriug and so adequate that I have never for one 
 moment since that time doubted that I was called to 
 preach the Gospel. At all times I have felt insufficient and 
 unfit and all unworthy. The outcome of my ministry has 
 always been unsatisfactory, and yet so much richer than 
 I ever dreamed beforehand that it could be that I have 
 filled the way with my grateful songs. These words are 
 written when I have almost attained the end of my 
 seventy-fifth year when I might, possibly without in- 
 fringing the truth, say that I could not find many regrets 
 in quitting this world except the unutterable regret of 
 having to end my task on earth as the servant of the 
 greatest Master whose goodness and mercy have followed 
 me all the days of my life. 
 
 It may be well for me to add two or three incidents 
 connected with my ministry. In the course of years I 
 became the pastor of the Grace Street Baptist Church of 
 Eichmond, Ya., and on a certain occasion it became 
 necessary for me to make an appeal for money to assist 
 my alma mater in caring for the indigent ministerial stu- 
 dents. This led me to preach on the Drama of the Axe, 
 taking for my subject ''The Building of Elisha's The- 
 ological Seminary " ; in which one of the students worked 
 with a borrowed axe and worked with such energy at his 
 task that the axe flew its helve and sank into the bottom 
 of the river. I spoke of the fellow's determination to 
 cleave his way ; of the kindness of his teacher to whom he 
 went in his distress, and of the divine interposition by 
 which he recovered the axe. Then I told of the sick 
 young man who went to the Springs, of the noble Chris- 
 tian gentleman and lady who stole his secret and helped 
 him to go to college, and finally closed by saying to the 
 church, "It may be worth something for you to know 
 that that man and woman who engaged in conversation 
 with that young man were members of this church, and 
 
46 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 that the youDg man whom they helped is standing before 
 you in the person of your pastor, and comes to plead that 
 you will help in the good work of aiding those young 
 men whom God has called into the ministry." I cannot 
 say that this second personal fact that I mentioned had 
 anything to do with it, but it is pleasant to remember 
 that when we counted up the collection we had quite 
 eclipsed all the offerings the church had ever made to 
 ministerial education. 
 
 For twenty-six years I was president of the Educa- 
 tional Society which looked after ministerial students in 
 Eichmond College. With few exceptions I corresponded 
 with these boys and interviewed many cases personally 
 before they reached the college, and it was my official 
 duty to handle the personal examination to which they 
 were subjected before they were admitted to the benefits 
 of the Education Board. The most eminent member of 
 that Board kept up with all of those ministerial students 
 after they left college, he himself being a college presi- 
 dent, and his testimony was that nineteen-twentieths of 
 these young men entered the active work of the ministry, 
 and that those who received temporary help and after- 
 wards entered other professions, returned the money, 
 which had been expended in their behalf. One of the 
 largest joys of my life was to be the pastor and private coun- 
 sellor of these youDg men. There were hundreds of them. 
 I found that in the majority of cases the young men did 
 not have a natural or definite religious preference for the 
 ministry but felt such a pressure of duty that they were 
 constrained to preach, but this fact in no degree dimin- 
 ished their ardor or crippled their power. I was struck 
 with the vast diversities, tastes, and adaptabilities mani- 
 fested in this great body of men. The living miracle of 
 Christianity is what we sometimes call the self-perpetu- 
 ating power of the ministry. 
 
IV 
 
 TRAINING FOR ACTION 
 
 FOUE years in college was all the experience that I 
 had in winning the higher education. True it 
 was, I had the exceeding good fortune to get into 
 what was called, in ante-bellum times, a choice clas- 
 sical school and remained in it for three years. That 
 set me forward in all branches of study except mathe- 
 matics. Unluckily the teacher was feeble in mathematics 
 — a distinct consolation to me, for from my cradle I ab- 
 horred numbers from the multiplication table up, and the 
 incompetency of that teacher in a way legalized my stu- 
 pidity and confirmed it. 
 
 My brother was older than myself and great on math- 
 ematics. I discovered with grudging and resentment that 
 he had much more gumption in that respect than I had, 
 and what irritated me still more about it was that he had 
 a scorn almost as heartless and frigid as mathematics 
 itself for my incapacity. I failed egregiously in my 
 third year and my brother said things to me about it that 
 brought me to a white heat, and I told him that the next 
 year, merely to show my contempt for mathematics and 
 for those who liked it, I intended to whip him on his own 
 field. This is exactly what I did but was too proud to be 
 vain about it, and my triumph was sensibly abated by 
 the fact that my brother had an overwhelming ticket and 
 I had very little to do. It did the unsanctified portions 
 of my being, which included about everything there was 
 of me, a world of good that I had downed him. But I 
 studied my very best to look as if it was a thing which 
 
 47 
 
48 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 might happen auy time, and had to come from the very 
 necessities of the case, but I was exceedingly secretive as 
 to the fact that I had used up all my reservation of vital- 
 ity in the struggle. 
 
 My brother and I were not very closely akin. We be- 
 longed unmistakably to different families ; he was a 
 Hatcher, from back in the primitive days of Careby in 
 England ; I had taken my little heritage and outfit from 
 the Lathams. I naturally liked what he did not like, and 
 he looked down upon me from an extra three inches in 
 altitude with a haughtiness that smacked of contempt. 
 He was a sport ; his temperament, his physical make-up 
 and his habits sent him afield. A horse was his glory, a 
 dog was his companion, a gun was the triumph of all 
 mechanism in his sight ; game, from the deer to the quail, 
 commanded his tireless pursuit. In fact, I had frankly 
 to admit that he could kill more game with rocks than I 
 could possibly kill with a double-barrelled gun. The 
 chase set him wild ; the cry of the pack, no matter whose 
 it was, broke him from everything else and he would fol- 
 low the dogs through the day and far into the dead of 
 the night. During one of our vacations he had some 
 soreness about his feet and his physician had ordered 
 him into retirement and required him to leave off his 
 shoes. One day while scantily dressed, and his feet 
 entirely uncovered, there came in sight a fox, hard- 
 pressed by the hounds. When my brother came to him- 
 self he was four miles from home, in the midst of the 
 most fashionable and aristocratic part of our larger com- 
 munity, without collar or vest and with his feet bare of 
 everything else except cuts and wounds, and blood and 
 dirt. And he declared that it looked as if that fox 
 selected that place to surrender in order that the very 
 pride and pick of the country should see him in his 
 unpardonable plight. But little he cared. Had he not 
 
TKAINING FOR ACTION 4d 
 
 had a full hour of enchanting sport ? Had he not scaled 
 mountains, plunged through rivers and been about the 
 first man at the finish ? As for myself, I grieve now that 
 I hated dogs so thoroughly and hated them for my 
 brother's sake. I never came to the point of hating him, 
 but I hold him responsible for the bulk of my boyish 
 unhappiness. He was my only companion, and it was a 
 choice between solitude at home and fatigue, scratches, 
 torn clothes, burdens of game and ill -humor and my 
 brother. In fact, he was the bigger of the two and I had 
 to go, though I kept him as sorry that I did go as my 
 contrary grumbles and antagonisms made possible. After 
 all, our chief point of identity seemed to be our temper- 
 amental difference. I know that he was interesting to me 
 as a natural curiosity ; my wonder never ceased that a 
 boy could be so unlike what I thought a boy ought to be. 
 It somewhat justifies these criticisms for me to say that 
 the members of the family largely supported me in my 
 contentions with my brother. They always said that I 
 was the better boy, but it nettled me unutterably to note 
 their superior respect for him. He always did a thing, 
 no matter what the thing, in a stunning sort of way. 
 Even his conversion was exceedingly eccentric and mys- 
 sterious. There was a meeting in progress at a Meth- 
 odist church miles away, and he walked out and defiantly 
 announced that he was going to that meeting. It did not 
 at all suit for him to go to that meeting. The horse that 
 he said he would ride was sorely needed for another very 
 important purpose, and there was an act of domestic 
 charity and sacrifice which he was urged to perform. 
 He put his foot down with a thud that almost made the 
 hinges rattle on the doors and said that he would not 
 do it. He dressed himself up in a morose and sullen 
 manner, strode out of the house, as if he were leav- 
 ing Sodom and Gomorrah, mounted the horse, whacked 
 
50 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 him with a switch and loped off, leaving a disgruntled 
 and sorely perplexed household. They wondered what 
 was the matter with him, anyway, and I think, al- 
 though they did not call it by that name, they united 
 in the belief that it was an extreme case of demoniacal 
 possession. That evening he trotted up to the horse- 
 rack very placidly, looking as innocent and far more 
 amiable than the average new-born babe, and dashed 
 over the horse-block into the yard and announced that 
 he was converted. The news did not command enthusi- 
 asm — the hostile humor of the morning still held sway 
 and the members of the family conferred together in an 
 undertone and revealed the fact that they were gravely 
 skeptical as to how it could be possible for the bad fellow 
 of the morning to be the trustworthy convert of the after- 
 noon. 
 
 But the dear fellow ! Rough, uncouth, hard to explain 
 he still was. It took religion quite a while to get in its 
 wol'k on him. He was selfish, wholly exclusive at times, 
 and my boyish soul peeped out at him, scanned him, 
 measured him, suspected him, was often grieved by him, 
 but by careful study I came to believe that if his religion 
 was not always agreeable, it was tenacious, genuine and 
 greatly improving. 
 
 We cultivated our differences, however, did some quar- 
 relling almost every day and slept together that night. 
 That classical school of which I have spoken put me in 
 far better shape for college than my brother was, and 
 although I was the younger, I was almost a year ahead 
 of him in our college work. We also had in that school 
 a literary society that gave me a little lift in public speak- 
 ing, and when I went out to teach I got into several rude 
 and yet useful debating societies which helped to knock 
 me into some crude shape for appearing on the platform. 
 
 Not so with my brother. He was twenty -two years 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 51 
 
 old when lie weut to college, and the only public speak- 
 ing that he had ever done was in the shape of calls, yells 
 and shouts to his i^ack of hounds when he was afield, 
 mad with sport and wild with the sportsman's joy. We 
 entered the literary society at college, and I must say 
 that of all the young men I have ever known, my brother 
 had the most tragical and humiliating experiences in his 
 attempt at public speaking. In his early efforts, his 
 mouth shut up with the deadlj^ tightness of a steel trap, 
 and after standing entirely too long in the futile effort to 
 get it open, tramped back to his seat with a shame that 
 would have been ruinous if it had not been amusing. 
 After a while he grew brave enough to write a speech 
 and committed it until he could sit down in a chair and 
 say it backwards. When he came to the society and his 
 name was called, he stepped alertly to the platform and 
 struck the first sentence, but never got through it. There 
 he stood, making repeated efforts for another start and 
 crashing into disaster every time. After much delay 
 and with a look more of defiant purpose than of failure, 
 he sat down. They put him on again, and this time he 
 determined to prepare his address and read it, and he 
 answered the call summoning him to the platform. 
 Actually he lost his eyesight ; try as he would, he could 
 not read the thing, but he pegged and fretted and broke 
 down every time. I am not sure that I would have been 
 surprised if he had walked up aud knocked the president 
 out of the chair ; not that the president had not treated 
 him well, but he was so indignant, so rebellious and so 
 unhappy. Indeed, I believe that he had all the feelings 
 that a bashful boy is heir to, except the feeling in favor 
 of quitting. That night he said, ' ^ If they ever put me 
 up agaiu I will not commit it to memory ; I will not 
 write it ; I will not read it ; I am going to think it out 
 and trust to my memory to make things hum." The 
 
52 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 time came and he had every item of his schedule in good 
 order, and then went absolutely to wreck again. It is 
 literally true that this went on with one bare and possible 
 exception for four years. He did it passably well in his 
 last year once or twice. He stood high in his graduating 
 class. There were only six, and it was the law that 
 every one should deliver his graduating address, but 
 that was one time when my brother got the unanimous 
 vote of the faculty that he should be excused from deliv- 
 ering his graduating address. 
 
 While on our return home from college with our diplo- 
 mas in hand, my brother well-nigh broke my heart. 
 *' Of all the men in the world," he said pathetically, '^ I 
 think my case is the most peculiar and inexplicable. The 
 Lord requires me to do a thing that is physically im^jos- 
 sible for me to do. That I have got to preach the Gospel 
 is just as certain to my mind as my existence is. On that 
 point my mind does not waver and for four years I have 
 sought as best I could to acquire the habit and art of 
 public speaking but I have failed always and beyond all 
 measure. Here I am with my diploma, twenty-six years 
 old and all my teachers and all of my fellow students, 
 while liking me as much as I deserve, count it a hoax 
 and a joke that I should believe that I have got to preach. 
 And I have ; I know I have, but what to do next, to save 
 my life, I cannot tell." 
 
 There was an appeal in it that brought him into my 
 soul ; by this I had learned greatly to respect him and in 
 that moment my heart melted in a great embracing, sym- 
 pathetic love that grew from that time till the end. I 
 finally told him that I would ask our father to give him 
 some money and with it he must start into the moun- 
 tainous regions of Virginia, carrying no letters, no recom- 
 mendations but telling the people as he went along the 
 facts in the case, and if there was a prayer-meeting, to go 
 
TKAINIXG FOR ACTION 53 
 
 to it and speak or fail, as the case might be. He adopted 
 the suggestion on the spot, to which our father acquiesced 
 in a most cheerful manner. It was agreed that if a school- 
 house or a church or even a private home invited him to 
 speak he should make the trial. If his effort proved un- 
 acceptable, he should quietly bow himself out and plunge 
 forth in pursuit of another invitation, or if the impression 
 made was sufficiently favorable to call for another ap- 
 pointment he was to remain as long as the hospitality of 
 the occasion held out. It was a novel experiment and 
 seemed to promise the laceration of his nerves — except 
 that he had no nerves, simply nerve. There was an ob- 
 stinacy in his nature which not only endured but seemed 
 to revel in opposition and he went out on his unparalleled 
 expedition without apparent misgiving and with the do 
 or die spirit within him. It was a finishing school of the 
 peripatetic order ; its schedule named no locations and 
 bade him go forth to find them ; it admitted many failures 
 but no disasters and the closing of the campaign would 
 not come until he had caught the trick of the public plat- 
 form. About six months were consumed in this hard 
 and memorable expedition and he came back a conqueror, 
 ungarlanded, but with the consciousness that he was 
 ready for business. 
 
 It waits to be said that my brother became an exceed- 
 ingly fluent, ready, self-possessed and humorous public 
 speaker. He was pastor for quite many years but he was 
 too blunt and outspoken for the pastorate. The bulk of 
 his life was spent in agency work under the boards and 
 societies of his denomination. He travelled through the 
 South for many years, speaking continually at popular 
 gatherings, preaching almost every Sunday and fre- 
 quently during the week. He brought the things of the 
 kingdom to great assemblages and on distinguished occa- 
 sions but his tongue never rolled up, never hesitated. His 
 
5i ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 last day on earth was tlie Sabbath in one of the seaboard 
 towns of the South and it was testified by many that his 
 sermon in the morning was rich with resonance and in a 
 voice that carried with the sibilant ring of youth. His 
 sermon left an imperishable impression and before the 
 sun went down, his eyes had seen the light of the ever- 
 lasting hills. 
 
 In the long run of life this brother of mine was my 
 steadfast and inspiring friend. We were brought into the 
 .strongest intimacies during a part of our lives, and though 
 he lived out of Virginia, his comradeship by correspond- 
 ence and frequent meetings was manna to my soul. 
 While his engagements committed him to travel he was 
 an ardent lover of his home. It was a joke he relished 
 much that during the Civil War he was accounted one of 
 the most denunciatory and vindictive sort of men towards 
 the North. He said things he ought not to have said, 
 though I believe it was more in the brusqueness of his 
 manner and in his youthful love of exaggeration than in 
 real bitterness of soul. Years after the civil strife was 
 over he married a New England woman. It would have 
 been hard to find a more courtly, afiectionate, demon- 
 strative husband than he was. He was a widower at the 
 time of this marriage and had three strong and gifted 
 children. That New England woman, lovely of person, 
 gifted and highly trained, not only made for him a most 
 appreciative and helpful wife but she became the idol of 
 the children, and after he was taken away, though 
 tempted by her kindred to return to them, she lived with 
 these children who gave to her every dollar of their fath- 
 er's possessions, and outside of that, maintained her in 
 handsome style till her end came. 
 
 I must be pardoned for reviving the pleasant memory 
 that when my brother attained his threescore years and 
 ten I had the honor of bringing him to my country seat, 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 55 
 
 Careby Hall, in Virginia, and of having a modest full 
 week's house party in his honor. His kindred and old 
 time friends were brought from many directions and it 
 was a jubilant, reminiscent and a gloriously serious time 
 withal. 
 
 I can hardly say that I have missed him for there was 
 a penetrative quality in his personality which outlived 
 him and he is about as much to me this night as I write 
 these lines as he was in the full prime of his manhood. 
 
 I did not suffer with the halting speech that so long 
 crippled my brother. In fact, he and our blunt-spoken 
 kinsman. Dr. J. B. Jeter, who also sometimes broke 
 down through the treacherous lapse of his memory, told 
 me very frankly that in their judgment my tongue ran 
 by some hidden mechanical force which operated quite 
 outside of my brain and that I could talk as glibly when 
 I had nothing worthy of saying as many a sensible man 
 could when he was charged with a brain ful message. I 
 took my punishment without open rebellion and kept my 
 opinions to myself. 
 
 I think I can truthfully say that no young man ever 
 mussed up the early part of his ministry in a more piti- 
 less fashion than I did. My first pretense at a sermon 
 was at a revival meeting which a young man, recently 
 clerk in a country store and who had had one year at 
 school, was conducting. He preached his two or three 
 sermonettes several times over and as I dropped in and 
 he did not wish to go over them again, he put me up. I 
 talked ; my tongue rattled and on that occasion at least, 
 I am sure that my lingual activities had little to do with 
 either my head or my heart and nothing to do with the 
 heads and hearts of the other people. The only thing 
 that I ever heard from the sermon was as I walked out 
 into the shadows of the night. A gruff mountaineer 
 standing too far off to recognize me declared that ^*he 
 
66 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 bad done got a fa'r night's sleep while that feller was 
 talkin'j" I being that selfsame crumpled and shattered 
 fellow. The president of our college was the pastor of 
 the first African church in Eichmoud and it was inti- 
 mated that the old gentleman sent the raw material down 
 for the practice that they could get in speaking to their 
 colored brethren. He tried me once and the way in 
 which I tried the peoj^le elfectually cut off any further 
 practice on my part. I was asked also as the last on the 
 list to speak at a mission and my text and I had a mis- 
 understanding at the start and were never on speaking 
 terms afterwards. 
 
 On my return to my Bedford home at the end of the 
 second session, a kindly old kinsman invited me to spend 
 a Sunday with him and let him see what I could do on 
 Sunday. I stayed over and he saw, and it was forty 
 years before I was invited to that pulpit again. That 
 rare, enchanting thing which ministers speak of as 
 ^'liberty" never once came my way in those early 
 efforts ; indeed, I was only twenty-two years of age, 
 rude and unfit, and ought to have shown my gumption 
 by my silence, but it takes more gumption to produce 
 silence than I had in stock at that time. But the dawn 
 of liberty came at last. It was sweet as the grapes of 
 Eschol ; it had in it the very wines of the celestial king- 
 dom and put a new light on life and a new peace in my 
 heart. Father Harris was the pastor of the Suck Spring 
 church distant from my home about seven or eight miles. 
 It was his custom to begin his annual revival at the church 
 on the first Sunday in August, and finding it necessary to 
 be elsewhere on that day and finding it impossible to se- 
 cure a fitter supply for his pulpit, he invited me to take the 
 place. I had time for preparation so I conned over my 
 text, walked it in the woods, combed out the tangles of 
 my thoughts, went on my knees about it, and then with 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 57 
 
 many dreads and with enough awkwardness to enliven a 
 circus I went to the appointment. For one thing it was 
 country people in front of me and there were mixed into 
 the assembly many men whom I knew and some of my 
 old schoolmates. They looked at me with a friendly and 
 understanding gaze. They sang those fine old revival 
 songs of those primitive days ; my text was, * ' Come 
 unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, etc.," 
 and I felt the beauty and the power of my Lord's words 
 as I uttered them, and they awakened such fires in the 
 centre of my being as had never touched me before. A 
 rude, ill-jointed sermon I know it was, and only by a 
 strain of charity could it be called a sermon at all, but it 
 opened before me such a flame of light that I had things 
 to say — hot, stirring, Bible things. More than once my 
 face ran with tears and my voice broke, — not with con- 
 fusion, but in tenderness and feeling. The service ended, 
 and I held back and hardly ventured to mix with the 
 people. As soon as I could I mounted my horse and 
 turned my face homeward and during that ride the first 
 two appreciative things were said to me whose ring of 
 sincerity touched my heart. A fine old gentleman of the 
 church, stately and dignified, claimed me for dinner and 
 as he rode along, he said with choking voice, ^'How I 
 wish my boys could have gotten in to-day, and could 
 have heard you ; I think they could not have resisted 
 it." His boys were my classmates, Jesse, John, Robert, 
 and it went through me that this man for whom I had 
 such respect had seen something in me and it kindled in 
 me a happy hope that I might help him in bringing them 
 into the kingdom of God. It was no compliment, it was 
 a gracious admission that gave me a hint that after all 
 the power of God might work through me. 
 
 On the road we were overtaken by another man who 
 proved to be one of my old teachers when I was a small 
 
58 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 boy and the three of us jogged along together. The 
 question was started as to who was to conduct the meet- 
 ings, and no one seemed to know. My old teacher, who 
 was a Methodist, said to the deacon, in a warm, paternal 
 tone, ''If you could get this boy, my old schoolboy, to 
 do the preaching and he would tell that story as he told 
 it to-day, we would have a great revival." Ah, it was 
 glorious to have my old teacher say a word so bravely 
 kind about the dull and common boj^ that he knew me 
 to be, and who strove so faithfully when I was at the 
 beginning of my task to inspire in me a passion for 
 knowledge. I went home with my soul hot with solemn 
 and heavenly musings. I had at last one taste of min- 
 isterial joy ; it touched me far too deeply to kindle in me 
 one flicker of self-conceit. It brought me too near to the 
 invisible things of the kingdom to let me think that I was 
 anybody. 
 
 Several days afterwards I got a message from the old pas- 
 tor to come up the next day and help him in the meeting. 
 It gave me palpitation of the heart. I had to walk out 
 and let the wind blow on me to keep from shouting. It 
 was the first time that anybody had indicated a willing- 
 ness to try me a second time. I thought truly my great 
 Master had whispered to me that the joy that I had felt 
 on Sunday would come back to me when I took up the 
 work again. The next day after this invitation came, it 
 rained and the clouds hung heavy. I had misgivings 
 that the meetings would not recover from the effects of 
 that freshet but the clouds broke. All that stormy day I 
 worked on a sermon, thinking part of the time, speaking 
 part of the time and praying about all of the time. The 
 next morning there was not a cloud in the sky and away 
 I rode. 
 
 All of my sermons put together would not have 
 numbered over six or seven and all that I knew 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 59 
 
 about tliem was tliat I had failed disastrously on 
 every oue of them except one. I took them along, 
 and some notes that I had picked up here and there, 
 in connection with texts and hoped that I might splice 
 out my stock till the meeting closed at the end of the 
 week. It lasted nearly four weeks and while several 
 other ministers were there, for a day or so, and the old 
 pastor came in for several days each week, the burden of 
 the talking came upon me, and some one who had never 
 heard of homiletics and would never have known theol- 
 ogy if it had called to stay all night with him, declared 
 after the meeting was over, that I made two sermons a 
 day and preached them and did all the talking to the 
 mourners and converts, of which there were a great 
 mauy. During all that memorable time I went from 
 house to house among the brethren, many of them ex- 
 ceedingly plain, even rude, and living in small houses in 
 the mountain hollows or scattered up and down the 
 neighboring stream. They were good to me and loved 
 me and some of them sought to make a greater fool of me 
 than I already was by trying to tell me that I was wast- 
 ing my time by not going into the ministry at once, for I 
 had education enough. Before I left there I attended the 
 baptism and saw besides many, many women, and ever 
 so many boys, a long string of men, strong, successful, 
 influential men, come forth to be enrolled as the newly 
 saved children of the King. 
 
 I have thus extensively described this experience be- 
 cause its light was shed round the gateway of my min- 
 istry, and when I look back, I feel that it was there that 
 the Lord met me and blessed me and started me. 
 
 At this time I had two years more in college and 
 practically two more vacations, and this time was given 
 to meetings in the scattered and mountainous places. 
 They were the only places that wanted me and I knew 
 
 \ 
 
60 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 well enough that in my limited preparation I was fit for 
 nothing else and only partially so for that, but those were 
 profitable and enchanting days. My feet would walk me 
 around the world if by that I could be brought to those 
 buoyant, radiant, ineffable experiences. Odd things, 
 laughable and ridiculous sometimes occurred and often 
 marred the services, but the power of God was wonderful 
 and I saw such tokens of the grace and glory of the king- 
 dom that it braced me for the more than fifty years that 
 I have been in the ministry. 
 
 One thing occurred during my third vacation which I 
 did not desire and which I found myself unable to pre- 
 vent. That affable and gentlemanly old deacon whose 
 offered hand gave me strength to take my first step 
 towards the kingdom of God, and who watched over me 
 with a shepherd's care, made a motion in the church 
 meeting calling for my ordination. I made my protest 
 against it ; my judgment truly disapproved it, but I was 
 overborne. For my part, I do not favor the ordaining 
 of raw and unseasoned youths. It often puts folly into 
 their heads and rarely, if ever, puts grace into their souls, 
 and the saving fact of my case was that while hands were 
 laid upon me and I did feel it an honor to be a minister, 
 I did most honestly feel that it ought not to be done. It 
 amounted to nothing, and it would have been far more 
 impressive to me if it had come later. 
 
 It would be pleasant but not edifying, I fear, to multi- 
 ply incidents of those ardent and happy times. It must 
 be allowed, however, for me to close this chapter on the 
 ministerial experiences of my college days by one instance 
 of divine power which deserves to be told in every lan- 
 guage and in every land on the earth. 
 
 K'ear the end of my senior year in college we had a 
 singular revival. It was apparently without any human 
 explanation. The president of our college, who had not 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 61 
 
 gotten into the religious life of the college, and who did not 
 get into the meetings until the revival fires were spread- 
 ing with uncontrollable rapidity, said, when he did come 
 in, in a somewhat perfunctory manner, that this was 
 distinctly the Lord' s business — indeed, a performance of 
 heavenly sovereignty, since no one had expected or worked 
 for the meeting. He did not know that a band of devout 
 students, alarmed at the worldliness of the boys and 
 touched with solemn fear, entered into a comx)act to 
 pray for better things. Oh, the joy of that meeting ! It 
 was conducted exclusively by the students. They se- 
 lected one or two of the young men to conduct the serv- 
 ices. It was just such a revival as comes now and then to 
 a Christian college. It hits material so fresh, so respon- 
 sive and so powerful, and kindles the young spirit of the 
 school into an exultant and irrepressible enthusiasm. 
 The memories of that meeting would make a book, and 
 rarely ever do they come back without opening the foun- 
 tains of my soul. The services were held in the chapel, an 
 hour in the day and an hour at night. Personal and asso- 
 ciated prayers could be heard day and night in the dormi- 
 tories. The town boys fought shy and practically organ- 
 ized to resist the spiritual things of the hour. There was 
 one quite colossal fellow, enormously colossal in his talk, 
 bristling with bravado and insolently boastful of his 
 power to withstand all influences. A brilliant and capti- 
 vating lad of the city was invited to the meeting and he 
 told this boaster about the invitation, and said that he 
 would come, but he did not believe it would be possible 
 for him to resist the appeals of the boys and of his own 
 conscience. This prompted the haughty scoffer to an- 
 nounce that all city students who chose to attend the 
 meeting might meet him at a certain corner on the fol- 
 lowing evening and he would bring them to the meeting 
 in a body and stand between them and danger. It was 
 
62 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 quite a trooping gang that filed in that night under his 
 leadership. That was a night of heaven's right hand and 
 it brought a shivering sensation when that large crowd 
 herded in with such seeming indifference. It fell to me 
 to lead the meeting that night and I was almost abashed 
 by the fierce and determined air of this city contingent. 
 After my remarks I called for those who desired to take 
 the stand for Christ and scarcely had I framed the invita- 
 tion into words when that notorious fellow, ahead of all 
 the others, started forward from the rear of the room. 
 It was an incident of extraordinary moment. The invita- 
 tion needed no repetition. The slain of the Lord lay 
 thick and that was the epochal night of the meeting, and 
 of the lives of not a few of these young men. There was 
 a strain of eccentricity in the character of this leader and 
 it showed itself at every point. When asked why he sur- 
 rendered so suddenly, he said, " When I got my boys to 
 the door of the chapel, they were praying on the inside 
 and I never heard such praying before. It went all over 
 me and through me and the first thing I knew I was cry- 
 ing and I used all my arts to hide it and thought I was 
 safe when I went thundering into the room, but it was 
 not long before I found that my resistance was gone and 
 it was settled that I must go. I had led those boys up 
 there in a bad way and I felt that it was my duty to lead 
 them into that better way into which I decided so sud- 
 denly to enter.'' He had a bitter time getting to the 
 light and peace of the Gospel. Indeed, he went so far as 
 to say with gloomy candor that it did not look to him as 
 if things were working out in an altogether fair way — 
 that he believed in the miller's rule, '^ first come, first 
 serve," but that all those fellows that came after him 
 were rejoicing in the light and he was still stumbling in 
 the dark. He went to our excellent president and told 
 him that he had selected him as his ideal Christian and 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 63 
 
 that lie was going to set it as his mark that he was going 
 to be like him, and when he got that far, he would cease 
 to strive, for he felt that the old doctor was just about as 
 good as he ever cared to be. In God's good time, how- 
 ever, after days of perplexed and sorrowful inquiry, he 
 saw the light and it looked as if we would never see the 
 last of it. He had a word for everybody and a very 
 peculiar one for the president. He took back his decla- 
 ration that he was going to form his life according to the 
 pattern shown him in the good life of our president, 
 Dr. Robert Ryland, and said that since he had gotten 
 a glimpse of Jesus of Nazareth, he felt that he must give 
 himself to the straggle of being like Him. 
 
 I may add that the brilliant boy spoken of above was 
 one of the converts. Oh, what a lovely, gifted boy he 
 was! He walked off with the honors of the college 
 three years later in the early part of his seventeenth year 
 and a year later he spent the night with me, in which he 
 told me how repulsive the military life appeared to him. 
 He was born for scholarship and gloried in books, but he 
 said to me over and over again that night that a boy can 
 never be a man unless he at the same time be a patriot. 
 He said that for him to hide in a bomb-proof was to throw 
 away his self-respect and to dwindle into a traitor. It 
 cut me all to pieces to see a youth so chivalric and so 
 enslaved by duty and yet so enthusiastic in doing the 
 distasteful ^thing because his better self said so. Oh, my 
 glorified brother ! In the first battle into which he went 
 and stood without a tremor and served his battery until 
 a bullet, as if searching for the noblest, cut through his 
 heart. With the simple words, ** Oh, my mother, my 
 mother ! " he lay dead upon the field. But the memory 
 of that boy has been an evangel singing among our col- 
 lege comrades, a battle- song of duty and faithfulness and 
 heaven. It added much to the seriousness of my life 
 
64 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 that so many of my college chums and not a few of the 
 converts of that meeting afterwards finished their careers 
 on the battle-fields or in the hospitals of that war, so mys- 
 terious in its coming, so destructive in its progress, so 
 far-reaching in its purpose, and yet so gracious and so 
 pacific and so fraternal and so patriotic in its outcome. 
 
 I had at this time a classmate who, though very worldly, 
 commanded my respect and my heart. We often studied 
 together and had many of our pleasures and occupations 
 largely in common. He eschewed the meeting and 
 seemed to avoid me. I confess that I was afraid to ap- 
 proach him : indeed all of the Christian students agreed 
 that he was not accessible. Meanwhile our concern 
 for him was intense, and we often conferred about his 
 case. 
 
 One night I saw him slip hurriedly and stealthily into 
 the chapel and shrink into the back bench. As soon- 
 as the service ended, he escaped from the room as if pur- 
 sued by the avenger. It was so that in ascending to my 
 room on the third floor of the dormitory I had to pass his 
 door. It fastened into my heart that I ought to be more 
 faithful, and I almost grew sick with dread lest if I ap- 
 proached him he might repel me. When I came to his 
 door it stood slightly ajar, and I pushed it open and 
 walked in. I found him sitting alone, by his table, and 
 with his face resting in his hands. Walking up to him 
 and laying my hand upon his shoulder I said, ^' Pardon 
 me, Joe, but I must speak to you. The dread of offending 
 you must not hold me back any longer. You know my 
 love for you, and I would have you know my desire for 
 your salvation." As I spoke I felt the quiver of his 
 frame. ^^ I thank you for speaking to me," he said with 
 deep emotion. ** It is what I have needed, for of all men 
 on the earth to-night I must surely be the most miserable. 
 You said something in the meeting to-night that pierced 
 
TRAINING FOR ACTION 65 
 
 my heart like a dagger. I have a vow upon me, made 
 out of my love for my father six years ago, wheu I was 
 a boy of fourteen. And now my father is dead, my vow 
 is broken, and I fear that my soul is lost." 
 
 *' Not lost beyond hope," I quickly replied. ^' Follow 
 the bent of your vow and it may lead you to salvation. 
 Everything depends upon what you do with your vow. 
 What will you do?" 
 
 He sprang to his feet and turning his tearful gaze upon 
 me said : " If you will tell me how, and God will hear the 
 prayer of a vow-breaker, I will from this night pay this 
 vow." 
 
 His roommate was not a Christian and was at that 
 moment studying in another room. He requested me to 
 go after him, and in a little while I returned with the 
 youth. 
 
 ^* Wythe," the young man said to his roommate, *'I 
 have determined to seek the salvation of my soul, and I 
 would like you to go with me." The fair and comely 
 lad did not hesitate, and the two agreed that they would 
 enter the kingdom of God, if only the gate could be found 
 open. He afterwards became Dr. H. Wythe Davis, the 
 eminent physician of Richmond, Ya. 
 
 I went out and found a few devout and congenial young 
 men, and we spent an hour or two with these two in- 
 quirers after the Way. We had choice passages of the 
 Bible read by one and another ; some told in simple 
 phrase of the steps by which they entered into the king- 
 dom of God. Now and then a song or two was sung and 
 several prayers full of boyish ardor and sympathy were 
 made. No effort I think was made to hasten a confession 
 of faith. Towards midnight, the group dispersed, but 
 each went his way to pray for this scholarly youug student 
 and his boyish and beautiful roommate. 
 
 Next morning as I was dressing, I heard the noise of 
 
66 ALONG THE TEAIL 
 
 fleet feet coming down my hall. A sudden halt and a 
 violent turning of the bolt, and in sprang Turner. He 
 looked a new creature from top to bottom ; radiant as a 
 spring morning he bounded into my open arms and ex- 
 claimed : * ' Last night of all men most miserable, I must 
 be this morning of all men most favored and happy. 
 My vow is paid, my sins I believe are forgiven, and my 
 life, no longer my own, is given to Him who gave Him- 
 self for me.'' 
 
 That was the brilliant and accomplished Joseph A. 
 Turner, a teacher of rare abilities, a writer whose charm- 
 ing stories adorned some of our best magazines, and 
 whose Christian character was the admiration of all who 
 knew him. Valiant friend of my Lord ! Years ago he 
 finished his course. 
 
GOING AT IT 
 
 AT this point, — if any one should ever get this far, 
 — the reader must sacrifice his feelings to the 
 extent of reading two or three paragraphs of 
 personal history of freely confessed dullness. In June, 
 1858, I received my diploma from Eichmond College, 
 made my graduating address on ''The Greatness of the 
 Graduate," accepted a call to Manchester, Ya., and a few 
 days afterwards became twenty-four years old. I had no 
 theological education, no library, no money, no sermons, 
 no pastoral experience and probably no business in ac- 
 cepting the charge of a church. The Manchester of that 
 day was not the Manchester of to-day. It was a cotton 
 factory town, an object of supreme contempt with the 
 Eichmond people, with unpaved and unlighted streets, 
 with only one church, and that a discordant and unpro- 
 gressive Methodist church. The town was noted for the 
 improvidence of its men, the hard life of the factorj^ boys 
 and girls, the lack of public spirit, the alarming amount 
 of drunkenness and the multitude of loafers and gamblers, 
 and the prevalence of ungodliness in many of its grossest 
 forms. Two attempts had been made to start churches 
 of our denomination and both had come to naught. In 
 some way I had picked up a positively malicious prejudice 
 against the town, and when I was in a mood to make bad 
 wishes about anybody, I wished that they might have to 
 live in Manchester. When they first started the third 
 movement for a Baptist church I was in my third year at 
 college, and for the lack of some one better they pulled me 
 
 67 
 
68 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 over there several Sunday mornings to make such a noise 
 in the pulpit as my powers would justify. They were wor- 
 shipping, or at least meeting in a dismal and ill-kept hall. 
 They gave me no compensation for my services, most of 
 the time let me come over three miles from the college 
 on foot, paying my own toll, giving me no dinner, and 
 letting me go back to college too late for dinner there. 
 One hard-faced and loquacious old fellow walked with 
 me as far as his own house, deliberately entered his gate, 
 securely shut it and then bucked up against it with 
 marked decision and asked me in a non-committal tone, 
 and without the mention of dinner, whether I would come 
 in. Invariably I would not and I tramped back to col- 
 lege empty of most everything except some resentful 
 thoughts of Manchester. A little more than a year after 
 that I was shocked into a tremor by a message that a 
 committee from Manchester wished to see me the next 
 afternoon at six o'clock. Horribile Dictu ! I revolted 
 and yet collapsed under an instant apprehension that I 
 was to begin my active life by becoming pastor in the 
 town which of all others on this terrestrial globe was the 
 most distasteful and dismal to me. It turned out just 
 that way, and though I had several attractive country 
 fields open to me, under the power of a conviction 
 stronger than my own life, I found myself in no great 
 while, even before my graduation, engaged to be the 
 pastor of the Manchester Baptist Church. 
 
 Be it said that upon inspection I found things signally 
 improved in shape since my hard lot as pulx^it supply 
 some time before that. They had called a young and 
 attractive university student, who came to them on the 
 fii'st Sunday of that year, and under his leadership things 
 had quickened up surprisingly. A $10,000 house of wor- 
 ship was in process of building and completed far enough 
 to hold worship in the basement. Several interesting 
 
GOING AT IT 69 
 
 men with tlieir families had joined in the new organiza- 
 tion, and two or three great-hearted Eichmond BaiDtists 
 had agreed to come over every Sunday and help in the 
 Sunday-school. They w^ere greatly charmed with their 
 young pastor and things moved off gloriously, but at the 
 end of three months death claimed the young loreacher 
 and left the sheep stricken and without a shepherd. 
 These new signs of life gave refreshment to my spirit and 
 my sense of duty knocked my puerile prejudices out of 
 existence, and before I knew it I found it the choice and 
 pride of my life to be the pastor of the little M5,nchester 
 church. The awe-inspiring president of the college ripped 
 me up without mercy for accepting the call, assured me 
 that the worst disasters were ahead of me and distinctly 
 hinted to me that my greatness consisted only in my folly. 
 Not even his relentless upbraidings awoke in me one 
 doubt as to my duty to take up the work in Man- 
 chester. 
 
 Think not that I found a bed of roses. My first dis- 
 covery was that the church building was to cost $10,000, 
 that 87,000 of the work had already been done, that only 
 $1,500 had been paid on the debt, that the rest of the 
 debt was far past due and that the contractors were be- 
 coming troublesome and also that it would require $3,000 
 to finish the church. There was next to no money in the 
 church and as yet no cohesive or cooperative enthusiasm 
 in tlie body. I never had taken a collection for anything, 
 and hardly knew that collections were taken for any- 
 thing. I had the country look stamped deep upon me, 
 knew very few people in Eichmond and next to nobody 
 anywhere else. There never was a greener, nor more 
 helpless human thing than I seemed to myself to be. 
 Nothing but a miracle could save the situation and the 
 miracle came. I preached my first clumsy and lumber- 
 ing little sermon on the fourth Sunday in August, 1858, 
 
70 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 chiefly to a new lot of well-behaved empty benches, and 
 then went out of town for a week. The next Sunday I 
 tried it again. Tlie weather was hot, most of the benches 
 still empty, and my utterance was feeble and despondent. 
 That week I took myself out for a private interview, and 
 myself and I went over the situation and agreed that it 
 was grim and that my incomjDetency was grimmer. We 
 finally got together, — that is, I and myself, and passed 
 one resolution, that we would go in with both hands and 
 both feet, with heart and soul, day and night, praying 
 all the time, and would work one solid year, though it 
 should be on empty benches, though there was not a con- 
 version, not a visible tear, not a sign nor symptom of 
 interest or progress during all the time. 
 
 I felt better. I had settled in Manchester and, in a 
 way, was ready for business. I went to prayer-meeting 
 on Friday night,— the first which I had attended, and 
 the attendance was sensibly larger. My soul picked up a 
 crumb of the bread of life and I had something to say. 
 To my unutterable surprise a young woman was glori- 
 ously saved while I was talking, a fact which she indi- 
 cated only by the radiance of her face and the flow of her 
 joyful tears. It broke up all hearts. It was a time of 
 God's right hand, and instead of waiting one year for a 
 convert here was one within two days. 
 
 Sunday morning the congregation thickened up and 
 we saw the wonders of God's salvation. In a few weeks 
 our membership went from thirty-five beyond a hundred. 
 The news flew across the river and multitudes came over 
 to see what was going on. 
 
 One morning a Richmond merchant, George J. Sumner, 
 who walked every Sunday morning three miles to super- 
 intend our Sunday-school, and myself took a little book 
 and trudged around Richmond for a couple of days and 
 then sat down and counted results, and we had two then- 
 
GOING AT IT 71 
 
 sand dollars towards liftiDg the church debt. The good 
 women of the several churches in Richmond agreed that 
 they would give an entertainment to help us out, and 
 they nearly knocked my breath out by enclosing me a 
 check for $1,600. I had never seen so much money in 
 my life, and my own people took fire and gave me nearly 
 a thousand dollars. I took the road, went into the news- 
 papers, beat the brush far and wide, and the first thing I 
 knew the church did not owe one dollar. 
 
 But then the house was not finished, and it required 
 $3,000 to do it. The faithful Sumner ordered me out 
 again. We tramped Richmond once more and finished 
 the house and paid the debt, — though not all before the 
 dedication. 
 
 But there was another vexatious and frightful situation. 
 I found thirty-five members of the church when I got 
 there, but candor compels me to say that we had to 
 turn out a large number of them, and would have turned 
 others out, as they deserved, but for the fact that we 
 had nobody to do the voting. It has always been a mys- 
 tery to me how so much heterogeneous and unregenerate 
 material could have gotten into a church with only thirty- 
 five members all told. Our treasurer never could make 
 a satisfactory report. Our choir leader was turned out 
 for habitual cruelty to his wife. Our clerk was found to 
 be spending many of his nights at the card-table. Our 
 senior deacon, who collected the money for my salary, 
 had his drunken sprees much more regularly than he 
 paid me my salary, and the most prominent woman of 
 the church had almost infinite genius for breeding dis- 
 cords, enmities and heart burnings among the sisters. 
 Nor was the case much better in the Sunday-school. One 
 class of girls was taught by a Universalist, and she allowed 
 the worst disorders and the most irreverent manners in 
 her class j another woman teacher, blatant and insuffer- 
 
72 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 able, had to be peremptorily ejected, and so grievous 
 were the disorders that my ever faithful Brother Sumner 
 aud myself determined to reorganize the school, and it 
 cost us over one- third of its constituency ; — truly un- 
 savory things that ought not to be remembered and 
 surely can hardly be attractive features in a book of 
 reminiscences. 
 
 But I tell these things to show that we need not de- 
 spair because things are crosswise and out of sorts. It is 
 a good thing to do right ; it makes a lot of trouble while 
 you are at it, but there is something constructive, vitaliz- 
 ing in cleaning up things for the Lord. Our Master had 
 stirring times indeed, with the birds and the beasts and 
 the desecrators in the temple. But He purified it, though 
 under the crack of a whip. The Lord looked as if He 
 could not do enough for us after this process of purifica- 
 tion, and many of those that we sent away because of 
 their offensiveuess repented, came back and did noble 
 service in the restoration which followed. Peace to the 
 tomb of George J. Sumner— frail of health, sore of foot, 
 sometimes the victim of depression and yet he wielded 
 the battle-axe of truth and always struck on the Master's 
 side. 
 
 No, times did not go easily with me. I made enough 
 mistakes of my own to make life well-nigh intolerable at 
 times. As for enemies, they were ever with me. The 
 first interesting lie that was ever told on me that I heard, 
 absolutely brought me to the dust. For a time I never 
 dreamed that I could outlive it. A big and rugged fel- 
 low turned the rumor into the street that he had seen 
 me in one of the most disorderly barrooms in Richmond, 
 and in my simplicity I thought everybody would believe 
 it, and I had hours of entirely unnecessary anguish about 
 it, although I knew that never in my little life had I ever 
 crossed the threshold of a barroom. The rumor dis- 
 
GOING AT IT 73 
 
 solved and I survived and I began to learn that, as a rule, 
 slander will cure itself if you will only give it time. 
 
 There was an old Baptist preacher and his wife, mem- 
 bers of my church. He was a missionary out in the 
 country. His son was a ministerial student at Eichmond 
 College and his conduct got him into such serious trouble 
 that he was sent away and the other ministerial students, 
 with an empty sort of heroism, pledged themselves never 
 to recognize him as a minister unless they had satisfac- 
 tory proof of his repentance. His bad habits continued 
 after he left college, as I was made to know against my 
 wishes, and about that time he came to Manchester to 
 visit his parents. His presence was very embarrassing 
 to me, but I went my quiet way until I learned that he 
 was about to be made pastor of several rural churches 
 not far from Manchester. I wrote a note to a prominent 
 gentleman suggesting that they look into the facts of the 
 case, telling where the proofs could be found. Then the 
 trouble came. I was boarding in the hotel and the old 
 master of the hostelry was a most kind-hearted friend of 
 mine. I found that he was in great mental distress about 
 something, little dreaming what it was until at last his 
 anxiety took tongue and told me that the father of the 
 young minister had called to say that I had committed a 
 mortal offense and would be forced out of the town. I 
 was touched by the gloomy sympathy which the old gen- 
 tleman evinced, but not driven to despair by the revela- 
 tion as to my projected downfall. In a few days the 
 offended father called at the hotel and sent a message to 
 my room that he must see me in the parlor. He was a 
 man of almost colossal frame, with a voice correspond- 
 ingly big, but withal self-indulgent, fearfully epicurean 
 in his habits, fitful in his temper, incompetent in busi- 
 ness affairs, and not capable of a long-sustained contest. 
 I was young, feeble in health, unused to conflict and I 
 
T4 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 met him with some misgiviugs. I allowed him to state 
 his case without interruption and he sought to manage it 
 with the adroitness of an expert. He told me that he 
 had just come from the country where he left the people 
 mad with excitement and set on vengeance, and that it 
 was all about his son. A letter had been written which 
 reflected upon his son and that a man in the city of Eich- 
 moud was suspected of writing the letter, and the feeling 
 against him was such as would make it dangerous for 
 him ever to go into that section, now so wrought up with 
 animosity. Evidently his idea was to afford me an easy 
 way of escape by laying the matter on the shoulders of 
 my absent friend in Richmond. I gave him ample time 
 and put ample space between the brief things I dropped 
 in reply. I told him that the gentleman under suspicion 
 was a great letter writer and that I could not assert abso- 
 lutely that he did not write the letter in question, but that 
 I must be frank enough to say that it was far more prob- 
 able that I was the author of the document which had 
 kindled the wrathful flame of which he spoke. I told 
 him that I had written a letter about his son, but did not 
 tell him that I had written it at the suggestion of the 
 Richmond gentleman whom he had brought into the 
 case. I told him I knew his son at college and had seen 
 the certificates as to his recent drunkenness and misde- 
 meanors and that my letter simply called attention to 
 these documents, and that all that he had to do was to 
 take up the case and disprove the charges in the case. I 
 expressed regret that my action had caused such un- 
 friendliness against me, but I told him that I was quite 
 young, belonged to a family noted for its longevity and 
 felt hopeful of living long enough for the little tempest 
 of which he spoke to blow itself out. He told me that I 
 was hopelessly ruined, that I could neither get bed nor 
 bread in that storm-riven community, and in reply I told 
 
GOING AT IT 75 
 
 him that under such perilous conditions I would avail 
 myself of his warning and stay out until calmer times 
 should come. He became taciturn and I saw that his 
 purpose, so wrathful at first, was beginning to shake, and 
 after a while he pulled out a very formidable paper, 
 opened it carefully and informed me that some time be- 
 fore that he had become involved in financial embarrass- 
 ments which were annoying him seriously and crippling 
 his usefulness, and that these friends out in the country 
 had organized a movement to i)ay him out. He passed 
 the paper over to me and asked if I could put a word in 
 favor of the movement on the paper. He supposed that 
 the perils of the situation would scourge me into com- 
 pliance. I paused not to consider, but I took the for- 
 midable paper and wrote in big conspicuous letters my 
 approval, and closed it with, for me, quite a respectable 
 gift in cash and passed it back. I knew the people out 
 in that neighborhood would have ample opportunity to 
 study that paper, and I took pains to date my note of 
 commendation and felt that the old gentleman would un- 
 consciously do vigorous missionary work in allaying the 
 belligerent outbreak against my young and delicate repu- 
 tation. 
 
 But that was not the end of it. The mother in the 
 case, the wife of this old gentleman, was built on a differ- 
 ent pattern. She had a memory that could not forget, 
 an imagination which could give color of evil to simplest 
 things, an energy that could work night and day and a 
 tongue that could slash and cut the name of an adversary 
 about as ruthlessly as it could be done. She did me up 
 in all ways. She was a member of my church and the 
 way she would scurry up and down the streets, tackling 
 a man here, running in to see a woman there, firing into 
 me in the market, writing notes and sowing insinuations 
 beside all waters, was something that had not before 
 
Y6 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 dawned upon me. I had been on the field only four or 
 five months j things were new to me and I was verdant 
 and rustic and so it did look as if my little bark had en- 
 countered storms too wild and strong to\be outridden. 
 If new families moved in she beat me out of my boots in 
 getting there and helped them set up the furniture and 
 also set them against me. If I received new people into 
 the church on Sunday she was likely to call on them on 
 Monday. Inasmuch, however, as this was all the church 
 work that she was doing, things did not crumble under 
 her ministry as my untutored fears led me to apx3rehend. 
 She had three or four burly, rather boisterous boys, and 
 there were many rumors that they had vengeance bottled 
 up and only waited the fitting moment for breaking 
 them on my head. Of course the matter had its worries. 
 It caused some temporary alienations. One of the boys 
 did actually come to my house on an exceedingly rainy 
 night. I pulled him in, out of the storm, chatted freely 
 with him about matters and things, told him that he was 
 looking uncommonly well, that his face was ruddy to red- 
 ness and that I hoped that he would have a career large 
 and fine. I was skeptical as to whether he enjoyed the 
 visit and bore his departure without breaking my heart. 
 Events and incidents of this lamentable affair multiplied 
 and kept up for two or three years and some friends 
 with unthinking kindness furnished me ample advice, 
 and that without any expense, that it would be best for 
 me to bale up my goods, take a hint from adverse fortune 
 and move out and away. 
 
 At some critical moments I would have found some 
 relief in following this counsel, but in spite of all, 
 Manchester struck me as a good place for me to be. I 
 found my people all around me embarrassingly ready to 
 fight for me and heartily united in the work of the 
 church. Almost any storm will wear itself out, and that 
 
GOING AT IT 77 
 
 tempest that seemed so tlireateniug used up its violent 
 breath, aud fretted itself into quiet. 
 
 The young man did uot get the churches and the old 
 man fell into disfavor, and in a year or two the big 
 furniture wagons stopped at his gate, crashed and packed 
 his goods together and moved him away. I do hope that 
 I will not be misunderstood in giving this reminiscence 
 of an early trial which met me at the gate of my public 
 career. It has in it, I am sure, no note of resentment, and 
 while it is a clouded and unwinsome episode, it may 
 strengthen the purpose of some young man to breast 
 adverse fortune in the discharge of his Christian duties. 
 It gives me a modest joy to know that in after years when 
 age aud sorrow grew heavy upon the shoulders of that 
 old couple I had an opportunity, far more limited than I 
 would have had it be, to do them service which I had 
 reason to believe smoothed their path on the down-hill of 
 their life. It looked as if grace from the invisible throne 
 grew richer and wrought more mightily in them in their 
 last days aud that when their end came it was peace on 
 earth, good will towards men and light ineffable on the 
 hills beyond. 
 
 My Manchester pastorate covered the period of the 
 war. I was there when it was packed with refugees, 
 government operatives, soldiers and exiles. Its great 
 buildings were hospitals except one, and that the greatest, 
 which was a prison in which was confined almost an 
 army of Federal prisoners. It would be easy to write 
 a book of that period, full of victory, of tragedy and of 
 wreck, but that is outside of my purpose. 
 
 For some time after the fall of Eichmond Manchester 
 was in charge of a brigade of negro troops. It brought a 
 lamentable situation. Kiot, robbery aud bloodshed were 
 rampant, and the suddenly emancipated negroes went mad 
 with excess aud brought the town to the verge of ex- 
 
78 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 termination. Business was dead, private homes had 
 their windows nailed up, their doors barred. Counted by 
 heart- beats we lived fast in those dreadful days and the 
 wonder was that we lived at all. In good time peace set 
 her banners fluttering in the air, business tremulously 
 oi)ened its doors, the church bells rang and we lived 
 again. I wonder now in looking back that disorder 
 brought so little bloodshed and that law so soon uttered 
 its voice and silenced the tumult. 
 
 When the war ended I had over five hundred members 
 in my church, gatherings of the war times, and when the 
 end came my flock went away by the hundreds, — some 
 back to their old homes, and many went afar to seek their 
 fortunes in unknown fields. 
 
 In a little while, however, the life of the town began to 
 quicken. Many branches of business sprang up. The 
 tobacco and cotton factories, the foundries and building 
 operations started up with amazing briskness and the town 
 filled rapidly with new people. I remained just two years 
 in my Manchester pastorate and during that time there 
 were several hundred additions to the church. They 
 said always, and all seemed to say it, that Manchester was 
 an ill-conditioned and spiritless town, but it was the 
 scene of nine years of happy toil, loyal hearts, friend- 
 ships dearer than life and tokens of heavenly favor, 
 which made it lovely and unspeakably dear to my heart. 
 
 Those years in the grim old town across the bridge 
 were enriched with countless incidents such as hold my 
 heart to this moment, but I can only venture, in shutting 
 the leaves of this chapter, to add two incidents whose 
 pathos and beauty tell of the light which shone in the 
 darkness. 
 
 It was in August, 1866, while pastor in Manchester, that 
 I went to Hopeful Church on the border line of Louisa 
 County to help in a revival meeting. I was greeted in 
 
GOING AT IT 79 
 
 the cliurchyard by a college mate who said to me with 
 decided feeling that he hoped that my coming might re- 
 sult in the conversion of his brother. I felt the force 
 of his request, and said that I wished that I might be 
 honored in helping him to bring his brother into the 
 service of the Lord. 
 
 A day or two after the meeting commenced I walked 
 quietly down the aisle on the men's side during the sing- 
 ing at the close of the sermon. My eye chanced to fasten 
 on an exceedingly strong face, and one which reminded 
 me in some way of my old college friend. I reached over 
 and asked him if he was not the brother of my former 
 chum at Eichmond College. He replied that he was and 
 appeared so serious that I ventured to say to him that I 
 had heard of him, and that I was already hoping to see 
 him take a stand in honor of the Gospel. ^' That is what 
 I well know I ought to do," he said very seriously. "I 
 infer from your thoughtful manner," I said, ''that 
 you recognize it as one of the most solemn duties of 
 your life that you should confess and follow the Son of 
 God and I ask you squarely. Are you not willing to do 
 your duty T' A frown vexed his brow, and in a tone al- 
 most resentful he said, *' No, I am not willing to become 
 a Christian." I drew myself away with an air of finality 
 as if I was giving the matter up. He laid his hand upon 
 my arm and drew me back, and said in a whisper, "Do 
 not misunderstand me, I beg ; I mean no disrespect to you 
 or to religion, but I cannot think of becoming a Chris- 
 tian at this time. I have a reason, but it must not be 
 told." 
 
 From something that had been said to me, I was 
 prompted to tell him that I thought I knew the cause of 
 his refusal, but he replied with ill-suppressed excite- 
 ment, " I hardly think so j if you do know, don't tell me 
 you do." 
 
80 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 " Excuse me, young man," I said, ** I believe that you 
 are afraid to become a Christian because your ambition 
 is leading you very strongly in another direction, and you 
 are afraid if you are converted you will have to preach 
 the Gospel." 
 
 It was a centre shot, and it was impossible for him to 
 stay the outburst of emotion. Then he told me that for 
 years he had felt that he must preach the Gospel if he 
 openly espoused the cause of Christ, and this he was not 
 willing to do. His arrangements were already completed 
 for entering the University of Virginia to prepare him- 
 self for the medical profession. I left him. After the 
 services closed and as I was standing on the church steps 
 I saw him riding slowly across the churchyard and I 
 walked out, and intercepted his horse. '' You are grap- 
 pling a great problem," I said. '' I would like to make 
 one request of you : go home to-night, get your Bible, 
 lock yourself uj) in your room, turn to the Fifty -first 
 Psalm, get upon your knees and talk with God about 
 3'our future and your duty. If, after you have done this, 
 you find yourself decidedly unwilling to hear the call of 
 God, take your Bible and write across its blank page, 
 'Eesolved, that I will never, never be a Christian,' and 
 then take your Bible and burn it. You will have no 
 further use for it. If, however, you are willing to hear 
 the voice of God and to follow Him, then write on the 
 blank page, ^ Eesolved, that from this hour I give up 
 everything in this world for Christ, and give myself to 
 Christ.' " He touched his horse and without a word rode 
 away. Through all that night this young man engaged 
 my thought. I reached the church early the next morn- 
 ing and scanned the groups in the yard, but I could not 
 find him. I watched the arrivals, hoping to find him. 
 I watched in vain. I scanned the crowd in the house, 
 but I saw no sign of him, and the conviction fastened 
 
GOING AT IT 81 
 
 upon me that his worldly ambition had carried him off, 
 and I should see him no more. Isly sermon was depressed 
 in its spirit by the dread thought that I had lost a man, 
 but when I finished preaching I stepped to the lower 
 platform still imbued with a masterful anxiety about the 
 young man, and said, *'I wonder if there is a person in this 
 house who would be willing to give uj) this world for 
 Jesus Christ, and to give himself to Jesus Christ." I 
 stopped short right there. The doors at the farther end 
 of the house were double doors, and the leaf of the door 
 on the men's side was open very wide. During the pause 
 I noticed that leaf slowly shut and from behind it emerged 
 a man — intending as I supposed to go out, but instead he 
 headed towards the pulpit, and greatly to the thrilling of 
 my soul, I saw that it was the young man that I had 
 given up. It was with an alert and buoyant step that he 
 approached me and, extending his hand, said, ''The 
 matter is settled with me. Here and now I give up this 
 world for my Saviour and give myself to Him." Then 
 turning and facing the audience he said, ''My friends 
 and neighbors, you have known me all my life, and you 
 have marked me as a worldly and reckless young man. 
 All that is gone and from this time I give up the world 
 for Jesus Christ and give myself fully to Him." A new 
 man was born into the kingdom of God that day. It was 
 a conversion so clear, so free from unthinking emotion, 
 and yet so genuine and convincing that it was more im- 
 pressive than if an angel had appeared from heaven. It 
 could truly be said it shook the entire neighborhood. 
 A few days later he was baptized. 
 
 One morning in the early twilight I was aroused by an 
 energetic ringing of my door-bell. There he was, the 
 same young man. " What does this mean ? " I asked. 
 
 "Just as you said," he answered, " and just as I fore- 
 saw, my call has come and I must go. I start this morn- 
 
82 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 ing for the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary at 
 Greenville, South Carolina, and I waked you up to tell 
 you and bid you good-bye." 
 
 That was W. Carter Lindsay, now known all over the 
 South as the Nestor of the Baptist ministry of South Car- 
 olina, for a third of a century the honored pastor of the 
 First Baptist Church of Columbia in the Palmetto State. 
 
 Oh, for young men, thousands of the very pick and 
 flower of our country, who would be willing to say, ''I 
 give up all for Christ and all I am I give to Him." 
 
 Another incident of my Manchester pastorate concerns 
 a gentleman and his five sons, varying from fourteen to 
 six years of age. It was a stalwart and striking group, 
 handsomely dressed, bright-faced and with a look of good 
 bearing. Naturally I thought what a hopeful addition 
 that quintette of boys would be to my Sunday-school ; 
 but we passed each other without speech. Several times 
 afterwards on Sunday afternoons I encountered this gen- 
 tleman with the boys, always wondering who they were, 
 and with a silent wish to know something about them. 
 Finally while strolling along the street in company with 
 one of my church-members I saw that same group of 
 alert and attractive lads. 
 
 ^'Just look," I said, ^^ can't we corral those boys for 
 our Sunday-school ? " 
 
 ' ^ What are you talking about ? ' ' asked my friend. 
 ^'You will never get those boys. Their father is the 
 most blatant and defiant infidel I ever saw in my life. 
 He scorns the Bible, hates the church and would think it 
 a disgrace for his boys to enter the Sunday-school." 
 
 This strong statement extinguished my hopes. I saw 
 no way of bringing the boys under Christian influence 
 and dismissed the case from my mind. 
 
 Quite a while after that I heard a violent ring at my 
 door-bell very early in the morning. I answered in per- 
 
GOING AT IT 83 
 
 son and was greatly surprised to find the infidel at the 
 door. I invited him in, but in terms stern and scornful 
 he refused to enter. I then asked him with mild courtesy 
 if I could serve him in any way. He choked with ex- 
 citement and whirling on his feet he walked hastily to 
 the end of the veranda and stood there quite a while, evi- 
 dently seekiug to recover his self-control. Presently he 
 came back much embarrassed and decidedly snappish 
 and curt in his manner. 
 
 ^' I wish you would go around to my house," he said, 
 in jerky and grudgiug words. " My boy Frank is sick 
 and has been begging for two or three days that I would 
 come around and get you to come to see him." I told 
 him that I would come with pleasure and would be 
 around in a little while. 
 
 Frank's mother met me in the parlor and took me up 
 to the boy's room. As I entered the little fellow struggled 
 up on to his elbow and gave me a most pathetic welcome. 
 In his sunken, burniug cheek, his large, wearied eyes and 
 his wasted form I saw that he was not far from the gate 
 of death. I greeted him cheerfully, telling him how 
 pleased I was that he wanted to see me and assured him 
 that I would be glad for him to talk to me just as much 
 as he desired. 
 
 ''They tell me," he said, "that I am getting better, 
 but I know I am not. I think I get weaker every day 
 and I am very sure that I cannot live." As he said this 
 his lip quivered and his look of helplessness and distress 
 almost broke my heart. ^V^len he recovered speech, he 
 said, " I know I will not get well and I am afraid to die." 
 This he said in a tone that I have never forgotten. 
 
 I told him that there was a way to get ready to die, 
 and I told him in simple phrase the story of God's mercy 
 as brought to us by Jesus the Son. If ever one time in 
 my life I sought to tell it well, that was the time. 
 
84 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 His listening was oi)prcssive, but when I finished he 
 told me that he could not understand what I had said. 
 
 I went over it again slowly and putting in little illus- 
 trations. Almost every beat of my heart was a prayer as 
 I rehearsed the story. He lay still a Uttle while after 
 I finished, and then looking n^ told me again that he 
 could not understand it. I said something to him about 
 prayer, and laying my arm gently over his emaciated 
 body I knelt by the bed and pled that God would bring 
 light and peace to the troubled heart of the boy. When 
 I arose from my knees he seemed almost ashamed as he 
 told me that I must excuse him. He said that they did 
 not talk about those things at home, — his father wouldn't 
 allow it, and that I must not think hard because he could 
 not understand. I prayed briefly again, and he said that 
 he hoped I would come back again after a while and 
 that he would think it over while I was gone. 
 
 I called again in the early afternoon of that day. As I 
 entered his room he sprang up in bed, resting himself on 
 his elbow, and welcomed me with a smile that seemed to 
 have in it the peace and joy of heaven. He took my 
 hand and looked at me with triumphant light on his face 
 and said, '^I understand, I understand ! " 
 
 I drew him into speech, and my wonder was boundless 
 as he revealed to me his surprising apprehension of the 
 truth. His spiritual perception was incredible. Surely 
 he had seen the face of God and was walking in the path 
 of life with joyous step. It was all new to him and clear, 
 and he told out his experiences in a manner so simple 
 and so full that it was impossible for me to doubt. 
 
 "When I was leaving he drew me down and in a sort of 
 exultant whisper he said, ' ' Now that I understand I want 
 to tell you that I am not afraid.'' 
 
 After breakfast the next morning I called around to 
 look after my little convert. It hurt me to the centre of 
 
GOING AT IT 85 
 
 my heart to find the crape on the door. I knew at once 
 what it meant. The mother, herself utterly destitute of 
 Christian hope, met me in the parlor and could only sob 
 out the anguish of her bereavement. I knew no word to 
 comfort her with, and I did not attempt it. I thought 
 possibly it might ease the burden of her soul if I could 
 put her to talking about Frank, and besides I was anx- 
 ious to hear. So I asked her to tell me the particulars of 
 his death. 
 
 "Oh, I cannot do it," she said with an almost defiant 
 emphasis. It puzzled me lest I had ventured too near to 
 the seat of her sorrow. I spoke in terms apologetic, as- 
 suming that I had infringed upon the secrets of her 
 sorrow. 
 
 *^ Not that. It does not embarrass me to talk about it, 
 but I thought I would never say anything about it, be- 
 cause I thought people would never believe it. But I 
 suppose I ought to tell you." 
 
 "After my talk with Frank yesterday afternoon," I 
 said softly, "I could believe anything wonderful that you 
 might tell me about Frank's last hours." 
 
 Thus encouraged she told the story, with hesitation at 
 first, but rose with the telling until she was evidently 
 inspired and gladdened by it. 
 
 "I was sitting with Frank last night," she commenced, 
 "about ten o'clock, when he said, 'Mother, God would 
 not allow me to die until I had a chance. I think I 
 would have died before if God hadn't pitied me, but He 
 has heard my cry and saved me, and I expect to die 
 to-night.^ I spoke lightly to him and said that I thought 
 he would soon be walking about with his brothers as be- 
 fore. 'No, mother,' he said with decision, 'don't say it. 
 I want you to wake me up to-night about one o'clock. 
 When two o'clock comes to-night I expect to go.' I had 
 no intention to wake him up, but a little after one he 
 
86 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 roused up and inquired the time. When I reluctantly 
 told him the time he begged hard that I would wake his 
 father and brothers. I sought vainly to i:)ut him off, but 
 I was forced to yield. When they came he spoke to his 
 brothers one by one, simply bidding them good-bye, but 
 when he came to his father he said things that I could 
 never have supposed he would have thought of, for they 
 had never been talked about in this house. ' Father,' he 
 said, 'I found that I could not die your way. The 
 thought of death made me awfully afraid. It seemed to 
 me that I was going to another country and that they 
 would not treat me right when I got there. I was afraid 
 to go. That was the reason that I begged you to get the 
 minister to come to see me. I thought there must be a 
 God and I was afraid to meet Him, and I wanted to 
 know about it. It was hard for me to take it in. He 
 had to tell it to me over and over again. But when I 
 saw that there was a Saviour and put myself in His keep- 
 ing, I stopped being afraid. ' It was strange to see him 
 so calm and so well satisfied. He bade his father good- 
 bye and kissed him as if parting for the night. We did 
 not take it so seriously, for we did not think that he was 
 really near to death. My husband and the boys went 
 back up-stairs, and he told me to kiss him good-night 
 and I began to read and continued until the clock struck 
 two. I looked up and saw his hands clasped on his 
 breast ; I went to his side, touched him, but he moved 
 not, called him, but he made no reply. He went at two, 
 as he said he would." 
 
 He had a Christian funeral and the savor of his faith 
 was left in the home. Salvation came to some members 
 of the family, but not to the father. 
 
 One of the distinct and bitter impoverishments of the 
 Civil War was the lack of literature. Few newspapers 
 
GOING AT IT 87 
 
 and no magazines were published in the South. Sunday- 
 school books, hymn-books, Bibles, tracts could be had 
 neither for love nor money, and all the reading matter of 
 a literary sort for the armies consisted in books given out 
 of private families or private libraries. The Bible was 
 highly prized in camp, but in the later part of the war 
 there were the scantiest supplies. Indeed it was at- 
 tempted, successfully I believe, to bring through the 
 blockade Bibles and Testaments, and the demand for them 
 was extremely pathetic. I recall that on a Sunday night 
 all the Baptist congregations in and around Eichmond 
 united in a mass meeting with the view of raising money 
 to purchase reading matter for our soldiers in the camp. 
 It was a memorably impressive meeting. It was the first 
 time that I ever saw Dr. J. L. M. Curry, and he made the 
 long address of the evening. He was then in his prime, 
 not a gray hair in his head, — compact, alert and im- 
 perial in form and face. His address was a masterpiece 
 of fervent and thrilling eloquence. The money of the 
 time was of bountiful bulk but of scant worth, but it was 
 all that the people had and it stood even with the better- 
 to-do as the price for the stern necessities of life. 
 
 Under the appeal of the hour the money poured in to 
 the surprise of everybody. Almost every giver made an 
 offering with the moving thought of some one in the 
 army dear to his heart. 
 
 A number made thank-offerings, — something pleasing 
 indeed in those days of bloody battles, lost fortunes and 
 broken hearts. One man made a thank-offering because 
 his son had passed unscathed through many battles, and 
 a woman made an offering as a token of her gratitude 
 that her son had been converted in the army. The tide 
 of feeling was high and the souls of men enlarged. A 
 young chaplain from one of the hospitals in Manchester 
 arose and asked the privilege of making a thank-offering. 
 
88 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 I knew him well. He was a South Carolinian, a warm- 
 hearted, scholarly young man and animated by the loftiest 
 Christian spirit. He said, '' Mr. Chairman (he was quite 
 far back in the house), I desire to make a thank-offering 
 to God in view of the conversion of my two soldier 
 brothers." 
 
 Some one, — I think it was Dr. Curry, — said to him 
 publicly, "Tell us about it," but he seemed reluctant to 
 respond. But finally he arose with a sort of embarrassed 
 smile on his face and said : 
 
 "My brothers are not converted, but I have prayed for 
 them and believe they will be and I thought I would 
 make my thank-offering in advance." It was finely said 
 and the incident closed. 
 
 Time sped away, but the memory of the young chap- 
 lain's significant utterance kept warm in my heart. 
 
 One morning I was in my study at the church when I 
 heard a quick step of some one coming around to my 
 door. There was a knock and then the door flew open. 
 In sprang the young South Carolinian joyously waving 
 a letter. "Here it is," he said; "I have gotten my 
 first installment. Here is a letter telling me of the con- 
 version of my younger brother. Truly it is good to trust 
 in God." 
 
 We had quite a time of rejoicing together and the 
 young man went away. Not long after that came the 
 battle of Gettysburg. Ah, that terrific, destructive 
 slaughter ! It hung crape upon thousands of Southern 
 doors. It put many a mother in an untimely grave and 
 whitened the hair of middle-aged fathers who mourned 
 the death of their first-born. It sounded the death knell 
 of the Southern cause and bent the spirit of the incom- 
 parable Lee under the weight of its disaster. 
 
 Another morning found me in my study and I heard 
 the step as of an old man moving slowly around to my 
 
GOING AT IT 89 
 
 door. There was a dull knock and opening the door I 
 found the young chaplain. He looked like another man, 
 — pinched, old, and aimless — his eyes were glass ; his 
 face ashes and dumbness held his lips. '^Oh," he said 
 as I drew him in the room, *Hhe waves are over me and 
 the light is refused to me. It looks as if I have trusted 
 in God in vain." Slowly and silently he handed me a 
 letter. It was from a young man whom he knew telling 
 how that he and the chaplain's brother were in the charge 
 oil Cemetery Hill j how the brother was stricken down by 
 the fragment of a shell, mortally wounded, as the young 
 friend thought, how the kind fellow told of giving his 
 canteen filled with water to the wounded one, and sought 
 to place him in a resting way and hastened on in the 
 deadly charge. 
 
 The letter did not say but it seemed to imply that the 
 case of the wounded brother was hopeless, and I found 
 myself stricken, confounded and worthless as a comforter. 
 He lingered quite a while and when he left it was a relief 
 to me. For days I think the mournful spell of that in- 
 terview was upon me. I dared not call on the chaplain, 
 for I had no message of consolation. One morning some 
 time after I heard what I supposed to be a boy dash up 
 to the door and without a signal he sprang through the 
 opening doorway. It was the chaplain. Eapture lit his 
 face and broke in exultant strains from his lips. 
 
 ''The second installment," he cried. ''Eead it, read 
 it." He handed me a letter, but before I could open it 
 he said : '' My older brother is alive. He is in a Phila- 
 delphia hospital, and they write that he will get well and, 
 what is still better, he is converted. I did not trust in 
 vain. ' He that believeth shall not be confounded.' " 
 
 In some way I got an idea from this incident that 
 gratitude and trust are apt to get from the Lord all that 
 is wanted and almost without asking for it. 
 
VI 
 
 SITTING IN THE ASHES 
 
 DURIjSTG all of the four years of the Confederate 
 war my lot was cast in the town of Manchester, 
 just across James Eiver, from the city of Eich- 
 mond, the capital of the Confederate government. In- 
 deed I was there during the ominous brooding of the 
 strife. I saw that memorable Convention — to be known 
 forever as the Secession Convention — in all of its period 
 of tumultuous uproar. I sat in the gallery and marked 
 its hesitation, its divisions, the clash and wrangle of the 
 mighty men, the sublime effort of Union sentiment to 
 avert the fatal split, the passion and fury of the seceders, 
 and then, after the decisive shot at Fort Sumter, I saw 
 the dread and desperation with which the final act of 
 separation was passed. 
 
 I saw the iniDouring of Southern troops, regiment after 
 regiment, battalion after battalion, company after com- 
 pany, as they gathered from every portion of the South to 
 make up that imperishable army already gone into his- 
 tory as the Army of Northern Virginia. 
 
 I saw Beauregard, the hero of Charleston, and the 
 first leader of the Southern troops as he entered the 
 Southern capital. I witnessed the coming of the Confed- 
 erate government from Montgomery to Richmond — saw 
 Jefferson Davis, whose classic face flamed with patriotic 
 fire as he received the greeting and heard the shoutings 
 of the Richmond people. 
 
 Ah, what was it, of battle, or tragedy, or victory, or 
 suffering, or destitution, or wreck, that I did not see dur- 
 
 90 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 91 
 
 ing those pregnant and historic years ! Thrice I sat on 
 my porch in Manchester and heard the roar of artillery 
 and the rattle of musketry as battles raged along the 
 Chickahominy or boomed around the heights of Drewry's 
 Bluff. Ofttimes victory spread her banners over Eich- 
 mond and there were many days when cheeriness and 
 triumph gladdened the city. Indeed we were fed on vic- 
 tories until we thought that Lee and his legions were in- 
 vincible. Hope sprang ever- blooming in our breasts, 
 and to the last we felt that in some way the Southern 
 standard was yet to wave in victory over us. It looks 
 strange indeed now that we could have felt so, and yet so 
 we felt, and were trustful and serene. 
 
 A fairer day never blessed the earth than was the 
 second day of April, 1865. It was the Sabbath day, and 
 its reverential hush, and its soft spring light seemed close 
 akin to worship. What added a delicious charm was the 
 fact that the spring was exceptionally forward and the 
 signs of green, white and blue were visible in garden and 
 in field. That afternoon I went up to the church to some 
 sort of religious service. After it was over, several of us 
 lingered on the green grass of the churchyard, and 
 chatted and laughed as was our happy wont. True 
 enough our situation was pitiable even to tragedy. Our 
 clothing was worn and darned, our food was mean and 
 scant, our schools were shut up, our children could hardly 
 find covering for their nakedness, nor bread to meet the 
 cry of hunger, but in spite of it all we were expecting the 
 war to end entirely our way, and dreamed of regal glory 
 for the South. At about that time a man, moving at 
 rapid pace, passed along the street, and when quite near 
 to us said without slackening his gait : *' Bad news 
 from Petersburg ! Lee's lines were broken to-day and 
 his army is reported in full retreat ! Richmond to be 
 evacuated to-night.'' 
 
92 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 Our informant sped away as if appalled by the story 
 which his lips had told. 
 
 Instant blackness covered the earth. A pain as of 
 death shot through my heart, and in that dread moment 
 I knew that our cause was lost. The little group on the 
 grass sprang to their feet and scattered without a word. 
 Instantly, and with no distinct purpose, I struck out on 
 foot for Eichmond. Black and repellent as the situation 
 seemed to be, I felt forced at once to meet it. As I was 
 neariug the toll-house on Mayo's Bridge, I met my friend, 
 Major Benjamin Nash, himself a great-hearted lover of 
 the South, who with bitterness of face, and the look of 
 one suddenly grown old, confirmed my worst fear, but 
 seemed to have no heart to talk. In sheer desperation I 
 pushed on, until I was in the city. The Sabbath, shocked 
 by the confusion, had taken wing and only fright and 
 wreck ruled the hour. Stores were wide open, and men 
 were loading wagons and carts, and whipping rapidly 
 away. Already loafers were in sight, eyeing eagerly the 
 general collapse and wild to begin their pilfering. Spec- 
 tators looked on and in mute anguish read in the haste 
 and waste of the hour the signs of the sujireme catas- 
 trophe. I pulled myself as far up as the iron fence 
 around the Capitol Park. Wagons rattled around the 
 Capitol and were fast filled with boxes, furniture and 
 odds and ends, and went hurrying away, while vast loads 
 of debris were dumped upon the ground. Truly it was a 
 sickening sight. All the sacred things, which Virginia 
 had hidden in her very bosom, were being ripped out, 
 and hawked or scattered wildly on the ground. The 
 hour of the despoiler was at hand, and I began to realize 
 that I was in a city without a ruler except the mob, and 
 without a law, except the greed of the robber. Nothing 
 hurt me worse than that spectacle. It melted my bones 
 and ate up my strength. Could I have taken all that was 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 93 
 
 left at that moment I should still have felt myself a 
 pauper. If my country was dead, what could I want 
 after that ? 
 
 My walk back to Manchester withered me into age. 
 Not that I was bitter towards the conqueror ; my thoughts 
 were not that way. It was simply one colossal collax)se 
 — the things which I lived for and counted immutably 
 mine had sunken out of sight. I was a man without a 
 country, without a hope and almost without God in the 
 world. My leader was smitten ; my government in flight, 
 my citizenship perished, and my life a thing for which 
 no man cared. As for fear I knew it not, except that 
 deadly harm might come to those who looked to me for 
 protection, and I knew that I would not be a straw's 
 worth between them and danger. 
 
 When I reentered my town it was truly another place. 
 The news had swept the streets. Startling sights broke 
 upon me at every step. Men huddled in helpless groups 
 and felt that not even the right of self-defense was left 
 them ; women were weeping on the porches, or else could 
 be heard shrieking behind their barred doors and win- 
 dows ; children were clinging to their parents and beg- 
 ging to be taken away, and already unearthly figures, 
 harbingers pi an impending upheaval, were flitting 
 through the streets. 
 
 As yet only a dim sense of freedom struggled in the 
 breasts of the slaves, and a habit of submission to au- 
 thority still held them, but with a relaxing grasp. But as 
 twilight deepened into night a swell of lawlessness broke 
 all restraints. The back and unlighted streets began to 
 throb with dangerous excitements. Kitchens and shanties 
 filled speedily with negroes ; and their hysterical screams, 
 their ribald dances and their cry for vengeance gave hell- 
 ish terrors to the night. 
 
 The story of that night can never be told. Possibly I 
 
94 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 come nearest to a picture of it in declaring that it was a 
 night in which there was absolutely no law. The old 
 authority was gone and the new had not come. It was a 
 time when only passion and fury uttered their voices, 
 and when liberty meant riot and violence. The very 
 streets roared with shriek and curse, with howl and 
 menace, and with the insanity of countless crowds. 
 Whispers of riotous gangs going forth for vengeance, or 
 for plunder, filled the air, ran the streets, and bred terror 
 in the hearts of women. 
 
 But heaven forgot not to be merciful, even that night. 
 All through its hours the Southern army was retreating 
 through our streets, but it was too orderly and quiet to 
 be afl'ected by the existing confusion. Even in the flight 
 of that army the town found its safety. It was not long 
 after dark before the head of this retreating column be- 
 gan its mournful march through the town, and it con. 
 tinned practically until the morning light. There was a 
 chastened cheerfulness about these men. They gave no 
 hint of fright and never a mutter of discontent. They 
 knew they were abandoning the base of their supplies, 
 the citadel of their strength, and were opening their rear 
 to overwhelming forces, but through all that night I 
 caught no note of panic nor disloyalty. Their passage 
 through the town added unspeakably to our gloom, for we 
 knew well enough that with them went out hope, and in 
 their place would come the conqueror. 
 
 Among these retreating thousands I had a host of ac- 
 quaintances. The line passed my gate and at that gate I 
 stood and bade my farewells to scores upon scores. In 
 this hurried story I can give but one example of those 
 whose going out that night made my heart faint. That 
 one was John R. Bagby, a captain of artillery, the most 
 cherished of all my college friends, a ministerial student 
 who quit the theological seminary to join the army and 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 95 
 
 served the full term of the war. It took only our silent 
 tears and warm hand-grasp to tell the anguish of our 
 parting. To both of us the outlook was blackness itself, 
 and we parted as those who should hardly meet again. 
 
 But we did meet again and have met a thousand times 
 since. He lives even to this day, and through all the 
 years that are gone our souls have been knit together ; 
 only death can part us and not even that can part us for 
 long. 
 
 In passing through the streets of Eichmond many of 
 the soldiers found that the Confederate authorities had 
 abandoned a large supply of food and clothing, and from 
 these stores the boys helped themselves so far as they 
 came in reach of them, and so far as they had the means 
 of transporting them. On the bayonets of many guns 
 hung hams or shoulders, which these needy heroes were 
 lugging along, little knowing when Mars' Eobert would 
 ever issue another ration. Deep as my troubles were I 
 was quite lumbered up with Confederate money. In 
 quite a number of cases I found that by generous display 
 of Confederate money, I could bring on a trade for some 
 of this bacon, which same thing I actually did, although 
 I have to confess that in some of those trades the trans- 
 action took place before midnight, and if the Sabbath 
 day runs until midnight I have to confess that on that 
 occasion at least I let my eagerness to get a little some- 
 thing to keep my soul and body from prematurely sepa- 
 rating from each other to tempt me to infringe the Holy 
 Day. 
 
 Perhaps, too, I might right here slip in another con- 
 fession which may cast a shadow over my integrity. Not 
 long before the fall of Eichmond, General Eobert E. Lee 
 borrowed all the flour from one of the Eichmond mills, 
 promising that when his supplies came in he would return 
 it. In that lot of flour I had a half interest in four bar- 
 
96 ALONG THE TEAIL 
 
 rels, and with uo desire to asperse the memory of Gen- 
 eral Lee, caiHlor constrains me to say that he never 
 returned my flour — obviously because the General's sup- 
 ply never came in. The result of it, however, was that the 
 dust in my barrel was well-nigh non-apparent. I heard 
 on Monday morning that several car-loads of corn-meal 
 had been left in the hurry of the retreat, at a station in 
 Manchester, just two squares from my house. Inasmuch 
 as General Lee had failed me on the borrowed flour, and 
 inasmuch as this corn-meal could never be of any service 
 to the fleeing Confederacy, and inasmuch as I knew it 
 did not belong to the Federal army, and inasmuch as 
 one of my church- members agreed that he would bring 
 me a bag or two of it to help me tide over the distress of 
 the times, I did give place to a couple of bags of about as 
 coarse a quality of meal as I ever undertook to use in 
 my life. It was quite fortunate for the Federal army that 
 I did confiscate the meal, for two of its commissioned 
 officers came to my house to dinner one day, and the only 
 thing in the world that I had to give them to eat was the 
 bacon I bought on Sunday, and meal that I got possession 
 of on Monday, not accordiug to law, nor contrary to law, 
 but because there was no law on duty at that time. 
 
 In the gray of Monday morning I was called to my 
 gate where I found a Confederate major of cavalry. He 
 turned out to be a schoolmate of my childhood in the 
 mountains of old Bedford. He was accounted the poorest 
 boy in all the school, though several of us were easy sec- 
 onds, and he was also considered the most promising boy 
 in the school, though in that case very few of us were 
 ever mentioned for second place. He made a fine war 
 record and my heart swelled with pride to see him again. 
 Indeed I would have had anotherracute mixture of satis- 
 faction and sorrow in seeing him but for one unfriendly 
 fact. My old time chum had a roll of Confederate jeans 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 97 
 
 balanced on the neck of his horse, almost three feet in 
 height and utterly concealing him from view except his 
 rugged and war-worn face. I knew him at sight and 
 gave him the glad hand. I did not doubt but that he 
 and his tattered battalion needed better equipment, and 
 I must not disparage his provident expedient for helping 
 them out, but I must own that my sense of the heroic got 
 a shock. It crossed my grain to see this friend of my 
 boyhood at such a critical time loaded with a spoil so 
 ponderous and unwieldy. Besides it was out of all 
 harmony with the tragic glory of that night to see a Con- 
 federate officer with a trophy so ludicrous. The sight 
 hit me in three or four different spots and made an im- 
 pression so complex that I have not quit-e recovered from 
 it yet. 
 
 During that fateful night troops of the townsmen flocked 
 to my house — not members of my church only but many 
 citizens. Some came to tell me of the terrors of their 
 families ; some to discuss the impending peril ; some 
 drawn by an inherent longing for sympathy ; some to 
 confer as to how we should bear ourselves when the con- 
 quering enemy came in. Not a few others from more 
 exposed quarters of the town came to share the indirect 
 guardianship of the passing soldiery. Taken altogether 
 that was the most eventful night of my mortal life, at 
 once the longest and the shortest, the night most crowded 
 with fears, conflicts and strains, and one which seemed so 
 loaded with omens of evil. 
 
 One odd and abhorrent incident of that night still 
 clings tenaciously to my memory. It was out of tune 
 with other horrors, and in some respects to me the worst 
 horror of it all. There lived in the town a miser. It 
 was what I saw in him that enabled me to understand 
 what the Bible means when it says that covetousness is 
 idolatry. He was a man who had rare chances for mak- 
 
98 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 ing a worthy manhood ; he married a woman of the most 
 refined and earnest nature, and his opportunities for use- 
 fulness were a great appeal to any good that might be in 
 him, but his love of money was wild, ungovernable, in- 
 sane. It overrode his conscience, his self-respect, his 
 love of home and his beliefs in all thiDgs invisible. Once 
 I went with him to bury his son and all the way to the 
 cemetery he arrayed himself against God for the death of 
 his boy, said it was unnecessary and that it would have 
 been so much better if the boy could have stayed to go 
 in business and to have shared in the boundless revenues 
 of the future. During the war he had no patriotism, no 
 pride for the Southern side, no concern as to the final 
 issue of things, except so far as it would affect his own 
 fortune. He seized the disorders of the times as his op- 
 portunity for oppressing the weak, cheating the unwary 
 and fleecing all comers. In that dread, woeful night this 
 cankered and repellent creature came into my house. A 
 scourged spaniel could not have seemed more dejected, 
 frightened or horrified than he. He was shrivelled 
 almost out of human shape, his eyes were wild with 
 despair, he shrank down or collapsed in a shapeless pile 
 at my feet, and my pity fought with my contempt as he 
 told his story. During the war, as he told me in mortal 
 fright, lest some one might overhear the story, he had 
 turned everything that his hand could touch into gold, 
 and had quite an accumulation of it hidden in his house. 
 In the dread that the inflamed soldiery would invade his 
 house and carry off his treasures, he came to ask me 
 what he must do with his money. I felt pity enough for 
 him to hear his story and advised him to take it out of 
 town into the depths of a neighboring forest and bury it. 
 I told him that he did not need to be afraid, for his safety 
 would be in the prevailing terror and disorganization of 
 the night. He told me afterwards that he acted on my 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 99 
 
 suggestion and almost grew interesting as he gave the 
 account of his trip, his entering the desolate forest, his 
 opening of the earth and his burial of the heavy jar of 
 gold. ^Yhat hui't me most in dealing with this case was 
 that I saw in the form of a man nothing of the man left 
 except a victory of Mammon. He cared not for the fall 
 of a friend nor the coming of a foe, nor for the safety of 
 his children, nor for the lives of his neighbors. There 
 was nothing in all the universe of God for him to love or 
 cherish except his gold. And yet after all I must do 
 him justice, and I may be able yet to speak a word that 
 may soften the bitterness of his case. In a few days 
 things settled down ; he found his home was not to be 
 troubled, and in his own crafty way he brought his 
 money back to his house, and one day to my unspeakable 
 surprise he walked into my house looking almost human, 
 with the ghost of a long departed smile on his face, and a 
 semblance of gratitude on his lips, and handed me a ten 
 dollar gold piece. I had an impulse to throw it back at 
 him, but the several ladies of my household chanced to 
 be on hand, and it had been long indeed since they had 
 seen the shine of gold, and, moreover, there were many 
 pretty things flaming in the store-windows, which only 
 gold could buy, and after all the miser's gold was hospi- 
 tably welcomed in the minister's house. 
 
 That spasm of appreciation I grieve to say was not 
 prophetic of any reformation on his part. In after days 
 I used to meet him often wrapped in a heavy cloak, bent 
 of back, scared of eye, loathsome, crafty and cowering 
 beneath a nameless dread. 
 
 The dawn of Monday was rich in the splendors of spring. 
 It looked as if night had thrown its friendly mantle over 
 my heroic brothers as they hastened out of the city to 
 rally again beneath the standard of Lee. The day was 
 cloudless and the air was soft and genial, and yet the 
 
100 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 light only increased our apprehensions. Our friends 
 were gone and now we knew that the conqueror was at 
 the gate. 
 
 About nine in the morning I was down at the Man- 
 chester end of the bridge and saw the rear- guard of the 
 Southern troops as they crossed over. As soon as the 
 tramp of their heavy feet quit the swaying structure I 
 heard a man give the order for setting fire to the bridge. 
 I quickly glanced towards the man who spoke the word 
 and it was General Ewell, one of the famous Southern 
 commanders. He had already lost a leg in the service, 
 and he had the stern, hard look of the man who had made 
 great adventures and had lost all. I honored him be- 
 cause he looked so honestly wretched, for I thought that 
 woe was eminently becoming every Southern man on that 
 bitter day. I made a revel of my misery that morning 
 and it was indeed a feast of bitter herbs. 
 
 If my memory does not go awry the last man to cross 
 James Eiver on that bridge was John C. Breckenridge, 
 one of Kentucky's imperial sons. He sat his horse in 
 gloomy dignity, and a finer specimen of knightly beauty 
 rarely ever graced the earth. It was no time for admira- 
 tion, and it bent me to the dust to see such a king among 
 men so shattered with adversity, so stripped of place and 
 power, and yet my heart paid court to him as one who 
 had given all to the cause he loved. 
 
 Simultaneously with the firing of Mayo's Bridge the 
 torch was applied also to the bridges of the Eichmond 
 and Danville, and the Eichmond and Petersburg rail- 
 roads. This clipped all connection between the two 
 cities, and seriously delayed the Federal troops in their 
 pursuit of the flying squadrons of the South. It also 
 seriously enhanced the concern and the apprehension of 
 the Manchester people. 
 
 From these bridges the fires] quickly spread to the 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 101 
 
 warehouses and other buildings along the river, and in- 
 deed some of the warehouses were needlessly fired by our 
 men. These fires were the lurid forerunners of that fear- 
 ful conflagration, which lasted for twenty-four hours, 
 and laid in ashes the great bulk of the business portions 
 of the city. For the time the fire department of Eich- 
 mond was non-existent, the water- works were grievously 
 out of order, and the Federal forces were put at a great 
 disadvantage in seeking to arrest the flames. It was one 
 of the mercies of heaven that there was no wind, and the 
 flames were not able in many places even to cross the 
 streets, and it was a matter of grateful wonder that the 
 entire city was not laid in ashes. 
 
 From the Manchester side the fire was in full view and 
 our hearts sank very low as we saw block after block go 
 down. Already our higher hopes, our hallowed treasures, 
 our army, our leaders and our cause were gone ; and it 
 was the very anguish of despair to feel that the city 
 itself, the pride of Virginia and of the South, was about 
 to be blotted from the face of the earth. It was one 
 glimmer of relief which came later on that the city, in a 
 large measure, was left standing, but standing in the 
 midst of vast ruins, standing desolate without the song 
 of the toiler or the laughter of children. Be it said that 
 for days and weeks, women rarely appeared on the 
 streets, and the bustle and stimulating noise of business 
 was gone. At the foundry, at which the munitions, and 
 especially the ammunitions of war were manufactured, 
 there were, according to common report, seven hundred 
 thousand shells piled in great masses. The heat of the 
 flames during the later morning of Monday ignited the fuses 
 of these monster balls and such an explosion followed as 
 possibly never shook the earth before. The power of it 
 crashed the windows in hundreds of Eichmond houses, 
 and the fragments of the broken shells went far and wide, 
 
102 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 damaging roofs, filliDg many homes with consternation, 
 and in a number of cases wounding and killing persons 
 on the streets. The bridges in full flame and long 
 ranges of houses wraj^ped in fire, and the volcanic smoke 
 boiling up and spreading over the city and that too 
 amid the explosion of shells, made a scene so varied, so 
 direful, and so destructive that men and women turned 
 away in terror. 
 
 In 1862 when Lee and McClellan were fighting on the 
 Chickahomiuy the roar of their guns sensibly shook the 
 city. During one of those days I attended a public 
 meeting in one of the churches of the city, and the 
 thunder and rattle of the guns, though five miles off, made 
 it impossible to conduct the service in a way to be heard. 
 That was nothing compared with the racking storm of 
 evacuation day. 
 
 One of the early shocks of evacuation morning was 
 caused by the blowing up of the Confederate gunboats at 
 the lower end of the city. As each huge monster was 
 blown into fragments the effect was a distinct earthquake, 
 and the fragments did vast damage by spreading fires and 
 crippling the people. 
 
 The situation in our town was fearful enough on Mon- 
 day morning. By this time the negroes had lost all sense 
 of order and control and their acts of violence and venge- 
 ance had already begun. For my part I felt deeply the 
 seriousness of the hour. Already mutinous and un- 
 restrained by any law and joined by not a few desperate 
 and rioting whites they seemed ready for murder. They 
 were surging up and down the streets shouting, singing, 
 flinging vulgar insults at the white people, and indulging 
 in hideous and unseemly displays that filled the town 
 with alarm and terror. 
 
 I took it on myself to confer with the members of the 
 town council. They were with few exceptions old men 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 103 
 
 utterly unequal to the grave exigencies of the hour and 
 apparently terror-stricken to the point of despair. I 
 called their attention to the situation and suggested that 
 they send a committee across the river and ask for a 
 guard from the Federal army. They looked as if they 
 dreamed; nerveless and vacant they sat, and in a way 
 repelled the idea that anything could be done. But 
 there was some spirit in the young member of the coun- 
 cil, and he joined me in the appeal. Finally one of them 
 reached the happy stage of suggesting that I should un- 
 dertake the mission to Eichmond, and as soon as they 
 said it the young member of the body with modest cour- 
 age proposed that he and I should go together. It was a 
 heavenly relief to the bewildered council, but an awk- 
 ward undertaking for us. I must say that I plucked a 
 little consolation from the fact that those timid and 
 limp old gentlemen looked a good deal worse than I knew 
 that I felt, but there was scant time for comparing my 
 anxieties with those of any one else. And so in company 
 with the youngest member of that council, ever after- 
 wards a gentleman and friend in my eyes, we set out on 
 our hazardous journey. We took with us the good wishes 
 and indeed the admiration of the councilmen. We went 
 down to the river edge and luckily discovered a lazy 
 little ferry-boat fastened to the bank close by one of the 
 flour mills. It was not our boat, but we paused not to 
 tamper with abstract ethical problems, but at once and 
 unscrupulously confiscated the frail bark. It rocked and 
 dipped as we headed across the stream, and there was a 
 good probability that this brace of adventurers would 
 find a watery grave and speedy oblivion. 
 
 Happily we reached the Eichmond side, found a fast- 
 ening and hiding-place for our boat, and climbed out on 
 the bank to find ourselves in the wholesale business part 
 of the city. Our eyes fell upon such a sight as perhaps 
 
104 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 few have ever dreamed of. I hardly know what to call it. 
 Not a mob. We think of a mob as a collection of men 
 drawn together by some common object, molded into 
 transient unity by a deadly purpose, and set on doing 
 their minds, regardless of hazard or law. The crowd 
 which we encountered, as it straggled, shrieked, danced, 
 cursed and contended with each other, was thoroughly 
 heterogeneous. Its only point in common was the un- 
 mitig ted badness of all of its individual parts. The 
 convulsion had emptied the underworld on top of the 
 ground, and in that revolting mass were deserters, spies, 
 thieves, men and women of the worst. Castle Thunder 
 was a Confederate prison for traitors, military delin- 
 qucDts, blockade runners, government convicts. All the 
 rubbish, filth and scum of such a time, had its doors torn 
 open, and made its ghastly contributions to the disorder 
 and wreck of the city. The state penitentiary located in 
 the city was deserted of its guards, and its legion of 
 criminals burst forth, maddened with liberty, famishing 
 for food, and eager to join in the anarchy and riot of the 
 day. This of course was before the Federal authorities 
 had formally taken charge of the city. It was into a 
 shifting, desperate scene like this that my manly young 
 councilman and myself were cast. The howling crowd 
 took scant note of us, though they flung us an occasional 
 curse or an indecent threat and further enlivened the 
 situation by the firing of pistols and other reckless indul- 
 gences. We pushed through the crowd, struck up Main 
 Street and made for the military headquarters of the Fed- 
 eral forces which stood near where the city hall is now 
 located. It was soldiers, soldiers, soldiers everywhere ; 
 it was bayonets, muskets, muskets, bayonets and loun- 
 ging soldiers on every side. The Capitol Square was filled 
 up and the headquarters by no means easy of access. We 
 asked questions, saluted all blue coats which stood in our 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 105 
 
 path, accepted repulses as a part of our lot, advanced by 
 degrees and finally got into tlie room of the man in whose 
 hands the destinies of the day were placed. 
 
 The general was heated, overworked and showed the 
 corrugated brow in its worst form. We pi-acticed the 
 utmost brevity in stating our case, which consisted in 
 asking for a guard. Thereupon he delivered a brief lec- 
 ture to us for having set fire to the city, and declared 
 that he had not an adequate force for his own purposes. 
 We told him that we did not live in Eichmond and could 
 hardly be held responsible for the fire, and that what we 
 were looking for was to find somebody to aid us in pre- 
 venting our own town from being burned. I did not 
 blame the general for his excitability and had no inten- 
 tion of calling him to account for not treating his prodi- 
 gal brothers with more gentleness upon their return. 
 We did get some comfort out of the fact that we got in 
 one on him in not being in the town which was in flames, 
 and there was a faint suggestion of a smile which strug- 
 gled vainly to light up the crags and corners of his face. 
 In a tone manifestly softened, he told us to go back home 
 (not even asking us to stay and take dinner with him), 
 and that he would see what could be done. We con- 
 gratulated each other that he didn't hang us, and that 
 the sun was still shining, and we put back to Manchester 
 as promptly as our facilities for travel would justify. 
 
 In about two hours after our return we heard distant 
 strains of martial music, and in a little while a negro 
 brigade, officered with white men and attended with the 
 shrieks, shouts, laughter and threats of a savage crowd 
 of negroes marched into town. Our petition had been 
 answered in a startling and an embarrassing way. The 
 white people, irrespective of rank or age, went into re- 
 tirement ; we retired also at our house, but that night 
 our back yard and kitchen filled with negroes. They 
 
106 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 were uniuvited but evidently felt well at home, and while 
 I have often heard of making night hideous, tlie hideous- 
 ness of that night can never be told. I think they offered 
 sacrifices to all the gods that night. Some sang religious 
 songs and shouted themselves into speechlessness ; the 
 dance with all its wild orgies employed the energies of 
 others, while Bacchus seemed to be the most popular god 
 of the promiscuous revellers. 
 
 Unwarranted liberties were evidently given the negro 
 soldiery. They raced the town in groups and kept every- 
 thing at white heat, except themselves, though they were 
 by no means wanting in the matter of heat. For a while 
 we had pandemonium in full dress and yet wonderful to 
 state there were no serious acts of violence, and no con- 
 flicts of the races. Tuesday morning I found it necessary 
 to call on the brigadier-general in command of the post. 
 The occasion of this visit did not chime exactly with the 
 music of the hour, but it was none the less important that 
 I should go. Just before Petersburg was evacuated on 
 Sunday night a train of cars, with a number of wounded 
 soldiers aboard, was started for Eichmond. It was so 
 long delayed on the way that when it got to Manchester the 
 Petersburg bridge was in flames, and of course the trains 
 had to stop. There these crippled Confederates were left 
 without beds, without physicians, without shelter and 
 without food. A number of Manchester people opened 
 the first floor of my church building, got mattresses and 
 other things, wherever they could beg them, and impro- 
 vised a hospital, to which these wounded sons of the 
 dying cause were brought in such conveyances, and by 
 such other means as necessity and love could hit upon. 
 
 I felt it my duty to report this matter to the command- 
 ing general and hence my call. At first sight I did not 
 like the man. I did not suppose that I would find an 
 ideal soldier in command of a negro regiment, and prob- 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 107 
 
 ably took along several vigorous prejudices as a part of 
 my stock in trade. I had in my hand a few religious 
 tracts which I intended to take up to the soldiers. These 
 the general neatly lifted out of my hand without asking 
 consent, and found that one of them was in the shape of 
 a letter from a mother to her son in the army, in which 
 she told him that she hoped he would be a good soldier, 
 but above all things she desired him to be a good Chris- 
 tian. In that phrase about being a good soldier the 
 general discovered a magazine of rebellion and disloyalty, 
 and tore up the pious little tract. I bore the thing be- 
 cause I had nothing else to do, and because I did have 
 one or two other things I wanted to do. After my state- 
 ment about the soldiers up at the church he seemed to 
 relent and told me we would not be interrupted in our 
 attempt to promote the comfort and save the lives of 
 these soldiers. I thanked him and arose to leave, but he 
 stopped me. 
 
 " Why don't you take the oath of allegiance and help 
 me restore order to this town?'^ he asked in a decidedly 
 brusque voice. 
 
 He then said that I could be of service to him if I 
 would do this. He called my attention to the fact that 
 my government was in flight, my armies in full retreat, 
 deserters and prisoners were coming back constantly, and 
 that there was no hope of my cause. He spoke roughly, 
 and yet I could not be sure as to whether there was any 
 note of menace in what he said. I foucd myself under 
 a novel pressure, and probably on the verge of a crisis. 
 
 ''I will have to admit, general," I said respectfully, 
 *'that the outlook for my cause is gloomy indeed, but it 
 is my cause. I have been identified with the Confederacy 
 from its beginning and while its situation is extremely 
 distressing, its government still exists and its armies are 
 still in the fields. I would find a blush crimsoning my 
 
108 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 clieek if I forsook my colors in the presence of the enemy, 
 and I confess that I would be utterly ashamed for it to go 
 abroad to our army or to our people that I had made 
 haste to take the oath. I would lose the good- will of 
 those who are more than life to me. I must wait the 
 final issue, and if that is the downfall of the Confederacy 
 then I shall have no government, no country, no citizen- 
 ship and no protection. That will be the time for me to 
 decide what I ought to do about the oath of al- 
 legiance.'^ 
 
 I must have made a right warm little speech ; at least 
 my heart got loose and ran flaming into my words, and 
 somehow I found myself gloriously indifferent to what he 
 might think of my little oration. He looked at me with 
 changing color and when I ended he still looked. 
 
 'Til be dogged if I don't believe you are right," he 
 said with great feeling. ''And I believe it is best for 
 you to wait." 
 
 It almost precipitated a scene. His cordial words 
 kindled within me a sense of brotherhood. 
 
 "And now, general," I added, "I think I may take 
 the liberty of saying to you that if I can be of any service 
 to you, and you feel disposed to trust me, you will find 
 me at your command. I desire good order and peace as 
 truly as you do." 
 
 He said : "Well, sir, I can trust you, and we will work 
 together." 
 
 I confess that the interview related above was some- 
 thing of an epoch in my life. In this man whom I did 
 not trust at the first blush, I found something that was 
 manly, trustful, and even brotherly. I had already seen 
 the inevitable end, but the sight of no prison gate could 
 have moved me to forsake my cause as long as it had a 
 gun to fire or a battle to fight. I was rather ashamed of 
 myself that I had not suffered more, and I shrank with a 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 109 
 
 passion stronger than life from any compulsory oath. The 
 generous view of the case so pungently expressed by this 
 military master was a gleam of light from the other side. 
 It refreshed me exceedingly, and came as a sort of crown 
 to my self-respect. 
 
 From that moment I suffered no disturbance on the 
 part of the Federal troops. They treated me with the 
 utmost courtesy and a number of the officers were guests 
 in my house, though it was scant bounty that I could 
 spread for their entertainment. Two of the commissioned 
 officers, captivated probably in no degree by a winsome 
 manner upon my part, but probably longing for taste of 
 home society and fare, dropped in on me about dinner 
 time, on one of those serious and quaking days. They 
 brought a crisis for the female membership of my house, 
 who had been suddenly transformed into cooks and house- 
 maids. They received the new honor thus thrust upon 
 them in a manner so ambiguous and confounding that I 
 anticipated the dinner with wasting apprehension. 
 Troubles throbbed and muttered in the air, and I con- 
 ducted my guests to the table with trembling, and I 
 knew not how to hold up my head as I looked at the 
 scant and ill-cooked dinner. It consisted of fried bacon, 
 corn bread, coffee and a vast amount of nothing besides. 
 The officers were gentlemen for they forced down the 
 coarse material spread before them and smiled their 
 gratitude, but just the same I knew they had tales to 
 tell when they went back to headquarters that would 
 burn my ears to a crisp if they ever got back to me. I 
 charged the women with being actuated with sectional 
 hostility in spreading such a dinner, but they replied 
 with spirit that they had served the best with which the 
 master of the house had provided them. They admitted 
 that we did have a little flour but that they turned it into 
 dried apple turnovers and had turned a few honest pennies 
 
110 ALONG THE TEAIL 
 
 by selling them to the Federal soldiers. To this day I 
 believe that they might have raked up a few of those flap- 
 jacks as a dessert, for those spangled and handsomely 
 dressed representatives of a yet hostile government. 
 
 Within a day or two the Federal army had finished 
 their pontoon bridges across the river, and they were 
 opened for the accommodation of the most exasperated 
 and unreconciled rebels, of which I, if not chief, was un- 
 mistakably one. I found it a battle with my sorrows to 
 cross the bridge and behold fair old Eichmond sitting in 
 her ashes. I went, however, surveyed the dismal wreck, 
 picked my way along streets, every foot of which I had 
 known so well, and saw them now piled with the debris 
 of the fire. I marked the sights of buildings where my 
 friends had their stores, and in which I had had the 
 happy liberty of going so often. Spoilsmen were climb- 
 ing over the crushed walls, scrambling through the ruins, 
 under their quenchless passion, for booty or for relics. 
 Now and then I met an old acquaintance or two standing 
 in the desert of the wreck viewing the places where their 
 business and their fortunes had been. Some seemed 
 held by a fascination which had in it dead hopes and 
 shattered purposes. Not one did I find who was cleaning 
 away the rubbish or preparing to rebuild. How could 
 they 1 They had nothing left. I never saw a spectacle so 
 grim and so disheartening, and yet there is a spring, a 
 self-recovering power in many souls, and some of those 
 men cracked their pathetic jokes, talked of better days 
 and did not seem at all ready to give up. I climbed the 
 hills towards Broad Street, which contained many of the 
 retail stores of the city and which had escaped the fire. 
 Most of these were shut up. Their owners had neither 
 stock nor capital. Here and there a shrewd settler, more 
 distinguished for enterprise than for a nice distinction 
 between meum and tuum, had taken possession of some 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 111 
 
 buildings aud was cryiug the virtues of Lis wares in the 
 ears of the passers-by. Already shifty and adventurous 
 Yankees, as if travelling in air-shii)S and bringing their 
 freight with them, were driving a trade for storerooms 
 and getting ready for business. As for markets there 
 were none. The country people had little to sell and 
 what they had they brought in carts and peddled from 
 door to door. The bulk of the houses were shut up, 
 locked and silent. As for the men they ambled aimlessly 
 along the street or bunched in idle groups at the corners 
 and looked seedy and suspicious. Parolled Confederates 
 were in sight everywhere, but in almost every case idle, 
 but after all they held up their heads the highest and 
 were of all the most cheery and contented. They had 
 done their best, and they who do that can never be mis- 
 erable afterwards. Blue coats were predominant and, as 
 for negroes, it looked as if Africa itself had been turned 
 up on one side and had emptied her millions upon us. 
 All that were in Richmond stayed, and all on the outside 
 got there as soon as they could. They owned the side- 
 walks and filled them to overflowing. 
 
 The resident streets were bare and showed few walkers 
 or riders. Blinds were shut and curtains drawn as if to 
 hide the sorrow within or to shut off the sight of the in- 
 vaders. Even in that extremity Sorrow demeaned herself 
 with dignity, and sometimes with a composure which 
 nothing could destroy. Ladies rarely appeared on the 
 streets and children shrank in mortal dread from the first 
 sights of the blue coats. How the people subsisted during 
 those early days is a mystery which pride veiled and which 
 no historian will ever tell. I knocked at the doors of 
 old friends, but it was hard to get replies. They were not 
 keeping an open house, and did not desire the company 
 of their impoverished relative from the country. Their 
 hopes had suffered an irretrievable collapse and they 
 
112 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 needed time for thoiiglit, readjustment and a renewed 
 love of life. 
 
 I am not sure that an outsider could hit off the exact 
 mood of the Southern people at the fall of the Confeder- 
 acy. Many of course think of it as a state of sullen and 
 bitter despair, carrying in it revenge and hatred towards 
 the conqueror. In the case of hard and unrelenting men 
 this was probably true enough their state of mind. It 
 was not the mood of the real soldiery nor of the unselfish 
 and devoted Confederate citizens. They were not built 
 for a thing so little and so despicable. 
 
 Of course the crash was grievous enough. It was a 
 flat fall, and with nothing left. But earnest and honest 
 men have a good bottom to rest upon. They have a con- 
 sciousness of rectitude and fidelity which is a fountain 
 that sometimes runs low but never runs dry. People of 
 that type know how to accept the inevitable ; indeed our 
 people had gone their length and when the end came it 
 was a distinct finality. What is after all more to the 
 point, the Southern people have deep wrought in them a 
 faith in a sovereign God, and the fall of the Southern 
 cause came as a revelation to them. It showed them that 
 their plans did not fit in with the divine purpose. The 
 Eichmond people naturally enough went into mourning ; 
 they were sore and broken, and their grief courted soli- 
 tude. It was not sulking in the tents but simply taking 
 a season for healing, submission to God and preparation 
 for the new order. There was sadness enough but not 
 the bitterness that many have thought. 
 
 Dr. Jeremiah B. Jeter was then one of the dominating 
 social and religious forces in the city of Richmond. The 
 strongest part of his life had been spent there, and his 
 soul went all along with the Confederacy in its historic 
 march to its fate. It was said of him that on a Sunday af- 
 ternoon just after the declaration of war a report came that 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 113 
 
 a Yankee gunboat was steaming up the river with a view 
 of shelling the city, and that the doctor when informed 
 of the fact seized an old rifle and put out bodily and alone 
 to confront the iron-clad foe. This impossible tradition 
 lacks historical backing, but it cleverly illustrates that 
 ardor and enthusiasm of this magnificent old Virginian. 
 
 In my memorable ramble through the desolate city I 
 called on the good Dr. Jeter, and to my great edification 
 I found him in a genial and happy mood. He had ac- 
 cepted the situation with equanimity and was about as 
 cheerful as he usually was. He was about the only man 
 who seemed to have a future and he had one with a grow 
 on the end of it, and before I got through with him I had 
 awakened to see that there were yet many good things to 
 come. My walk extended out to Eichmond College, my 
 alma mater, within whose walls and on whose campus 
 ^appy years had been spent. The distant sight of the 
 college sent sickness to my soul, for it reminded me of 
 the scores of my gallant brothers who had been among 
 the foremost in the fray, some of them attaining noble 
 distinctions and others of them dying chivalric and 
 honorable deaths. As I came nearer I saw the campus, 
 filled with Federal tents and the building looking like a 
 garrison castle. It was left without enclosures, with its 
 library gone, its furniture destroyed, and with a con- 
 stituency stripped, scattered and impoverished. To me 
 that was the most heartrending thing of all that reign 
 of ruins. I piloted my way back to Manchester, torn 
 by adverse passions, but with a new resoluteness as 
 to the future. The end of the war opened the gates of 
 the Federal prisons, and thousands of our Southern men 
 came back through Eichmond on their way home. Not 
 a few of them were dumped out of ships or from the 
 trains, covered with diseases, with scant clothing, in 
 many cases with wounds and in aU cases without rations 
 
114 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 or transportation. Many of them were tied up for weeks 
 in the city, and it was a pathetic struggle with them to 
 find a bed to sleep in or bread to eat. In my home I had 
 a cherished and a noble-hearted sister, already well ad- 
 vanced in life, and her soul cried out with pity for these 
 remnants of the lost cause. She watched the railroad 
 station and often brought in these prisoners to give them 
 a bed or to divide with them our scanty bread. Her 
 afi&nity for these unfortunate braves was enriched with 
 religion and it did seem impossible that one with so little 
 could help so many and help them so much. 
 
 One day this indefatigable woman walked in from the 
 near-by station escorting a limping ex- Confederate and 
 looking as proud as if she had captured the entire Federal 
 army. It turned out that her new conquest was an old 
 acquaintance from the fair hills of old Bedford, our own 
 proud nativity. A fine old citizen was he, known well 
 to us in brighter days, and much honored in his own 
 community, a private in the ranks, ever at the point of 
 danger when battles raged until fate sent him a prisoner 
 to Point Lookout. Bent, soiled, thin of face, marked 
 with diseases and ragged indeed. It made us proud to 
 welcome him and treat him as our own. A bed was 
 speedily prepared for him but he would none of it, say- 
 ing he had too much mercy for the bed to touch it, and 
 his refusal was flat and final. He was led to a lounge in 
 the parlor but again he refused with a sombre glee, in- 
 sisting that an inhabitant of Point Lookout had no right 
 in any Virginia parlor. Modestly he besought the mean 
 privilege of spreading his blankets into a pallet on the 
 back porch where he might bask in the April sunshine. 
 We quarrelled openly with him for trampling upon our 
 right to make him comfortable but he met it with a play- 
 fulness that revealed too plainly his feebleness. We 
 bantered him about his false pride, pictured to him the 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 115 
 
 welcome awaiting liiin in Bedford, and outlined the 
 delicacies stored away for him by his wife, and what a 
 spoiled fellow he would be when he got back home. In 
 all the jollity and merrymaking he joined right heartily, 
 but finally turning over on his side, he asked that he 
 might refresh himself with a little nap. In the mean- 
 while the ladies were bestirring themselves to beat up 
 something fit for the tired old Confederate to feast upon. 
 Presently the dinner-bell rang — rang all for him, and 
 things were made comfortable about his chair, but he did 
 not answer the call. The good sister claimed that she 
 alone should arouse him and bring him in. In a moment 
 she returned speechless except as her tears told the story. 
 The strained chord of life in the breast of the veteran had 
 snapped while he slept, and all the joys of his Bedford 
 home of which we had told him were denied him. 
 
 We had not a dollar in the house, but I went out, 
 begged some plank, begged a few nails, begged the 
 services of a carx)enter and went to our little cemetery 
 and took without begging space for a hero, and then 
 begged a cart and we walked together, a loving little 
 procession and put the body away. When winter came 
 on loved friends from Bedford came down, took up the 
 body, gave it a better coffin, carried it home to sleep in 
 the graveyard of his fathers. It was just one of the ten 
 thousand after-sorrows which came to Southern hearts 
 when the strife had already ceased. 
 
 One of the deacons in my church before the war was a 
 New Englander and he went home when the deadly noise 
 began. On the Sunday after the fall of Eichmond he 
 reappeared at the church, and he got looked at from 
 several different points of the compass. His presence 
 was a test of heart feeling. Some shied off their own 
 way and left him the rest of the earth. Some passed him 
 a bow with pendant icicles, some shook his hand, and as 
 
116 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 for myself I proudly shared in a small degree Tvith all 
 classes of tliem, but after we chatted a while, he looked 
 just like he used to look, and troops of pleasurable feel- 
 ings raced through me, and I invited him to dine with 
 me, and he looked in six or seven different ways and 
 finally said he would, and he did. We had a jolly time 
 and talked about everything except a little difference of 
 feeling which had existed between the two sections for 
 the preceding four years. Our friendship suffered no 
 shock, and we were much together after the war. 
 
 Just after the fall of the city President Lincoln came 
 to Eichmond. He came unannounced and his visit was 
 almost like the flitting of a spirit in the air. No one 
 knew that he was coming, few saw him while he was 
 there, nor knew when he went away. There were no 
 city authorities to welcome nor to refuse him welcome. 
 There was no opportunity for popular demonstration and 
 probably there would not have been any, for at that time 
 the people were not in a notion for any dramatic loyalty. 
 At the same time, of all the men of the North, not one 
 commanded so much of the respect and the good- will of 
 the people as did Abraham Lincoln. We respected him 
 then and during the days of reconstruction — more bitter 
 in some respects than the war itself— there were thou- 
 sands who wished that Lincoln was at the head of the 
 government, and as the years have come along with their 
 softening and balancing touch, one point of strength in 
 the restored union is the love and reverence felt in every 
 section of the country for that man of sorrows and of 
 strength, Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 A startling thing occurred in Richmond soon after the 
 fall of the city. A day of mourning in honor of Presi- 
 dent Lincoln was appointed by the Washington au- 
 thorities, and it was openly bruited about that Southern 
 people were in sympathy with the assassin. This was 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 117 
 
 the most bitter sting that ever pierced the Southern 
 heart. Our people had fought a clean, straight-out, 
 honorable war, and the intimation that after we had 
 grounded our arms we should be charged with approving 
 the fatal deed of Booth, was like a poisoned dagger in the 
 breasts of our people. 
 
 But Richmond arose to the occasion. One of her most 
 chivalrous and intrepid citizens, Eev. Dr. J. Lansing 
 Burrows, himself a native New Yorker, and pastor of 
 one of the great churches of the city, announced that his 
 church would observe the day of mourning. It brought 
 a situation so complex, so strange, that it fairly shook 
 the town. The day came and with it the people — the 
 blue, the gray and the black filled the old First Baptist 
 Church, and they heard perhaps the most majestic and 
 courageous address that ever rang out from an American 
 platform. The speaker had a word to say about the 
 army of the Eepublic and gave it its rightful meed of 
 praise ; he spoke of the South, her convictions, her sac- 
 rifices, her disasters, her final sorrows. He spoke of 
 Lincoln in well-chosen and sober words, giving him the 
 tribute that not all felt at that time was his, but did it so 
 delicately and so convincingly that there was general 
 response. Then it was that the eloquent climax came. 
 He took up the charge against the South as to its com- 
 plicity in the death of Lincoln, and it is no exaggeration 
 to say that the eloquence of that defense might rank with 
 the finest passages in the greatest addresses by the chief- 
 est orators of the world. 
 
 In ending this chapter it must be allowed me to describe 
 two scenes upon which my eyes were allowed to look, 
 and the memory of which abides undimmed in my soul 
 to this very hour. 
 
 The first was the passing of the victorious Northern 
 armies by my humble gate in the plain old town of Man- 
 
118 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 Chester as they were eD route for Washington City to be 
 disbanded. The first in the order of passing was the 
 army of General Grant which finished its work at Ap- 
 pomattox, and which, after gathering its scattered forces, 
 came through Eichmond. I had the privilege of sitting 
 upon my veranda and seeing this vast and admirably 
 equipped army pass before me. It took it practically 
 three full days to make the passage. I write at random 
 and with no claim of official accuracy. It was said at the 
 time that there were about one hundred and sixty-five 
 thousand men in the line. It embraced all branches of 
 the service and came through in full dress, as fine a 
 pageant as mortal eyes ever looked upon. Every brigade 
 had its band of music and hour after hour the tramp of 
 infantry, the clatter of the cavalry, the dull thunder of 
 the artillery and the steady beat of the drum made things 
 at once picturesque and impressive. Not long after the 
 passage of Grant's army, General Sherman's army came 
 on from the South, and really seemed in all respects fully 
 equal to the army of the Potomac. Perchance my vision 
 was twisted some, but truly I can say that the military 
 array was so imposing and tremendous, so significant of 
 strength and power that I felt after all it was not so bad 
 for the thinned and ragged and half-fed legions of the 
 South to be overcome in a contest so unequal. 
 
 But I saw another sight in connection with Richmond's 
 fall which I confess thrilled me a thousand times more 
 than all the glory of the victorious armies of the Republic. 
 It was a spectacle that broke upon me most unexpect- 
 edly ; it came while the heavens were black with storm 
 and the streets were wild with flooding rains. 
 
 What I saw was a horseman. His steed was bespat- 
 tered with mud, and his head hung down as if worn by 
 long travelling. The horseman himself sat his horse like 
 a master j his face was ridged with self-respecting griefs ; 
 
SITTING IN THE ASHES 119 
 
 his garments were worn in the service and stained with 
 travel ; his hat was slouched and spattered with mud and 
 only another unknown horseman rode with him, as if for 
 company and for love. Even in the fleeting moment of 
 his passing by my gate, I was awed by his incomparable 
 dignity. His majestic composure, his rectitude and his 
 sorrow, were so wrought and blended into his visage and 
 so beautiful and impressive to my eyes that I fell into 
 violent weeping. To me there was only one where this 
 one was ; there could be only one that day, and that one 
 was still my own revered and cherished leader, stain- 
 less in honor, resplendent and immortal even in defeat, 
 my own, my peerless chieftain, Eobert E. Lee. 
 
 In that lone way, in the midst of rain and mire, with 
 no crowds to hail him, with no resounding shouts to wel- 
 come him, with no banners flapping about him, did he 
 come back from disastrous war. But, ah ! we did not 
 know. Conquered and solitary he was, but yet he wore 
 invisible badges of victory ; he carried spoils of honor 
 and conquest which could never fail, and in every step of 
 bis sad moving he was marching forward to take his 
 place in the palace courts of universal fame. 
 
VII 
 
 A BRIEF SOJOURN IN BALTIMORE 
 
 AT the end of the Civil War the Franklin Square 
 Baptist Church of Baltimore underwent a strain 
 at once peculiar and acute. Its membership 
 while doctrinally and spiritually harmonious was much 
 divided on the issues of the war. They were largely 
 Southern in association, sympathy and commercial inter- 
 ests ; but quite a considerable element sided with the 
 Federal Union and joined in the movement to crush 
 secession. In spite of this fearful dissension the church 
 moved along quite smoothly until the end came. Several 
 young men of the church were in the Southern armies, 
 and after the surrender of the Southern armies they re- 
 turned to Baltimore and naturally enough attended the 
 chui'ch of which they were members. Soon after their 
 return the Lord's Supper was celebrated one Sunday 
 morning and these young men, gladly enough, undertook 
 to join in the solemn service. It so chanced that the 
 church officer who waited upon that part of the congre- 
 gation in which these young men sat was an uncompro- 
 mising adherent of the Union, and in his eyes it seemed 
 well-nigh sacrilegious for these young men who had 
 fought against the Union to share in the privileges of the 
 Supper. 
 
 Accordingly he took the matter into his own hands 
 and without the least disguise of his motive withheld the 
 bread and wine from these unrepentant rebels. This act 
 on the deacon's part kindled a fierce excitement. It 
 brought on a dissension so sharp and relentless that it 
 split the church, with the result that the Southern ele- 
 
 120 
 
A BRIEF SOJOURN IN BALTIMORE 121> 
 
 ment in the membership proved to be by large odds the 
 predominant party and the severe old deacon and his 
 sympathizers walked out. 
 
 I^aturally enough the victors turned their eyes towards 
 Dixie when they came to select a pastor. Their choice 
 fell upon me, but my inexperience joined with my de- 
 votion to my charge in Manchester caused me to de- 
 cline the call. I^early a year afterwards they repeated 
 their offer of the pastorate and on the 17th of March, 
 1867, I was installed as the pastor of the Franklin Square 
 Baptist Church. Of course I knew that my selection was 
 due in no small part to the fact that I was a Southern 
 man, and I could not forget that those who had quit the 
 church on sectional grounds would eye me with disfavor, 
 because I came at the bidding of those at whose hands 
 they had suffered a disastrous defeat. 
 
 By the time I reached Baltimore the war had been over 
 for nearly two years, and about all of the asperities which 
 had lodged in my soul had taken their flight. I caught 
 quite a number of wry glances from those who had gone 
 out of the church, but I made no note of them, and felt 
 rather sorry for the ill-used and dislodged brethren, and 
 even went to see them, and by degrees had a good time 
 with them. It was not very long before some of the 
 choicest of my Baltimore friends were among these aliens, 
 as they were somewhat reproachfully called, and I confess 
 that it gave me unspeakable satisfaction to see some of 
 them returning to the fold. 
 
 The church was not large but it was as choice a body 
 of Christian people as I ever knew. They were cordial, 
 harmonious, intelligent, and overflowing with kindness 
 and helpfulness towards me. The location of the church 
 and some defects in its construction were depressing to 
 me, but I fully persuaded myself that I was the happiest 
 being in all the earth, and that no other place on the 
 
122 ALONG^THE TRAIL 
 
 earth could ever tempt me to leave my homogeneous and 
 fascinating little charge in the Monumental City. "When 
 letters began to come to me concerning the pastorate of 
 the First Baptist Church in Petersburg, Ya., I almost 
 repelled them as imi^ertinent and impossible. When 
 however a committee with Col. David G. Potts as its 
 chairman cornered me, and uncovered before me the mag- 
 nificent opportunity which awaited me, and I saw with 
 the fullest conviction that my duty was there, I verily 
 believed that there never was and never could be a hap- 
 pier man than I was. I walked the mountain heights of 
 rapture. 
 
 A Virginian is a stark fool to everybody else except to 
 Virginians. Other people may feel as they please, but 
 only a Virginian knows how a Virginian feels. I had 
 fooled myself to death in believing that I was happy out 
 of Virginia, but the spirit of about twelve generations of 
 Virginians lay sullen and restless within me. It gave 
 me time to enjoy my delusions for a season, but when the 
 gateway of the Old Dominion flew open and I saw the 
 track clear and straight before me, I felt that the mil- 
 lennium was at hand. All this may sound like idiotic 
 prattle to the outsider, but let him rave. He doesn't 
 understand it at all. 
 
 But let me be just to Baltimore. It put its hooks into 
 me in a powerful fashion and has grappled me ever since. 
 Xot for one moment did I ever desire to live in Baltimore 
 or anywhere else on this mortal sphere outside of Vir- 
 ginia, but Baltimore is great and unsurpassed in its 
 hospitality, its public spirit and quenchless courage. 
 Kot one of all the ministers, resident there then, remains 
 to greet me now. In those days the star of the Baltimore 
 pulpits was Eichard Fuller, kingly in form, the soul of 
 eloquence, and preeminent among the sons of the South* 
 To him I must devote a chapter. 
 
VIII 
 
 RICHARD FULLER AS I SAW HIM 
 
 THE Southern Baptist Convention lield its meet- 
 ing in Eichmond, Ya., in IMay, 1859. The 
 reader will recall I had been out of college just 
 one year, and was pastor in Manchester. Then for the 
 first time I saw the convention. What whetted my 
 interest in the meeting was a Baptist caucus, if I may 
 call it so, which I attended the day the convention opened. 
 It was held in the Second Baptist Church of Eichmond, 
 and was composed of the Virginia delegates to the con- 
 vention. It came out in the caucus that the Graves- 
 Howeli imbroglio, which was then at its acutest stage, 
 was to lift its monstrous head in the coming convention, 
 and we were asked to act together when the crisis came. 
 We all agreed that we would vote for Dr. E. B. C. Howell 
 for the presidency, as that seemed the bloody angle of 
 the contention. I believe it was indicated to us that 
 Dr. Howell would not serve if elected, but that in order 
 to express sympathy with him we would vote for him 
 and then he, in the interest of peace, after being sus- 
 tained by the convention, would graciously retire. I 
 being a novus homo of the smallest dimensions, and not 
 only a stranger to fortune and to fame, but to nearly 
 everybody else in the crowd, counted myself quite 
 fortunate in finding a seat on the floor of the platform 
 in front of the pulpit with my face towards the audience. 
 It was all a raw and unmeasured occasion to me. I cast 
 my vote and landed my man, and also heard Dr. Howell 
 read a decidedly dull paper setting forth the pros and cons 
 
 123 
 
124 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 of the vexatious situation. After action had been taken 
 upon his declinature some man, whose name cannot be re- 
 called, nominated Dr. Richard Fuller for the presidency. 
 I would probably have felt a deeper interest in the elec- 
 tion but for the fact that there was a stalwart man sitting 
 by me with a mountainous head, an exceedingly rugged 
 face, a shock of hair tousled to the point of confusion, and 
 two of the most restless arms that I had ever seen at- 
 tached to one man. I would have marked him for an 
 untra veiled mountaineer, but for his incomparable eyes. 
 They shot and flashed and glowed almost to my terror. 
 I could not think he was much of a somebody or he would 
 not have been located on that comfortless seat. Pres- 
 ently it was announced that Dr. Fuller had been made 
 president and he was summoned to the upper platform. 
 The breath fairly took leave of my body when the rugged 
 and restless stranger at my side rose to his feet and 
 ascended to the pulpit. At once, even as gawky and un- 
 tutored a sprig of the ministry as I was, I could see that the 
 new president was ill at ease, and felt that he was entering 
 strange waters. He ventured a few remarks, only one of 
 which hung to the limbs of my mind, and that was to the 
 effect that he intended to run the convention according 
 to the new commandment, — a promise which he verily 
 kept, though it was to the undoing of about all the 
 parliamentary laws invented up to that time. The body 
 adjourned just after his election and it was bruited about 
 that the kingly old doctor spent the entire night in brood- 
 ing over Jefferson's Manual, thus seeking to fit himself 
 for his official responsibilities. 
 
 It is with all reverence and with an admiration for 
 the man, that I here put it on record that I believe that 
 he was the most wretched presiding officer that I ever 
 saw at the head of a great body and nothing but his im- 
 perturbable humor and his exhaustless graciousness saved 
 
KICHARD FULLER AS I SAAV HIM 125 
 
 the body from anarchy. One brother arose and raised a 
 point of order, stating it in quite an involved and equivo- 
 cal way and Dr. Fuller, after looking at him blankly 
 and helplessly, said, "My dear brother, will you not in 
 the interest of the kingdom we love withdraw that mat- 
 ter ? '^ It was evident that the doctor didn't know what 
 to do about it, and the disgruntled brother after a little re- 
 monstrance solved the situation by taking the thing back. 
 A Scotchman, amiable, a lover of peace and a little 
 given to flying off at a tangent, offered a resolution to 
 the effect that we must all pray for the Baptist editors. 
 It was a time when they needed to be prayed for. They 
 were given in those days to pitiless personalities and all 
 sorts of acrimonious conflicts. Dr. Fuller did not know 
 what to do with the motion, and he stood for well-nigh a 
 minute, a very king in his grandeur and finally said, 
 ^' Well, now, my dear Brother Francis, we will think about 
 that matter. ' ' The convention burst into convulsions and 
 Brother Francis and his motion went down unwept. 
 At many points the convention came to the verge of dis- 
 aster. The two elements were full of passion and not a 
 few of them eager for the fray. Dr. Fuller's great soul, 
 filled with spiritual mastery, floated the convention on 
 peaceful seas, guarding against every rising storm and 
 after all brought things to a nobler conclusion than any 
 rigid parliamentarian could possibly have done. On 
 Sunday morning Dr. Fuller preached his imperial ser- 
 mon on "Thomas" in the pulpit of the First Baptist 
 Church. Possibly excepting his matchless sermon on 
 " The lifting up of Christ" at the opening of the conven- 
 tion in Baltimore when he was a younger man, he never 
 preached so powerfully as he did at that time in Rich- 
 mond. I as a pastor in Manchester could not of 
 course hear him, but I could hear hardly anything else 
 during the rest of the convention but what people were 
 
126 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 sayiug about the sermon. He was pictorial, vivid, agile, 
 reckless, thrill ing and irresistible. Some of his pictures 
 fairly lifted the people from their seats and I can truly 
 say that for thirty years the people who heard that ser- 
 mon never ceased to talk about it. Next to that I should 
 say that his sermon on "The everlasting kingdom" at 
 Ealeigh, N. C, at the time the convention met there was 
 the most eloquent and effective. It was there that he 
 drew with a master' s hand the picture of the angel flying 
 with the everlasting Gospel, in the midst of which he cried 
 in his rich and charming voice, " Fly faster, fly faster, oh, 
 angel, fly faster." (Just before the sermon the news had 
 gone forth of the death of Dr. A. M. Poindexter of Vir- 
 ginia, one of the most passionate and sterling preachers 
 in all the South and the people were profoundly afflicted 
 by the death of such an illustrious man.) 
 
 Dr. Fuller, instinct with eloquence, wild in the very 
 abandon of his speech, after seeking to cheer the angel 
 onward to speedier flight, stopped for a second as if dis- 
 appointed and said : " But oh, angel, if you cannot fly 
 faster, call Poindexter, newly arrived in the realms of 
 glory, give him the message and bid him take it around 
 the world. ' ^ 
 
 That strain of eloquence rang through the South like a 
 charge to the Lord's host. People talked of it every- 
 where. Preachers told about it in the pulpit. Again 
 and again it went the rounds of the papers and even to 
 the present time you may meet in going through the 
 South some white-haired man who will tell you of Fuller's 
 great sermon at Ealeigh. It is no reproach to say that 
 Fuller had his varying moods. He was not always at 
 his best, though justice would be offended if I did not 
 say that those who heard him the most set him, far above 
 all comers, the unrivalled chieftain in the kingdom of 
 speech. When I accepted the call to the pastorate in Balti- 
 
EICHAED FULLER AS I SAW HIM 127 
 
 more it quite surprised me that a number of men volun- 
 teered to warn me against Dr. Fuller. They said that he 
 was aristocratic, exclusive, had no sympathy with young 
 men and that I might look out. Several men who had 
 been pastors in Baltimore told me how they went to 
 Baltimore largely with the thought of catching the spirit 
 and sharing the fellowship of Dr. Fuller, but that they 
 found, him inaccessible and quite a lot of other things 
 that had made them quite sick. In some way the warn- 
 ing did not fall very forcibly on me. I was a young and 
 obscure thing and was going to what was practically a 
 suburban church and I had never thought of Dr. Fuller 
 and myself on the same day. I didn't expect him to take 
 much notice of me and would indeed have been rather 
 embarrassed if I had thought I would be brought into 
 any active contact with him. To one of these brethren I 
 recall that I said bluntly that I did not expect to sleep 
 with Dr. Fuller when I got to Baltimore and that I was 
 sure that I would expect nothing of him that he did not 
 choose to do for me. It was in this mood that I went to 
 Baltimore feeling myself only a young colt and with no 
 conscious desire to be yoked with the great Baptist lion 
 of America. 
 
 After reaching Baltimore I was very solemnly warned 
 by a demonstrative brother not to expect anything of 
 Dr. Fuller or else I was doomed to humiliating disap- 
 pointments. 
 
 They had quite an imposing welcome service at Frank- 
 lin Square soon after I entered upon my work there. 
 When they handed me a copy of the programme I found 
 that Dr. Fuller was the magna pars of the occasion. He 
 preached the sermon, — strong, stirring and full of grace 
 and he dropped in several kindly references to the young 
 Virginian which, in spite of my evident duty to feel that 
 he was against me, had quite a genial and gladdening 
 
128 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 tone. It did make me feel that possibly after all he 
 would not be hopelessly cruel in his treatment of me, 
 though I was in no expectant mood and therefore not a 
 candidate for disappointment. 
 
 A few weeks after my work began, the servant came to 
 my study with a card and on it was the name of Eichard 
 Fuller. Naturally enough I thought that if he had any- 
 thing against me doomsday had come, but with no con- 
 scious misgiving I entered the parlor and I verily believe 
 that the most unique, interesting, heart-warming hand- 
 shake that up to that time had come to me was that given 
 by Dr. Fuller. There was not too much of it and not 
 too little,— just enough to make it feel inexpressibly re- 
 freshing. His way of calling me ^'Brother Hatcher'^ 
 was peculiar and I was foolish enough to feel that there 
 were warmth, sincerity and possibly some love back of it. 
 He talked to me about the preachers in Baltimore and 
 had a good word for every one of them. By degrees he 
 veered around to Franklin Square. I had been told that 
 he was not a friend of Franklin Square and that if I 
 hustled too vigorously in the interest of that church I 
 might feel the stroke of his antagonism. He told me the 
 church had good people in it, had a good location, a good 
 future. He did not promise me anything and in no 
 measure did he seek to coddle me. 
 
 The visit was not long and he ended it rather suddenly 
 by saying that he would like for us to pray together. 
 Not that I was asked to take any open part in the pray- 
 ing and for that matter it did not occur to me that I 
 would. But oh, that prayer ! In its beauty and ardor 
 and tenderness it might have gone for a poem. It was 
 uttered in a low voice, a voice that trembled with emotion 
 more than once, and it asked the Lord to do some things 
 for me that I hadn't thought of, and which I felt I would 
 be the gladdest in the world if the Lord only would. 
 
RICHARD FULLER AS I SA\y HIM 129 
 
 When he regained his feet, he gave me his hand,— an- 
 other memorable grasp, and moved out of the room with 
 not another word. 
 
 Now I may have been a young fool, — possibly I was. 
 It may be that my country-born soul had some impulses 
 of pride that this eminent man had done me the honor 
 of coming to see me. I may have been deceitful enough 
 to be glad that after all the warnings that had been 
 handed me unsought, the doctor had actually come 
 to see me. But to the best of my soul's truthfulness I do 
 not believe that any of those feelings were things of con- 
 sciousness with me. I am sure I never told any one of 
 the men who warned me anything that would have sug- 
 gested that Fuller had been better to me than he had 
 been to them. But let me say with all frankness that 
 that visit had in it so much of a man and was so courtly, 
 so delicate, so free from patronage and so rich in 
 brotherly cheer that I could have gone out on the hills 
 and shouted all by myself. 
 
 I never went to Dr. Fuller's home,' though I am sure 
 that he invited me to come to see him. I wasn't afraid 
 to go and yet it looked like it wasn't worth while. I was 
 afraid that I might break in some time when his great 
 brain was running on full time and interrupt him. But 
 let me say in justice to myself that whenever there was an 
 opening I made it a point to approach him and never in 
 any case found him in any wise but cordial and accessible. 
 
 It was generally understood that Dr. Fuller was at 
 times reticent and impatient. He could not bear inter- 
 ruption when he was closely engaged. He had a lordly 
 eminence and many sought his notice for the glory of be- 
 ing noticed, and he was also reputed to be extremely rich 
 and the path to his door was kept hot by the swift feet 
 of mendicants. People broke in upon him at all times j 
 his hospitality was sought by those who had no claim 
 
130 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 and even on the street he was waylaid and besieged by 
 those who desired his influence or his bounty. It is pos- 
 sible that these things touched his nerves and made him 
 irritable. It must be admitted too that Fuller had the 
 kingly nature. He felt himself apart from the common 
 herd and thought himself justified in rei3elling offensive 
 intruders. He looked upon his time as the most valuable 
 part of his capital, and those who would rob him of that 
 he sometimes treated as enemies. I heard occasional 
 hints that his table was not easily accessible. I believe 
 that it was said that his wife during much of her life was 
 frail and he guarded her against the undue oppression of 
 company. All of these things may have served to color 
 in some measure the charges of the disappointed that he 
 was cross, exclusive and disagreeable. As a fact all men 
 of greatness have to hedge themselves about for self-pro- 
 tection and they have a right to do it. Mr. Spurgeon 
 himself the soul of hospitality and the ardent lover of his 
 race had only certain hours when the gates of his wel- 
 come were unlocked and even the average pastor is con- 
 strained to economize his time and draw lines against the 
 public. 
 
 Yet Ei chard Fuller was a man for company. He had 
 an almost inexhaustible fund of humor. His anecdotes 
 were innumerable ; his dramatic talent was of the highest 
 order and there were times when he fairly sold himself to 
 laughter and to fun. His power of retort was usually on 
 duty and was a thing of terror to those who once pro- 
 voked it. 
 
 On one occasion I took part with him in the anniver- 
 sary of a young men's society in the First Baptist Church. 
 Dr. J. W. M. Williams, for many years pastor of that 
 church, and a most laborious and useful minister, could 
 not let an occasion pass without seeking to crack his 
 jokes at the expense of his illustrious old neighbor. 
 
RICHARD FULLER AS I SAW HIM 131 
 
 The name of the society that was celebrating was ^'The 
 Pastor's Body-Guard," and the schedule called for three 
 speeches, one from myself, one from Fuller and one from 
 Dr. Williams. I was scared to the very marrow in my 
 bones by the presence of Dr. Fuller j I was a young 
 foolish thing anyway and had never been on the plat- 
 form with him before. Indeed I suppose I was put on to 
 fill up and they worked me off early in the action. I 
 blew my tremulous little bugle and shrank out of notice. 
 
 Then came Fuller in one of the most exquisite, fitting, 
 soul-moving addresses that my ear ever heard or my soul 
 ever feasted upon. I had never heard anything from him 
 or from anybody that surpassed it. His theme, respon- 
 sive to the name of the society, was ' ' How to Guard the 
 Pastor" and he spoke of the pastor's body, the pastor's 
 feelings, the pastor's name and the pastor's usefulness, 
 telling in aptest phrase how to guard him. The miracle 
 of the address was in his adroit and delicate commenda- 
 tion of the pastor. Even after all these years it seems to 
 me at this moment that I never heard a man so delicately 
 praised and so beautifully exalted as was Dr. Williams 
 by that address. 
 
 Then it was that Dr. Williams took the platform in his 
 brusque and offhand way. ''I see," said he, ''that you 
 have me down for an address to-night, but I beg to inform 
 you that you will not get it and that for two reasons ; 
 first because I have no address and second because you 
 have already had enough, and what you have had was 
 good. Both of your speakers have given good ad- 
 dresses ; indeed I can say of both of them that they have 
 made the finest addresses that I have ever heard from 
 them before in my life. This may not mean so much in 
 Brother Hatcher's case as I never heard him before, but 
 he is all right ; but I can say the same of Dr. Fuller. 
 His was the best address by far that I ever heard from 
 
132 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 him iu my life, and the best because the shortest. To 
 tell the truth, Dr. Fuller, I never heard you make a short 
 address before. I never read of you making a short ad- 
 dress and no friend of yours ever chanced to mention to 
 me that he had heard you make a short address ; but 
 actually you have made a short address to-night, — the 
 shortest I ever heard you make and your shortest is the 
 best." 
 
 There was a swing and dash in the way AYilliams put it 
 that rather pleased the crowd and provoked considerable 
 laughter. For my part I thought that it was a little too 
 decided in its critical feature. But I supposed that 
 Fuller would let it pass unnoticed. Believe it not ! 
 After just enough seconds had elapsed for people to 
 feel the silence Dr. Fuller said, ''Ah, Williams, I un- 
 derstand you perfectly. My address to-night was best 
 in your sight because it praised you the most." 
 
 It was the fall of a trip-hammer. The old Bound Top 
 Church was nigh on to shaking with the effect of Fuller's 
 unpitying retort. The incident fell with a slightly grat- 
 ing effect upon me if not upon others, though the sym- 
 pathy went to Fuller and the laugh was on Williams. 
 Now, Dr. Fuller was dramatic to a fault. A distinguished 
 woman said that Dr. Fuller was an actor by nature and 
 practice, and that she rather thought that in the long run 
 the practice got the better of nature, by which I suppose 
 she meant that Dr. Fuller's acting became an art in 
 which, she said, she sometimes caught him. He was 
 superb indeed in his moments of highest inspiration in 
 fittiug his actions to his thoughts, sometimes indeed 
 staying his words and communicating with his audi- 
 ence almost exclusively through his performances. A 
 rare bit of the dramatic came out later on in the meet- 
 ing mentioned above at the First Church. There was a 
 collection for the benefit of the society in whose interest 
 
RICHARD FULLER AS I SAW HIM 133 
 
 the services were held. As the collectors came up the 
 aisle Dr. Fuller said iu a way all his own, " Young man, 
 bring your basket this way," which, of coui'se, the young 
 man hastened to do. Dr. Fuller kept him waiting long 
 enough to attract attention, and then slowly thrusting his 
 fingers into his vest pocket, he pulled out something and 
 held it up rather conspicuously. ''What I hold in my 
 hand," he said, ''gives me trouble. Just before I left 
 home to-night a plain and rather sorrowful looking man 
 came to my house and asked for me. When I entered the 
 parlor I found that he had a woman with him, and with 
 evident signs of confusion he told me that they desired to 
 be married. I had my opinion as to the wisdom of such 
 a proceeding on their part, but their ripened age and 
 notable louesomeness of manner forestalled any objections 
 I might make, and so I pronounced the word which 
 turned twain into one. I followed them to the door 
 when they left, to show them out and in the good-bye 
 hand- shake of the man he left this piece of money in my 
 hand. I really felt that he needed it more, in view of his 
 new burden, than I did, but he got away without my re- 
 turning it. It is almost like conscience money to me and 
 I think that I will feel better to get rid of it." 
 
 With that he dropped the note into the basket. Chafed 
 and chagrined as Dr. Williams had been by his very 
 recent passage with the doctor, he felt that he was willing 
 to try it again, and so in a tone of well dissembled rebuke 
 he told the doctor that he ought not to have taken the 
 money and emphasized it with many added and vehement 
 words. 
 
 Dr. Fuller dropped his eyes and looked momentously 
 guilty and for exactly the requisite number of seconds 
 Williams chuckled with exultant glee. "Well, Brother 
 Williams," he said, " I thought of that and for a time I 
 felt impelled to refuse to take the money, but then it oc- 
 
134 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 curred to me that if I did that it would go abroad that I 
 was marrying people without the price and I knew that 
 your people would hear of it and that your occupation 
 would be gone." 
 
 Not Garrick at his best could have uttered and acted 
 the thing more inimitably than Fuller did it. The effect 
 was electric. The crowd fairly shouted in their extrava- 
 gant laughter and Fuller was the master of the field. 
 
 I met Dr. Fuller a number of times while a member of 
 the Executive Board of the Maryland Baptists, and once 
 or twice we sat together. It would hardly be too much 
 to say that during the dull routine parts of the meeting 
 the doctor ran a little entertainment of his own. His 
 ludicrous comments, his playful ''asides," and sometimes 
 his scathing satires amply filled the lonesome spaces of 
 the evening. When, however, a matter of living interest 
 arose to the attention of the company he was alert, quick 
 with good suggestions and eager to help on the cause. 
 Perhaps the most memorable sight I had of Dr. Fuller was 
 when at one of these meetings he was convulsed with 
 laughter. At that time the white and the negro Baptists 
 worked together and there belonged to the Board a vener- 
 able, consequential and exceedingly self-complacent old 
 negro preacher. The point under discussion was as to 
 the starting of another negro church, not very far from 
 the location of this old minister's church. He was asked 
 to give his opinion as to the advisability of the new en- 
 terprise. He spoke in outright opposition to the move- 
 ment, and by his intense antagonism excited the resent- 
 ment of one of the white members of the Board. 
 
 ''That's the way with Baltimore Baptists," said the 
 irate member. "They all want the whole hog. Their 
 motto is to get everything and give nothing. Their 
 church is the centre and everything must come that way." 
 
 It was a stunning blow, whether deserved or not, but 
 
RICHARD FULLER AS I SAW HIM 135 
 
 the old negro pastor rose to the occasion and, with tow- 
 ering indignation, he made reply, ''My church, I want 
 you all to know, is no jail ; we got no chains to fasten 
 our members down. De principul on which I has my 
 church to work is dat every man is lef to act accordin' to 
 his own indervidual discrepancy." 
 
 The thiug dropped red-hot from his lips and fell with a 
 weight of fall twelve pounds. The peals of laughter dis- 
 solved the tensity of the moment, and none went higher 
 in peals of hilarity than Dr. Fuller. He might act but 
 there was a great responsive soul in him that was touched 
 by every throb of human life. 
 
 I must admit that the doctor was rather pitiless in his 
 jokes at the expense of others, — sometimes cruelly so, I 
 thought. 
 
 I was invited to address a young men's association in the 
 Seventh Church of which Dr. Fuller was then the pastor. 
 I selected the very formidable theme : — '' Self- Apprecia- 
 tion," and naturally enough I had something to say about 
 defective, and yet more about excessive, self-appreciation 
 and naturally enough had made some attempts at least to 
 hit off certain phases of the excessive self- appreciation of 
 young men. I sat down in a sick perspiration and free 
 at least from any danger of over-appreciating myself 
 for a good while to come, for it was simply impossible 
 for me to feel that anything I could possibly say was fit 
 to say in the presence of Dr. Fuller. 
 
 As I took my seat some man, unbefriended by organ 
 or piano, attempted to start a hymn. He hit it in the 
 wrong place and it wouldn't go ; he tried it on another 
 key, got it wrong, quivered, bawled, balked, and 
 tumbled into silence. Dr. Fuller broke the oppression 
 and nearly broke the heart of the man by saying, '' Just 
 one more case of excessive self- appreciation." Truly it 
 was the barbarism of humor, but the inhumanity of map 
 
136 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 was amply manifested in the uproarious laughter with 
 which the doctor's remark was followed. 
 
 During my pastorate at the Franklin Square Church 
 quite a number of families from the Seventh Church de- 
 cided to come to Franklin Square. In every case, so far 
 as I can recall, I suggested that they would not apply 
 for their letters without first making known their purpose 
 to Dr. Fuller. They acted upon my counsel, and they 
 brought me delightful reports as to the warmth with 
 which he encouraged them to come up and help Brother 
 Hatcher build up Franklin Square. One or two of these 
 families were prominent and wealthy and devoted friends 
 of Dr. Fuller, and yet they assured me that Dr. Fuller 
 bade them get their letters and come to our help. I say 
 this all the more willingly because there was an impres- 
 sion made that Dr. Fuller thought more of his own 
 church than he did of the Baptist cause in Baltimore. I 
 understood well enough that it was not for myself as a 
 matter of personal partiality that he did this, but for a 
 denomination of which he was not only a princely mem- 
 ber, but an ardent lover. 
 
IX 
 
 SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 
 
 IT was a curious conviction which landed me in the 
 city of Petersburg. My Baltimore pastorate was 
 almost ideal in its comforts, its congenialities and its 
 outlook. It was a small charge but a choice people and 
 they commanded my heart. 
 
 I dare not use the word ''success" in connection with 
 any part of my life. I am so vexed even in the fairest 
 recollections of my work, by my ever-deepening sense of 
 inadequacy and unfaithfulness, that I am afraid to admit, 
 even to myself, that I could safely speak of my success in 
 any of the graver undertakings of my life. I can say, 
 however, that my joy in my labors which I wrought 
 in Petersburg, under the powerful conviction that car- 
 ried me there, was something closely akin to bliss itself. 
 I look back now and think of the people, not a half dozen 
 of whom still remain on the earth, who welcomed me 
 when I went there ; but how could I ever forget them 1 
 There was Col. David G. Potts, a gentleman in every 
 fibre of his being, flawless in his loyalty to his young 
 pastor, and almost riotous in the spending of his money 
 in the interest of his church and his Lord. And surely 
 there was never a more helpful or delightful woman in 
 any church than was the wife of this glorious Christian 
 worker. There, too, were deacons B. F. Eobinson and 
 Frank Eobertson with their devout and consecrated 
 families. There were the Eopers,— Leroy Eoper, an 
 ardent lover of his church but without public gifts, and 
 his devoted sons, Emmett and Bartlett, who lived and 
 
 137 
 
138 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 toiled so uobly with me. There was Mrs. Thomas Wallace 
 and her sister, Mrs. Fisher, whose courage and loyalty al- 
 most made the church at the first, and whose lives adorned 
 it, and whose deaths glorified it. Then there were the 
 Clements, the Lehmeyers, the Steels, and many more whose 
 memories are unspeakably precious to me, and who stood 
 at the gate to welcome me and stood by me until my task 
 was done. Nor can I forget the hundreds who joined the 
 church during my pastorate, too many to mention here, 
 and yet of them I must not fail to mention the Sewards, 
 the Budds, the Woodys, the Bonds, the Whitlys, the 
 Garlands and ever so many more whose devotion and 
 Christian ardor gave brightness to my life, and added 
 immeasurably to the strength and effectiveness of the 
 service which I rendered the church. I believe that I 
 could say that I never suffered the pang of any wounding 
 word that was spoken to me during my Petersburg pas- 
 torate by any member of the church. If I could give 
 freedom to my pen it would sketch scores of the choicest 
 of earth that entered into the constituency of that church, 
 on whose strength I leaned, on whose bounty I feasted, 
 and on whose memories I find it sadly sweet often to 
 dwell. 
 
 Petersburg itself is a unique and notable city. Its 
 people constitute its glory. They are almost preeminent 
 for hospitality, friendliness and happy consideration for 
 their pastors. My pastorate connected me by strong 
 Christian ties with Norfolk and Portsmouth, and all that 
 tide country of southern Virginia, on the bordei^ of 
 which Petersburg stood. 
 
 While pastor at Petersburg, I was a member of a local 
 missionary body, called the Portsmouth Association. It 
 was not very long after the war, and many of our churches 
 had not recovered from the shock and wreck of the war, 
 which so thoroughly devastated that part of Virginia. 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 139 
 
 One moruiDg tlie clerk of the association was calling the 
 roll of churches and when he cried the name of Shiloh, 
 the curt old moderator said, '^ Don't call Shiloh ; Shiloh 
 is dead.^' Under a painful imi^ulse I sprang to my feet. 
 
 ^'What is that?" I asked, with excited feeling. 
 "Shiloh dead? There is something awfully contradict- 
 ory in talking about the death of Shiloh. When did she 
 die ? What was the matter with her ? How long was 
 she sick? Who waited on her during her illness? 
 Where was she buried ? Have any flowers been planted 
 around her grave ? Any monument built for her ? " 
 
 The moderator did not seem to be noticeably sympa- 
 thetic with my interruption of the roll-call, and said that 
 he thought it would be very well to appoint the brother 
 to visit the grave of the dead church. 
 
 " No, sir ! " I replied, hotly. " I would be afraid to go. 
 I am somewhat superstitious and believe in ghosts, and if 
 I were to go to the grave of a dead church, I would ex- 
 pect to see the dance of devils in full operation around 
 the tomb." 
 
 Another man arose and expressed the hope that a com- 
 mittee would be appointed, and they appointed myself 
 and that friend of my soul, Eev. A. E. Owen, then a 
 young man but afterwards one of the most distinguished 
 ministers in that part of Virginia, to visit the neighbor- 
 hood and to preach the doctrine of the Resurrection. I 
 had no thought as to the location of the extinct church, 
 and was surjirised to find that it was not far from the city 
 of Petersburg. The following summer we determined to 
 visit the neighborhood and sent a notice out to that effect. 
 The reply came back that the church was utterly extinct 
 and the house in ruins. Word was returned that we were 
 coming just the same. Then another report came back 
 that ''the community was too poor to support a pro- 
 tracted meeting." To that, answer was given that we 
 
140 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 would briug our owu rations and take care of ourselves. 
 I was to leave the city at six o'clock on Monday morn- 
 ing, go out twenty miles, be entertained at breakfast, and 
 driven to tlie church. 
 
 It so happened that my associate could not go and I 
 found it necessary to go alone. Meanwhile, the good 
 citizens had been greatly chagrined that such ill -bom 
 reports had been sent out from the neighborhood and 
 they were put on their mettle. In good time my young 
 friend drove me through the woods to the old church and 
 a great surprise awaited me. True, the building itself 
 had a look of neglect and bore many marks of dilapida- 
 tion, but the yard had been nicely cleaned up, ever so 
 many lunch tables had been built beneath the trees and 
 the yard was dotted with groups of men who were there 
 to attend the service. I sprang out of the buggy and 
 walked to the side door of the house, near which a group 
 of men were standing. 
 
 ''Good-morning, gentlemen," I said, without waiting 
 for any word of greeting or introduction. *' I am a min- 
 ister of Jesus Christ ; I hear that the church at this place 
 is dead and I have come to sound the trumpet of life and 
 the resurrection. If any of you have a welcome for me, I 
 would like to grasp your hand." 
 
 With simple but hearty cordiality they pressed around 
 me and introduced one another to me. 
 
 As soon as the hand-shake was over, I stepped up into 
 the side door. The house was more than half full of 
 ladies and I struck at once the hymn ''Come Thou Fount 
 of Every Blessing," using the old-time tune of Greenville 
 and sang the first stanza as a solo, which, if not melodi- 
 ous, was manifestly enough exciting — sang it as I went 
 from the door to the pulpit and was setting down my 
 baggage and pulling off my linen duster. Before begin- 
 ning the second stanza I invited others to join in, but 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 141 
 
 there was such an eager inrush of men that the second 
 stanza got very little beyond a solo. Then I stopped and 
 told them to stand up and sing the last stanza. The last 
 one of them seemed to know it and the rusty old shingles 
 on the roof fairly rattled under the power of the choral 
 song. Good people of all names and from several neigh- 
 borhoods were there. We had all-day meetings up to 
 Friday evening. I got on the track of only three of the 
 former members of the church, one a venerable woman 
 no longer able to travel, the second an epileptic and the 
 third had denied the faith. On Saturday morning I 
 counted up those who handed in their names for a new 
 organization and they footed up fifty -six. 
 
 A little afterwards the other brother of the committee, 
 Eev. Mr. Owen, and others went with me out to the con- 
 stitution of the church and Shiloh had come again. The 
 fruits of that meeting were rich to a wondrous degree. 
 Not only did the church reorganize, but it became strong, 
 united and great-hearted, and from it went out young men 
 and young women who became eminent in commerce. In 
 education, in the learned professions and in Christian 
 service. 
 
 It was but a little part that I was allowed to have in 
 the remaking of the church, for I was whipped off in 
 other directions and never was there afterwards, but I 
 heard of its beautiful house of worship, of the glad light 
 which it was shedding far and wide and met many of its 
 scattered sons as I went, hither and thither, in the dis- 
 charge of the happy duties of my ministry. 
 
 Not very long after the Civil War, and while pastor at 
 Petersburg, I attended a great gathering in the county of 
 Sussex, Va., held with the old Antioch Baptist Church. 
 At that time, foreign missions was at a low ebb in the 
 South. The people were impoverished, they had little or 
 
142 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 no literature, their churches were sorely strained to keep 
 up expenses, money was scarce, and, as a fact, very many 
 of the chui'ches were making no offerings for missionary 
 purposes. A request came that a collection for mission- 
 ary purposes should be taken and I was requested to ask 
 for the rather pitiable sum of $100, though many at that 
 time thought it would be impossible to get the money. 
 The appeal was made and we found that we had $97. 
 There was a rugged, over- candid old gentleman, a mem- 
 ber of that church, who was an avowed opponent of 
 foreign missions. He sat on the front bench and main- 
 tained a ferocious silence during the effort to get the 
 money. Some one said that we must not stop until the 
 whole amount was made up and I said, under a momentary 
 Impulse, that I was going to spend the night with this 
 old gentleman and that I would get the rest of the money 
 from him. His retort was almost in the nature of a 
 taurine bellow. His face flamed with fury. 
 
 '^ I would like to see anybody get anything from me for 
 foreign missions," he said with the thundering emphasis 
 of finality. 
 
 '^ All right," I replied cheerily, ''I will let you take a 
 look at that neat operation to-night." 
 
 When I arrived at his gate, in company with others, it 
 was raining heavily and he appeared on his veranda and 
 gave the party a royal welcome, adding that he would be 
 glad to see me — only on the condition that I would say 
 nothing about the three dollars. I stopped at the gate 
 and, turning to the friend who had brought me, I asked 
 if he would take me to another place and he said that he 
 would. I said to the old man with utmost good humor 
 but with very distinct earnestness that I bade him good- 
 night, as I did not feel willing to accei)t his hospitality 
 under such an invitation. Instantly he sprang from the 
 porch and with good-will withdrew the condition, giving 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 143 
 
 me full liberty to talk about whatever I chose, and reserv- 
 ing to himself the right to do as he felt proper under any 
 appeal that I might make. I felt that I had scored on 
 the spot and we gathered in the parlor and for an hour 
 had an almost roistering case of old Virginia hospitality. 
 Everything was fitted for entertainment to the nicest point, 
 and the company entered with ardor into the joys of the 
 evening. 
 
 In due course supper was announced and about twenty 
 or more of us sat down to a table literally loaded with all 
 the choice things that that fruitful part of Virginia could 
 afford. The meal went off with famous success and in 
 some way, probably by a little electioneering on my part, 
 I became the organ for expressing the gratitude of the 
 company to the host for his rare entertainment. I spoke 
 of the riches of the i)rovision, the elegance of the feast, the 
 reign of hospitality and so on, and closed by saying that 
 as I thought of the uncounted millions of the earth who 
 had never had a crumb of the Bread of Life, I wondered 
 that there could be a man in the world that had anything, 
 that would not give it for carrying the light of heaven 
 to the children of darkness. The old farmer flared up on 
 the spot. His retort was noisy, decidedly sarcastic and 
 very sarcastically decided. 
 
 Soon the company gathered in the large country parlor 
 and the three dollar business was called up. I worked in 
 the best I knew of what was being done for foreign missions 
 and thought I was gravelling in the neighborhood of the 
 old gentleman's soul, but when I finished he said with 
 withering audacity, ''You talk well, young man, but it 
 is like pouring water on a duck^s back ; the duck does 
 not get wet." I think it is barely possible that I hinted 
 that the same thiug might be said of a goose but that I 
 did not believe that the remark would be in order. A 
 little chat ran around the room for a few minutes, and I 
 
1^ ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 put in a few remarks on the luxury of liberality, work- 
 ing in quite a number of incidents, and there was a mani- 
 fest tenderness in the group, a natural sort of a response 
 to the appeal hidden in my utterances. 
 
 There was another explosion ; the hard shell of the old 
 brother remained uncracked, and once more he told me 
 that he thought that in the course of time I might become 
 a great orator and a good lecturer on ^'Liberality," but 
 that however liberal he might become, he would never 
 give a cent to foreign missions. The laugh at my expense 
 was free and full, and I had grave doubts as to the issue 
 of the appeal. After a while I started off in pursuit of a 
 few misers that I had known. There were several of 
 them, and their covetousness was of the idolatrous order, 
 and I set uj) those cases one after the other with all the 
 pictorial glare and gloom that I could mix together. 
 ^yhen I ended the old man proposed that we go to bed. 
 I respectfully declined and the company joined with me 
 in begging that, as that company was never together be- 
 fore, and would never be again, we might drive ahead. 
 The old gentleman picked up the Bible and came over to 
 me and asked me to conduct the evening devotions. I 
 thought a moment or two with my eyes to the floor and, 
 looking up, said to him, ''I beg that you will put this 
 duty upon some one else ; I cannot do it.^^ 
 
 "Why not r ' he demanded. 
 
 ''Because,'^ said T, soberly, ''if I conduct this worship, 
 I will have to pray for you, and I would be forced to ask 
 the Lord to incline you to do what you solemnly say you 
 will not do, and I thiok you would regard the prayer as 
 out of keeping with the occasion. I beg you to excuse 
 me." 
 
 The change which came over him was absolutely start- 
 ling. He stood with the Bible on his arm in silence long 
 drawn out, and finally said that things had never come to 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 145 
 
 quite sucli a pass with him before, and I told him that I 
 regretted to be au occasion of embarrassment to him. 
 
 Presently he broke into confused laughter. 
 
 ^'Hatcher,'' he said, with his characteristic brusque- 
 ness, ' ' I care little for three dollars ; it would not hurt 
 me to give it, and I would not mind giving it to you after 
 your great appeal for it, except that I know you would 
 go from one end of the country to the other telling as you 
 went how you tackled old Ben Prince, a shagg;^^ old hard- 
 shell Baptist, and wrung money out of him for foreign 
 missions.'^ 
 
 *' My brother," said I with a seriousness which I deeply 
 felt, '* you mistake my mood. What I have done to-night 
 has been done with a purpose which I believe heaven will 
 approve. I want you to give something for the conver- 
 sion of the lost world and not to please me, and if you 
 give it I pledge myself before these witnesses that I will 
 never mention it to a human being as long as I live on 
 the earth without your consent." 
 
 There the matter halted and the conversation revived 
 and became general, except that my old antagonist had 
 become significantly silent. Presently he left the room, 
 and after quite a long absence he walked in and threw 
 three one dollar notes into my lap. The quiet of God 
 seemed to be upon him. 
 
 *^ There is the money," he said, as it dropped into my 
 lap, ^'and now I hope that you are willing to pray for 
 me." 
 
 There was an unmistakable quiver in his voice as he 
 spoke. 
 
 '^Yes, indeed, my brother," I said, "I can pray for 
 you now ; give me the Bible and I believe that God will 
 hear us as we call." 
 
 Not in all my life have I ever known a season of social 
 worship so remarkable as that was. It amounted to a 
 
146 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 revival. It looked as if every ODe present was uuder a 
 peculiar spell, and my good, contentious old friend be- 
 came like a little child in his gentleness. After the prayer 
 we had a song, mellow, tender, refreshing, and the com- 
 pany quietly dispersed for the night. 
 
 The next morning the carriages were at the door to take 
 us back to the meeting. As I was leaving the porch for 
 the gate the old man touched me and asked that he might 
 have a word with me in the parlor. 
 
 ^* You made me a promise last night," he said. 
 
 **Yes, I did," I replied, ''and you need not fear that 
 it will be broken." 
 
 '* I want to release you from it," he said. *' I give you 
 full liberty to tell it, if you ever wish to tell it, and I think 
 perhaps you ought to tell it ; it may help the cause which 
 you seem to love so well." 
 
 The next morning at the meeting I arose and, in sim- 
 ple, grateful terms, announced that Brother Prince had 
 given the rest of the money and the $100 had been made 
 up. The announcement swept like a wave of light over 
 the crowd, for the old man bowed his head as I spoke. 
 
 That morning another commission was laid on me to 
 visit a church that had gone down. About the time this 
 action was taken a messenger came into the house, saying 
 that I was needed for some purpose out in the yard. Out 
 I went, and as I was leaving the door I heard my name 
 called. It was my old friend of the three dollars. He 
 came up and put his arm around my shoulder. 
 
 ''Hatcher," he said, "you go look after that church, 
 and if they need anything, you give it to them and let me 
 know and I will square the bill." 
 
 During this same pastorate, Dr. A. E. Owen and myself 
 held a delightful revival meeting with the IS'ewville Bap- 
 tist Church in Sussex County, Virginia. In that church 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 147 
 
 I found a most eccentric and yet a really excellent man 
 by the name of Albert Cliappell. He was far advanced 
 in life, moderately prosperous in fortune, liappy in his 
 familj', odd and careless in his dress and quite amply 
 stocked with projects and prejudices which sometimes 
 set him off to disadvantage. The neighborhood honored 
 the old gentleman but had its merry jests at his expense. 
 He was bent in form, twisted in movement, destitute of 
 one hand and yet possessed of a grim and winsome humor 
 which largely atoned. He told me once that he had his 
 breakfast the year round at four o'clock in the morning, 
 but that he had usually quit his bed at two for a long time, 
 but now he got so tired staying in bed that he was often 
 out at midnight and lately he rose at eleven. When asked 
 what he did with himself he said that he usually strolled 
 over his farm, and looked around to see that his stock 
 and fowls were not disturbed. It w^as said of him that 
 he had had nearly every bone in his body broken and an 
 unscrupulous wag reported that he went to sleep on his 
 porch one night and rolled down the steps breaking his 
 neck in two places, but that he was out before day the 
 next morning and was doing quite well under the circum- 
 stances. He came into my study in Petersburg one day 
 grunting and rubbing his knees, and with many other 
 signs of bodily wretchedness. I asked him what was the 
 matter and he gave the following account of his trouble. 
 
 '' My old lady got me in a notion last week to go down 
 the country to see our married daughter. She's a mighty 
 fine ole ^oman, always good to me, and I like to do what- 
 ever she asks me when I can ; so I hitched up the car- 
 riage and got in and as we had to go sixteen miles I 
 thought I would fix things so we could enjoy ourselves. 
 I tied the reins to my stump " (his handless arm), 'think- 
 ing it ought to do somethin' for its own support. We 
 went jogging along till we got to the branch below our 
 
148 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 house. There' d been a powerful rain and washed out the 
 bed and when the horses jumped in, de reins juck'd me 
 over the spatter board and lauded me down between the 
 horses' hind legs and de carriage wheels. 'Git up,' I 
 cried to the horses as I saw 'em backin' and away they 
 started and here come the carriage wheels across my 
 knees. The lines stretched like they'd pull my stump 
 off. 'Whoa. Back, back I tell yer,' and here come de 
 horses' hind feet like dey goin' to mash me. ' Git up, I 
 tell yer,' I hollered for life and here come the wheels and 
 they pulled on my stump. It was git up and back ; back 
 and git up until the ole lady jumped out and cut 
 dem lines and jerked me bodily out, and I tell yer it 
 looked like the very jints in my knees got mashed — they 
 ached so." 
 
 I asked him what became of his trip. 
 
 '' Oh, I went," he said. '' The old lady had to go but 
 I tell yer my bones ached with every turn of the wheel 
 and it seemed to get worse after I got to my daughter's. 
 The second day I hitched up and pulled for home and I 
 ain't had no peace since. It looked like I break my knees 
 every time I walk." And yet he had driven full thirty 
 miles that day in the buggy. He was of the old school 
 type but a true lover of the Lord. 
 
 When the great memorial movement in favor of Eich- 
 mond College was on I received a letter from the pastor 
 at Newville urging me to come down and take the collec- 
 tion for the college. He mentioned particularly that 
 Brother Chappell was a fierce antagonist of Eichmond 
 College and was throwing his influence against any col- 
 lection that might be proposed. I went down to the Sat- 
 urday meeting at Newville and saw at once that the old 
 brother eyed me askance and bore himself in a crusty and 
 offish way. His greeting was evidently begrudged and so 
 I shied off from him and gave him time to soften. Sun- 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 149 
 
 day morning his face wore the sternness of the warrior, and 
 he seemed to be busy buttonholing the brethren and evi- 
 dently on the war-path. When I arose to speak he turned 
 on the bench and gave me the advantage of his sharp, 
 crooked, bended back instead of the light of his counte- 
 nance. He pointedly ignored me, but my address was on 
 Baptist history that day. Every now and then some 
 fact or doctrinal reference of mine would please him and 
 unconsciously his eyes would turn my way, but almost in- 
 stantly he would recover himself and his face would be 
 the other way again. As I moved along, his friendly 
 turns in my direction became more frequent and his in- 
 terest in my address was steadily deepening, though occa- 
 sionally he would wheel himself away in a contemptuous 
 manner as if trying to suppress me. 
 
 After a while, however, I unfolded some strain of 
 thought which toppled him completely over. He joined 
 heartily in the humor of it and faced me as if he was done 
 with the conflict. From that time he laughed and cried 
 with the crowd and was evidently fully aligned with the 
 occasion. I came to the appeal for money and as soon as 
 I mentioned it a simple-hearted brother, ever responsive 
 to good appeals, a man who looked upon giving as the 
 chief luxury of life, cried out, '^Put me down for fifty 
 dollars." I thanked him but said to him that if he 
 would allow it I would prefer that the first gift should be 
 made by Brother Albert Chappell. 
 
 '' How do you know I am going to give anything? " he 
 asked with a laugh. 
 
 '^ Oh," said I, ''you have been converted. I saw how 
 cross and ugly you were at the start, how you turned 
 your back on me and how mean you were trying to be, 
 but I saw you peeping around and saw when you came 
 plump over. You are going to give and I want you to 
 give now." 
 
150 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 The old brother joined the crowd in its kindly laughter 
 and said, "I'll give you twenty dollars just to get rid of 
 you." 
 
 " Add to that," I said, *'five dollars for each one of 
 your children" — he was blessed with quite a number — 
 '' and I will let you off on one condition." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 "That the church appoint you," I replied, " as a dele- 
 gate to the great memorial meeting in Eichmond and that 
 you will promise if there is a deficiency when we get 
 there you will help to make it up." 
 
 " Go ahead," he said, " and if you appoint me I will 
 be there." 
 
 He was appointed on the spot and was one of the early 
 arrivals at the memorable meeting. 
 
 During the progress of that great convention I heard a 
 man calling me on the street and it proved to be my 
 whimsical and kind-hearted Brother Chappell. 
 
 " How much would it cost me to send Fuller to Eich- 
 mond College ? " he gasped out as he ran up to me. 
 
 " Hello ! " said I. " What's that ? You hate Eich- 
 mond College, so I have been told.'' 
 
 " I thought I did," he said, " but since I got up here 
 and have seen it all, I want Fuller to go there. He is my 
 baby boy ; mighty bright and I'd be real proud to have 
 him in the college." 
 
 A new warmth for the old brother melted my heart, 
 but I could not refrain from bantering him a bit. " If 
 you wish to send Fuller to college in a penurious and skin- 
 flint way, it would not cost you very much, but I wouldn't 
 have anything to do with it. I hardly think I would 
 speak to him when I went over there. But if you will 
 fix him up right and send him in a gentlemanly way 
 I'll bring him over, start him in and treat him as my 
 boy." 
 
SEVEN YEAES IN PETERSBURG 151 
 
 *' All right," he said, 'Til have him up in Petersburg 
 for you and I will expect you to do right by the boy." 
 
 The old man was proud out of measure when he com- 
 mitted the boy to my keeping and he thought that Rich- 
 mond College was about next door to the Xew Jerusalem. 
 For a long time he thought that he hated Richmond Col- 
 lege, — a baseless prejudice which melted away like snow 
 in June as soon as he changed his standpoint. It is bad 
 enough to be the victim of a genuine prejudgment but to 
 fool ourselves with imaginary hatreds is ridiculous and 
 deplorable. The old man has gone the way of the earth 
 and I always think of him as one who was spoiled in the 
 making. He never became the man he might have been 
 and yet he was real and true, and faithful so far as he 
 knew. 
 
 About this time I attended the Southern Baptist Con- 
 vention which met in Augusta, Ga., and was very charm- 
 ingly entertained in the home of Judge J. C. C. Black, at 
 that time a member of the United States Congress. Dur- 
 ing dinner one day he said to me that there was a gentle- 
 man attending the convention, a resident of Georgia but 
 a native of Virginia who knew me and was very anxious 
 to meet me. It was agreed he would bring us together. 
 After dinner I went to the church for the afternoon ses- 
 sion. Entering the lecture room I was greeted by a well- 
 rounded, striking looking gentleman with the question, 
 ^* Do you know me? " 
 
 I looked him over with an honest desire to identify 
 him, but I had to tell him plainly that I did not remem- 
 ber him. 
 
 He seemed a trifle mortified and asked me if I could 
 remember ever having met a youth by the name of 
 Walter Boykin. A cloudy recollection of somebody by 
 that name flashed through my memory and I strove with 
 
152 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 all my force to call Walter Boykin out of the shadows 
 into the full light of recoguition. But I failed utterly in 
 ideutifyiug him or in locatiug even his name with any 
 place or person. It hurt me to say so, but it was all that 
 I could say truthfully. This time there was a sign of 
 petulance in the gentleman which excited my self-re- 
 proach and yet, do what I would, Walter Boykin stub- 
 bornly refused to approve himself to me as one I had 
 known in former days. 
 
 Finally and somewhat desperately he inquired if I re- 
 membered Chris Boykin. Then it struck me full in the 
 face. Instantly there arose before me a vivid and an ever 
 impressive picture. I was back again in the Tucker 
 Swamp Baptist Church in Southhampton County, Vir- 
 ginia. It was a burning season in August and I, in the 
 absence of the sick pastor, was engaged in a revival 
 meeting, — a meeting of surpassing spiritual power. The 
 morning sermon had been preached, the invitation to in- 
 quirers had been given and accepted by many, a rich old 
 revival song was rolling in holy tumult through the 
 church and the power of the Lord was upon the people. 
 During this time I strolled down the aisle on the men's 
 side of the church and under the bend of the little gallery 
 I saw a boy sitting on a small backless bench crying with 
 great emotion. The little fellow was possibly fourteen. 
 His hair was red almost to the flaming point, his face 
 freckled and in spite of his tears his blue eyes were full of 
 light. Indeed his countenance marked him as a boy 
 above the ordinary. His intense feeling, his open, un- 
 conscious and anxious crying drew me quickly to his side. 
 
 " What is the matter, my boy ? " I inquired in kindly 
 tone. 
 
 " I want to be a Christian,'' he said with conviction. 
 
 * ' Did you not hear my invitation ? " I inquired. ^ ' Why 
 ^id you not come? " 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 153 
 
 '* Yes, sir, I heard you," he answered, '^ and I wanted 
 to come, but I want my brother to go with me. ' ' 
 
 ^'It is noble in you to feel that way," I said to him, 
 ^'and I hope your brother will join you in the Christian 
 life, but you must not wait for him. In this matter each 
 one must act for himself." 
 
 "I know that; but still I would like for brother 
 Walter to go when I go," he said rather persistently. 
 
 "Where is your brother Walter?" I inquired. The 
 little fellow turned to a much larger boy on his other side 
 and for the first time I discovered that he had his right 
 hand projected underneath his left arm and was grasp- 
 ing the hand of this bigger boy. He turned with surpass- 
 ing tenderness and looked at the large fellow and said, 
 "Here he is. This is brother Walter and I want him to 
 go with me. Come on, brother Walter, and let's both of 
 us go." 
 
 The appeal was thrilling indeed ; it overwhelmed me 
 and I turned and told Walter that I did not see how he 
 could resist the affectionate entreaty of his brother. 
 
 Walter was very serious and full of respect for Chris. 
 "I ought to go, I know," he said slowly, "but it looks 
 as if I cannot go. I know you want to be a Christian, 
 Chris, and you are a better boy than I am. You can go 
 on and don't wait for me." 
 
 Chris got up and took my hand and went up the aisle 
 with me. Just as he was about to take his seat at the 
 front bench he whirled rather suddenly and went back. 
 I let him go, wondering what it meant. He returned to 
 his brother and got up in his lap and put his arms around 
 his neck. That's all I know. I could hear nothing that 
 he said, but I knew there was a struggle and I stood off 
 and prayed that the Lord would help Chris. Presently 
 he sprang alertly out of his brother's lap and he looked 
 like a new Chris, radiant and exultant. Walter rose to 
 
154 ALONG TPIE TRAIL 
 
 his feet, Chris grasped his hand and up they came to- 
 gether. As truly as Andrew brought Simon to Jesus, I 
 believe it might be said, that lad, with the crimson lock 
 and the rich blue eyes, brought his brother Walter to 
 Jesus ; and in after times while I could not recognize him 
 as I much regretted my inability to do, so I was glad to 
 hear that Walter had become a wealthy, influential and 
 valuable Christian citizen in Georgia. 
 
 This story being historical and not made to hand refuses 
 to conclude exactly as I once tried to make it do. I was 
 preaching once at the ordination of a young minister in 
 the Northern Neck of Virginia and used this incident to 
 illustrate that a very ordinary person might bring an ex- 
 traordinary person to the Saviour, having in mind at the 
 time that Andrew brought Simon his brother. I men- 
 tioned how I had met Walter Boykin and what an 
 eminent man he was becoming and then added that I had 
 no idea on earth what had become of Chris. Dr. Geo. Wm. 
 Beale, a noble Baptist minister of Virginia, was present 
 on the occasion and in quick response to my reference to 
 Chris said from his seat, ' ' Be careful what you say. I was 
 the pastor of Chris at Buchanan for a number of years 
 and he was one of the choicest young men I ever knew 
 and is still busy in the service of his Lord.'^ 
 
 No wonder. He who brings one to the Saviour will 
 only whet his passion for soul saving. 
 
 It was also during this pastorate while exceedingly 
 busy in my study one day I heard a gentle rap at my 
 door and upon opening it I found one of my little Sunday- 
 school girls. Her presence surprised me, for it was a week 
 day and I wondered that she was not at school. I asked 
 her how it was that she had found time to come to see me. 
 
 *'0h, doctor," she said, '^I came to bring you good 
 news. This morning while praying in my room I found 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 155 
 
 the Saviour, aud mother was so happy about it that she 
 told me that I might stay away from school aud come 
 dowu aud tell you all about it." I recall eveu uow the ra- 
 diaut light upou her face aud the joyous siucerity with 
 which she told her stor3\ It was better thau a book on 
 theology to mark the glow of religious rapture upou her 
 face. Her outspokeu experieuces bespoke the living 
 Christ. We had a brief prayer of thanksgiving and she 
 indicated that her visit was at an end. I bade her good- 
 bye, saying that I would see her that night, for we were 
 holding revival services at the time. She made no reply 
 and I repeated that I would see her that night. 
 
 ^'I^ot to-night," she said, and her face took on a sud- 
 den shadow. 
 
 "Not coming'?" I said with unintentional cruelty. 
 "Do you not desire to come to the meeting? " 
 
 I saw the lines of suffering on her face and her lip 
 quivered. 
 
 '^Oh, yes, indeed, I would like above everything to be 
 here to-night, ' ' she said, ' ' but I cannot come. This morn- 
 ing after breakfast I asked mother if I might go across 
 the street and ask a lady to come with us to church to- 
 night. I told her that I had been converted, and told her 
 about the meeting aud asked her to come with us to- 
 night. She told me that she would come but she was 
 afraid to leave her baby with the nurse, and I said that 
 if she would come to the meetiug I would stay with the 
 nurse and help take care of the baby." 
 
 The way she said it went to my heart. It told of her 
 childish ardor, her genuine zeal and of the Christlike 
 self-denial already in her heart. She did not know that 
 she had done a brave and lofty deed, but I knew it, and I 
 looked upon her with wonder and with love as she shook 
 my hand aud flitted on light feet out of my office. 
 
 That night the house was crowded and I delivered a 
 
156 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 brief sermoD, at the close of which I invited inquirers to 
 come forward. The front pews were filled with inquirers 
 and among them a lady in mourning and deeply veiled. 
 Approaching her I expressed pleasure that she had come 
 and a desire to help her. 
 
 She thanked me in a quiet and candid voice and told 
 me not to concern myself about her, adding that she was 
 the lady that little Alice Eobertson had told me about. 
 
 '' Let me tell you," she said, 'Hhat for the first time in 
 all my life my heart is full of religious peace to-night. 
 When Alice came over this morning and told me about 
 her conversion, it greatly impressed me, and when she of- 
 fered to stay and care for my baby I really felt that God 
 had sent her, and before I came to-night I knew that my 
 little friend had led me to salvation. After the meeting 
 is over I will need to talk to you about my future, but 
 you ought to go now and give the help to these others, 
 which Alice brought to me to-day." 
 
 My duties were driving me at a furious rate and ex- 
 cept a few words which I had with the lady that night I 
 knew nothing more of her until some time after I was told 
 that her husband was sick and had expressed a desire to 
 see me. I went of course and found him in bed. I had 
 not seen him before but heard that he was a wholesale 
 liquor merchant and utterly regardless of religion. 
 After greeting him I began to question him about his 
 sickness but he cut me short. "Never mind about my 
 sickness," he said brusquely and yet with feeling. ''I 
 have deeper troubles than any my sickness could bring. 
 Since that little Eobertson girl got into my house the 
 other day things have gone all awry. My wife is quite 
 another woman and I see plainly enough that if I am to 
 live with her I must be another man ; but how can I ? 
 Can there be hope for such a man? It does not look 
 that way to me. I am sick with my trouble and I 
 
SEVEN YEARS IN PETERSBURG 15Y 
 
 thouglit maybe it was my business. I hobbled into my 
 buggy yesterday and drove to the store and told my 
 partner that I would never come into that house again ; 
 that the business I would leave to him and he could do 
 what he pleased with it. As for my part I would never 
 sell another drop of whiskey if my family had to starve 
 for it. I little know what will come of my action, but I 
 am done with whiskey forevermore. I am glad of my 
 decision, but it does not give me peace and I thought you 
 could help me." 
 
 Truly he was a fit subject for the Gospel and I need 
 not tell you that in a little while he was another man and 
 he has been ever since. 
 
 It wasn't long afterwards before he entered the mem- 
 bership of my church. We needed no witnesses to tell that 
 he and his wife were converted. The proofs of it were 
 written all over their lives and they were open letters 
 read of all men wherever they went. For a time he was 
 a man without a job and without an income, but business 
 pursued him, threw its gates open to him and prospered 
 him at every step. He and his wife are still living. Al- 
 most boundless prosperity has enriched his path. He 
 has become a leader among men, a great Bible teacher, 
 a liberal giver, a champion of every great enterprise and 
 one of the truest and most devoted friends that God has 
 ever given me. He has reared a large family and many 
 of his children are busy and efficient in the service of the 
 Lord. Simon Seward, — that is his name, and he and his 
 wife walk humbly before the Lord and delight in His 
 service and His law. Little Alice did it. In her own 
 bright and loving fashion she let her light shine and they 
 saw it afar and followed it and it led them into the king- 
 dom. 
 
X 
 
 TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 
 
 IT was on the fourth Sunday in May, 1875, that I en- 
 tered formally into pastoral relations with the Grace 
 Street Baptist Church, and on the fourth Sunday in 
 May, 1901, I formally closed my pastoral relations with 
 that church. At the time of my entrance into that 
 pastorate I was not quite forty-one years of age, and the 
 period of my service with that church covered the 
 maturest and most experienced part of my life. It was a 
 pastorate of great burdens, extraordinary inspirations, 
 fearful embarrassments, arduous undertakings and many 
 changes. Some asked me why and how I stayed so long. 
 So great was my respect for that church ; so profound 
 was my conviction that my work was there and so de- 
 lightful was my relationship with the people that noth- 
 ing else on earth attracted me. It is no vanity whatever 
 at this late day for me to say that many gates opened be- 
 fore me ; many churches asked for my pastoral services 
 and many inviting and honorable situations sought to 
 woo me, but my heart had found its love and was im- 
 movable. 
 
 I cannot say that I did my work as well as I could 
 have done it. In that respect I was often ashamed dur- 
 ing my incumbency, and am still ashamed that I did not 
 give a more undivided love and a more all-comprehend- 
 ing service to that queenly church. 
 
 I have sometimes said that I was afraid of the church 
 and truly I was, — not sordidly, not for fear of losing my 
 place, but I could not endure the thought of wounding or 
 
 158 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 159 
 
 displeasing or alienating the cliurcli. For many years 
 the church treated me as its sovereign, freely gave me my 
 way, showed most delicate respect for my wishes and was 
 quick to follow me in all my leadings, but never did I 
 think of myself as the master. I accounted myself my 
 people's servant for Christ's sake and I loved to please, 
 not as with eye service, but with sincerity and joy. 
 
 The church lives in my heart to-day. Its honor is 
 dear as life to me and for its prosperity I cease not to 
 pray. 
 
 It is no part of my purpose to recite the story of my 
 pastoral career with the Grace Street people. In Nov- 
 vember, 1908, the church celebrated its seventy-fifth 
 anniversary and invited me to deliver a reminiscent ad- 
 dress on that occasion. That address I venture to place 
 in this volume of my remembrances of a life extended 
 beyond all of my expectations and hastening now to its 
 end. 
 
 Twenty- Six Yeaes at Grace Street 
 In the observance of its seventy-fifth anniversary the 
 Grace Street Church honors me by its request that I will 
 take part in its jubilee exercises. The specific request is 
 that I will present in an address my recollections of 
 that period of its history during which I was its pastor. 
 That pastorate commenced in May, 1875, and ended in 
 May, 1901, covering as you will see a little more than one- 
 third of the entire lifetime of the church up to the time 
 of my resignation. I need hardly say that in preparing 
 my recollections the work has been one of ruthless and pain- 
 ful elimination, — and mutilation as well, since the bare 
 fragments which I present form only a few selections from 
 the crowded storehouse of my memory. 
 
 I came to this church under peculiar circumstances. My 
 predecessor had resigned some time before under factional 
 
160 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 pressure, and his resignation had been accepted. There 
 was, however, an ill-suppressed mutter of discontent as to 
 the situation, and when the committee appointed to nomi- 
 nate a pastor brought in my name, my predecessor was 
 nominated also by a member of the church, and when the 
 vote came I was left ingloriously in the lurch ; but the pas- 
 tor reelect felt constrained to decline the call and my name 
 was presented again and I received all the votes except 
 one. The lonely voter was one of the regenerated oddities 
 of the human race. It was said of him that he voted 
 against every pastor that was elected during his lifetime 
 and then with equal consistency voted against the resigna- 
 tion of every pastor when it was presented. He met me 
 when I came and with a frankness all abristle with sharp 
 points, related to me what he had done, and I told him that 
 it would be good for me to have a man who did not want 
 me, who would watch me and mark my faults and walk 
 around and duly publish them, and that I would respect 
 his position and expect him to do his duty. He was a 
 wood dealer and, barring some absurd prejudices which 
 were never bitter, he was honest to the bone and about 
 as advanced a specimen of facial homeliness as it was 
 ever my painful duty to know. I told him that I sus- 
 pected him of swallowing all the knots and crooked sticks 
 in his wood-pile and selling all the rest to his customers, 
 and as his office stood on one of the streets which I often 
 travelled I usually peeped in and dickered and wrangled 
 with him, much to his own satisfaction. One day he saw 
 me passing and came out and said, '' I hear some of them 
 men in the church are gettin' after you and it is like 'em 
 to do it. It is neither here nor there about my likin' you, 
 but if you should need a friend, come by the wood-yard 
 and you can get anything that's here." From that day 
 he would have died for me, and I hardly know what it 
 was that I would not gladly have done for him. I am 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 161 
 
 glad to-night to remember that ^hen the light of earth 
 was fading from him and he was consciously planting his 
 feet in the surges of the Jordan I held his hand and got 
 about the last pressure it ever gave before he went. 
 
 I found upon my arrival here a great church, — noble 
 and magnificent in some things. It came to me from the 
 hands of great builders. There was James B. Taylor, the 
 quiet, indefatigable and sagacious foundation builder. 
 He was really the man who put the first organic, con- 
 structive and cementing imprint upon the church. He 
 breathed his spirit of discretion, honesty, justice and 
 simplicity in the church. There was also Kingsford, the 
 sarcastic and charming Kingsford. He put an almost 
 classic touch upon the church, gave it a revelation of the 
 great things of the world, gave them new views of the 
 Scriptures, cut their faults and sins into tatters and lit 
 the King's highway with truth and righteousness. 
 
 Then came David Shaver, a man whose speech was 
 muffled by throat trouble, a philosopher who loved his 
 cave and not the highway ; but who was a great thinker 
 and who taught the people to think. Then came Jeter, 
 the tall, incorruptible, gifted and self-trained and master- 
 ful Jeter. He was here for seventeen years, in peace and 
 war. He was a princely preacher in the matter of open- 
 ing the Scriptures, making the truth luminous and win- 
 some and indoctrinating his people. I sat under his 
 ministry while a college student and he was my only 
 theological teacher, — at least he and Andrew Fuller. 
 
 And then there was my predecessor and my cherished 
 friend. Rev. Dr. K W. \Yilson. He was born an orator. 
 He learned by instinct rather than by application. He 
 was a sweet singer and an entrancing preacher. He filled 
 the house with an admiring audience, and though not a 
 scholar he was the master and teacher of scholars in his 
 pastorate here. These are not all the men who worked 
 
162 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 as overseers in this spiritual plant before I came this way. 
 There were others who had brief and useful pastorates 
 here but I am constrained to omit their names. You can 
 well understand that a church transmitted to my pastoral 
 care through such masterful hands was strong, well es- 
 tablished in doctrine and capable of high achievements. 
 I found a large but a somewhat fickle congregation, found 
 a membership of nearly six hundred, but the pruning 
 knife soon applied took off about one-fourth. I found the 
 church amply organized but not without heterogeneous 
 and conflicting elements. I found the Sunday-school 
 overflowing but suffering for class rooms, better teachers 
 and larger concert in action. My first days brought 
 strain and anxiety. The recent disturbances entailed 
 fearful aftermaths and for several months my power was 
 small and my hindrances many and serious. Death came 
 into my family in a little while and my own health re- 
 quired me to suspend service for most of the summer, and 
 about all that I accomplished was to take a somewhat 
 alarming inventory of my stock in trade and of the 
 stringent demands that were to come upon me and to be 
 met. 
 
 First of all the church building humiliated me. It was 
 worthy of the times which brought it forth and it had 
 undergone recent enlargement, but its architectural 
 crimes, its lack of taste, its inadequacy, its contempt for 
 ventilation, its cuspidors, the treasure and comfort of the 
 tobacco lover and, above all, its pew system, gave me 
 sickness of heart. It was distinctly a people's church 
 and in a little while it was inadequate in its capacity to 
 seat the crowd. In no great while we were smothered 
 and hindered grievously in worship for lack of room. 
 
 But my brethren did not see it and I saw that I could 
 not make them see it and so I had to wait. Finally they 
 decided to my unfeigned chagrin to repair and enlarge, 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 163 
 
 and the result was a bungling job, — another concatena- 
 tion of architectural outrages. The changes brought 
 some relief and the turning of one of our missions into a 
 church relieved the pressure in another way. But even 
 then the house could not entertain the Sunday-school nor 
 do justice to the congregation. Even at the Lord's Sup- 
 per on some occasions the communicants could not be 
 crowded into the auditorium and actually overflowed into 
 the gallery. That was a time when my heart often failed 
 and yet I knew that I had to wait. Of course there was 
 a noble multitude who shared in these anxieties and who 
 yet felt that the Lord's time had not yet come. It did 
 come and of that I will tell you later. 
 
 I was depressed also by what seemed to me to be the 
 barbed wire fences which were built around the church. 
 It was openly said by one of the best of the members that 
 we ought to make it hard for people to get into the church 
 and easy to get out, — a statement smacking of wisdom 
 and yet dangerous and almost ruinous in its application, 
 and, in my judgment, false in its nature. 
 
 What to do with applicants for church membership is a 
 question with several sides to it. In some churches the 
 candidate for membership is lugged in bodily before the 
 church and exposed to any questions that anybody may 
 ask ; in some the matter is left to the pastor, and if he is 
 efficient and level in his character his testimony in the 
 case after such questioning as he may feel necessary in the 
 presence of the church, practically decides what ought to 
 be done with the candidate. In other cases there is an of- 
 ficial meeting and the applicant is informed that he must 
 confront that body which usually consists of the pastor 
 and other officers of the church and occasionally a few 
 women brought in in cases of exigency. Where there is 
 harmony, discretion, intelligence and choice Christian 
 manners well mixed in such a counsel it may do tolerably 
 
164 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 well ; though I found that a good many were afraid to 
 face such a formidable array of inquisitors and we lost 
 some good people. Practicall}^ it had no effect as to what 
 the result would be, as in well-nigh every case the pastor's 
 word settled the matter after all. In my case I found an 
 embarrassing complexity in the situation. There were 
 some of the officers disgruntled, captious, rude of manner, 
 and the tortures to which they subjected many applicants 
 took all the starch out of me. I dreaded the council - 
 chamber and went to it like one crossing the bridge of 
 sighs. Churches must do as they please about this mat- 
 ter, but my experiences favor the warmest treatment of 
 the convert. When he comes, let everybody talk to 
 him and grasp his hands and bathe him in the light and 
 love of Christian sympathies ; make it easy for him to 
 come and when he comes before the church let the pastor 
 emphasize the event, tell how gracious and God-born the 
 church is, ask questions if that is the fitting thing, or let 
 the applicant tell his own story if he can and follow his 
 reception with all the demonstrations of welcome and con- 
 fidence that love can suggest. 
 
 I was appalled to find also that no collection could be 
 taken in the church except by vote of the church in its 
 monthly business meeting. The cordiality with which I 
 abhorred that trick of Satan I deem to this day highly 
 creditable to my character, though I was not conspicuously 
 courageous in openly waging battle against it. But I can 
 truly say that never Jesuit, nor juggler ever schemed 
 more tricks for avoiding that rule than I did. We sus- 
 pended it, forgot it, postponed it, tried to amend it, made 
 appeals for money, told them that it was unlawful for 
 them to hand it in, but there was a table in front of the 
 pulpit and that it would hold money if it were laid upon 
 it, or that the ushers had good hearts and large hands and 
 could be trusted. I brought missionaries there unex- 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 1G5 
 
 pectedly and they told their story, made their appeals and 
 I with the neatest style of ministerial hypocrisy, told of 
 the infallible and unavoidable rule and then juggled with 
 the crowd and the missionaries went away regretting that 
 there could be no collection, but with their pockets bulg- 
 ing with money. One night when it rained and the strict 
 constructionists were nursing their rheumatism at home 
 we punctured that rule and it went up in thin air, an of- 
 fering, I hoi^e, unto the Lord. 
 
 Then we had the quorum barbarism. We couldn't 
 budge a peg unless we had twenty men present and then 
 they put it ui^ to thirty and some time after that they ran it 
 up to forty-five, and as our church meetings were the most 
 irreligious and disagreeable things that we had and as it 
 was the hardest thing in the world to get forty-five men to 
 come on the same night, a majority of our church meet- 
 ings lapsed and those of us who were there held a prayer- 
 meeting, grew in grace and adjourned. One night we had 
 a quorum and a brother moved that we reduce it to 
 thirty and several seconded the motion. Another moved 
 to make it twenty and the seconders grew more numerous ; 
 a third man moved fifteen and there was a riot of seconds, 
 and I said, '' Don't let's have a quorum, and if the mem- 
 bers don't come the pastor and the sexton will look after 
 the best interests of the church." They jumjDcd at my 
 suggestion and had about as fine a jollification as any lot 
 of college fellows ever did, and from that time we had 
 church meetings, made up of lovers of the church, big, 
 lusty, busy and truly evangelistic church meetings. I 
 felt that the millennium was dawning. 
 
 Then there was the pew system. We had far more folks 
 than seats, and yet a few crusty, jagged, scowling pew- 
 holders, who usually came late and often slept well after 
 they arrived, would now and then find their pews occu- 
 pied by innocent strangers, and they wSuld drench them 
 
166 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 with vinegar and other acids of the figurative sort. And 
 then there would be hurtful murmuring. The bulk of the 
 members had no pews, and they had to give in one way and 
 the pewholders, a privileged class, gave in another way, 
 and neither class, or the two together, gave enough to run 
 the church. About this matter I talked much with the 
 Lord and much with the brethren, and at a meeting full 
 of spiritual juice and brotherly love, I got an humble 
 brother to move that the pew system be knocked over on 
 the other side of eternity, or words to that effect, and I 
 fairly fainted for joy. There was not one opposing vote, 
 and I knew then that the kingdom of God was coming on 
 faster and faster. 
 
 I ought to say^ in closing this part of my subject, that 
 I found in the church a faction, — a faction, small, solid 
 and fractious to the point of politics and war. It was a 
 thing of long standing, and old Dr. Jeter told me that it 
 struck him rude, unmannered blows, and it embittered the 
 last days of my predecessor and really led the movement 
 for his ejection. It was on the fence when I got there, 
 and lit off on my side and sampled me, amply coddling 
 and feasting and flattering me during the time. I put in 
 all my arts in the way of conciliation, and had enough 
 stupid vanity to think that I was born for such a time as 
 that, but before I got through with it I almost wished that 
 I had not been born at all. . . . They had certain 
 cherished crotchets which they desired my aid in trans- 
 muting into church laws, and there were also certain in- 
 fluential members in the church who, in their judgment, 
 were al togeth er too active in governmental m atters. More 
 than all I was gradually developing individual character- 
 istics, lines of policies, and committing business blunders 
 that they felt it was of the utmost importance that they 
 should supervise, correct or quietly exterminate. The 
 outcome of it all was that I could not spend the same night 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 167 
 
 in two camps though I was quite willing to go back and 
 forth several times before bedtime. This did not satisfy, 
 and soon the blast of their hostile trumpet gave forth its 
 shriek. The war was on and for nearly ten years my feet 
 trod the thorny path. The faction never rose to the dig- 
 nity of a party, never had much gathering force and was 
 always afraid of a trial of strength on a public occasion. 
 
 It was, however, rampant, incessant and aggressive in 
 its talk, deadly in its inquisitorial watchfulness over my 
 official and private behavior, quick to take up, exagger- 
 ate and overcolor my faults, always ready to chill or block 
 movements which I suggested or approved, and exceed- 
 ingly careful and shepherdlike in their attention to any 
 of my flock that suffered any real or fancied neglect on 
 my part. It would hardly be too much to say that there 
 were silent movements to block the financial machinery 
 of the church and thus make me '^non grata" on the 
 score of not making the church pay expenses, and even the 
 revivals were derided, the converts criticized and ever so 
 many streams of cold water turned on in a way that put 
 things at disadvantage. If some church chanced to call 
 me, the fact was eagerly seized, and the report was sent 
 forth swift-footed that I was planning to leave, and that 
 victory would perch over their banners and that peace 
 would come home to live. 
 
 But somehow I did not feel disposed to go ; a thousand 
 times I asked the Lord to let me stay, sometimes asking 
 that if He could lighten up the pressure a little that I 
 would be greatly obliged, but be the pressure what it 
 might, I still pled often and fervently that I might not 
 have to go. Possibly my self-respect revolted at the 
 thought of being ignominiously dislodged and of going 
 out under compulsion, but in the sober review of this 
 critical period of my pastorate, I think I can truly tell you 
 to-day that there was very little that was personal in my 
 
1G8 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 stroDg desire not to be driven out by factional antago- 
 nisms. I felt that it would be the triumph of a faction that 
 ought not to rule ; I felt that I would count it a great 
 favor if the Lord would let me stay and see the end of it. 
 
 I ought to be candid enough to say that I was just as 
 anxious for the factionists not to go as I was to remain 
 on deck myself. It was never in my schedule to bring 
 about their ejection nor their dex)arture. I wanted the 
 faction dissolved and its members sobered and sweetened 
 and for peace and fellowshiiD to be fully restored. 
 
 Finally the situation grew unbearably acute, and things 
 were done that I would not dare to tell. They were too 
 bad to tell, and showed what good men would do when 
 untracked and reckless. Events were so serious and fierce 
 that they brought me to a pause. I took my burden again 
 to the throne and asked for instructions. For the first 
 time I felt willing to go if the Lord indicated clearly 
 enough that it was His will for me to go, though to save 
 my life I could not feel that it would be the best for me 
 to be eliminated under the dictation of that faction. 
 Hays of humble inquiry went slowly by and there came 
 to me a most attractive and interesting call. I had asked 
 the Lord if He would have me go to open the gate, and 
 now the gate was open with a most attractive offer in 
 sight. It brought me to the verge of surrender, but I took 
 two weeks to think, to weigh, to cry and to decide, and 
 one morning, when the situation was never more complex 
 or menacing, I decided that I must stay. Of all this 
 not a member of the church knew one single item, and it 
 looked as if I had offered myself almost wantonly as a 
 victim to the machinations and asperities of this opposi- 
 tion. That night in the prayer-meeting those who for so 
 many years had blocked my way and embittered my ex- 
 istence one after another quietly laid down their arms 
 and declared their loyalty to me as their pastor and their 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 169 
 
 readiness to work with me in the future. There it was,— 
 the end ; it had come in a moment, unannounced, and 
 was greeted on my part with no noisy demonstrations, no 
 thought of victory in my soul, but boundless gratitude to 
 God and with a confidence renewed in simplest terms with 
 those who had fought me. The war was over and I was 
 there. 
 
 (It so chanced when this address was made in the 
 Grace Street Baptist Church, a score of years after the 
 foregoing events had closed, that the chief of all this great 
 offending was sitting on the platform not far from the 
 speaker, and it was quite clear that the bulk of the older 
 people were keenly cognizant of the actual situation. 
 The speaker closed his reference to this memorable ex- 
 perience in his pastorate by saying, '' Those were preg- 
 nant and stressful days in my existence. The plowshare 
 was in my soul for a decade and life hung trembling on 
 the verge of tragedy. There were men who gave me 
 trouble and there sits near me now the chieftain of that 
 wasting strife. I could not give my recollections without 
 saying here before him and before this great multitude 
 that he was to me a trial long drawn out, and yet as I 
 weigh the past, I do not believe I ever lost my respect for 
 him, though I may have mislaid it more than once, and I 
 am sure that I did not lose absolutely my faith in his 
 Christian character, though it shook many a time and 
 times upon times, I told the Lord that if He did not prop 
 it up it would inevitably break into a hopeless ruin. 
 After the end came I told him privately that I had gone 
 through my heart, searching every corner and crevice, 
 and that I found nothing there that would interfere with 
 our fullest fellowship and our freest cooperation in all 
 good works, and I can say to him to-day after the years 
 have lapsed away, that I cherish for him genuine 
 brotherly love and account him among that circle of 
 
170 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 friends whom I can trust without a misgiving. I hold 
 up my right hand before him declaring that in its grasp 
 there is friendship and brotherhood untainted by one 
 unhappy memory;'^ whereupon this gentleman sprang 
 to his feet, walked forward and exchanged with the 
 speaker a cordial hand-grasp. It was an episode that 
 will constitute a part of the permanent history of that 
 church.) 
 
 What kept things going and that too at a clipping rate 
 was the operative godliness of the people. The preemi- 
 nent characteristic of the church was its converting 
 power. Every year at least there were great ingather- 
 ings. The membership multiplied apace. Scores of visit- 
 ors and strangers came to the church and under its grate- 
 ful spiritual atmosphere they accepted Christ and we had 
 a peculiar constituency of that sort, members of which I 
 found in many places. The church sent out two full- 
 fledged churches during my pastorate, and they went out 
 without ajar and with the cordial affection of the mother. 
 They went enriched with gifts as brides go from their 
 father's house blessed with approval and crowned with 
 gifts. Several other churches were organized in our part 
 of the city which received their largest contingents from 
 us. Young men and young women, boys and girls poured 
 in year after year and then the young men went towards 
 every point of the compass to try their fortunes under 
 new skies and our magnificent young women, full of 
 church ardor, trained in many phases of Christian service 
 and untainted by worldly frivolities, won husbands from 
 afar and went away to build up the kingdom of God in 
 other places. 
 
 During my ministry I had noble ministerial brethren, 
 men like Frank M. Ellis, A. E. Owen, H. M. Wharton 
 and George C. Needham to help in our harvest work. 
 But there was really no great need for helpers. The 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 171 
 
 churcli was a great spiritual breeder ; its spiritual fe- 
 cundity was a wonder and it was only necessary to watch 
 the signs, mark the season, call them together and sound 
 the gospel trumpet and the work began. Most of the 
 time we had no choir ; a little organ stood in the corner 
 and my own half-grown boy gave the accompaniment and 
 my soul's delight, Haddon Watkins, struck the tunes and 
 the crowd, each with a hymn slip in his hand, joined in 
 the song and sent wonderful praises up to God. Ofttimes 
 and for years all helps would fail us and then I struck 
 the tune and the congregation was so sympathetic that, if 
 cheered on, their choral songs rang almost with the thun- 
 der notes of Niagara, and if the hint was given the song 
 would be hushed to such softness and such wondrous 
 sweetness that it was like a far-off strain of the choirs of 
 heaven. That soft singing was a part of the equipment 
 and power of the church. It ought to be added that 
 Haddon Watkins, the matchless master of the spiritual 
 solo, was a great converting force and not at Grace Street 
 only but far and wide, in town and country, I often called 
 him to help me charm the people out of the world and 
 into the kingdom of God. 
 
 The constituency of the church was unusually interest- 
 ing. It had its three classes in about equal proportion. 
 There was first of all its high people. They were the 
 scholarly people, the professional people and the aspiring 
 people. Many of these were of noble social character but 
 they never figured among the stilted, fashionable, indul- 
 gent and pretentious people who considered themselves 
 the exclusive '4t.^' The fact is that our high people 
 were high chiefly in their intelligence, their lofty virtue 
 and their decided spiritual activity and serviceableness. 
 
 Then down at the bottom, as some would say, were our 
 poor. They who lived on the back streets and they in 
 the little houses ; whose wives did the cooking and right 
 
172 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 often the washing and whose husbands were day-laborers 
 in the foundries, the factories, the shops, — men and 
 women both whose Saturday night money fed them the 
 next week. There were many of these and yet very few 
 were poor enough to need the bounty of the church. I 
 do not know that the church spent more than a thousand 
 dollars in a year on its needy members and yet the church 
 had quite a fame for taking ample care of its poor. The 
 bulk of these whom we called the poor had an element of 
 thrift ; they saved something week by week, they got into 
 the savings' banks, bought their little lots, presently 
 building their little houses, and before you knew it they 
 had something for a rainy day. They were great on the 
 Sunday-school, faithful at the Sunday meetings and it 
 was enough to make any pastor proud to have their love 
 and also to see their passionate devotion to their church. 
 When I got lonesome and couldn't make my sermons I 
 plunged out among these people and always came back 
 laden with spiritual spoils and preached much better the 
 next Sunday under the warmth of my experiences during 
 the week. 
 
 But the great bulk of the people belonged to class 
 number three. They were the merchants, real estate men, 
 contractors, clerks, travellers, lumber dealers, grocers, — 
 none of them capitalists exactly, but they worked hard 
 during the week, made money in a clean way, stood by 
 the church in sunshine and storm and gave their money 
 in a way that kept me continually proud of them. After 
 the reign of the faction, or rather the worry of it, I ac- 
 counted the church about ideal. Prof. H. H. Harris, 
 one of the greatest men we ever had, said that it was so 
 lovely to be a member of Grace Street that he was afraid 
 that the contrast would not be distinct enough when he 
 got to heaven. Eich and poor met together ; high and 
 low walked to and from thehouse of God in happy fel- 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 173 
 
 lowship ; old and young vied with each other in helping 
 on the good work. When I was installed as pastor, the 
 former pastor said that I would not find the membership 
 made up of angels, and for ten years I thought his re- 
 mark, in part at least, was painfully true, but after all he 
 was mistaken. Of course the love I had for my people 
 overflowed all measures and defied all limits. As for the 
 men, — oh, how courtly, genial, trustful and frank they 
 were with me. They quarrelled with me considerably 
 about going away and then freely forgave me when I got 
 back. They voted me all the vacation that I would take 
 and hung around me like brothers, — they were all 
 brothers, twin brothers, brothers forever of mine. 
 
 Now Gabriel and some of the other notable angels I 
 dare say know how to do fine things better than my men 
 did, but my men suited me. They voted me the freedom 
 of the church, differed with me whenever they chose and 
 never failed to do what I asked. But as for the women, 
 I confess they were very tyrannical. They ordered me 
 to do whatever they wanted, — anything from an annual 
 sermon, an unlawful notice, or twenty visits a day where 
 they thought I ought to go in obedience to an imperious 
 command, to a tailor's shop to get my proportions taken 
 for something handsome at their expense. If my men 
 grew torpid and slow the women were my refage. If 
 things needed changing about the church I gave my 
 modest nod to the ladies, — angels of love, of mercy and 
 of speedy service they were. They only had to start a 
 thing and get to talking and the men, heavy footed before, 
 brisked up and fell in and in the name of the Lord we 
 could do anything on earth we wished. 
 
 But let me get away from this. My enchanted memory- 
 would gladly linger here forever. 
 
 Possibly here, as well as anywhere, I might pause to 
 call a few names that ought at least to be mentioned on 
 
174 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 an occasion like this, — men and women who sat under 
 my ministry, so sadly unworthy of them. Dr. J. B. Taylor 
 was gone, but his venerable wife and his daughters were 
 here and their memory is one of the crowns of this church 
 that will hardly ever fade. Dr. J. B. Jeter, when I came, 
 was here in his later prime, — tall, well rounded, with 
 hair like snow, with a swing and bound worthy of a boy. 
 He was then at the full tide of his editorial glory, the 
 central figure of Virginia Baptists, with a soul so cheery 
 that discouragements cheered him. He had a lovely and 
 a somewhat awful frankness. ^ ' You preached a noble ser- 
 mon yesterday," he said to me one Monday morning, and 
 of course I was human. And then he added, "But the 
 sermon you preached yesterday week in my humble 
 judgment was one of the most hopelessly mean sermons 
 that I ever heard anybody preach." I loved him in one 
 part of my soul that day and kept the other locked up. 
 There was Dr. Alfred E. Dickinson, a man immensely 
 strong in some things and not strong at all in others, but 
 withal one of the most entertaining and brilliant para- 
 graphists that ever enriched a newspaper. There was 
 A. B. Brown ; — oh, my incomparable brother ! Frail 
 was his body, ill-shapen his face, weak and faltering his 
 gait, but an intellectual colossus ; a philosopher and a 
 man whose modesty and courtesy and patience under 
 trial marked him for the gallery of God's masterpieces. 
 I name Herbert H. Harris again, the unrivalled Bible 
 class teacher, the ever wise counsellor of this church. 
 He died away from Richmond but his silent form came 
 back to his church and boundless honors crowned him as 
 he went away to his reward. 
 
 The list of ministers who worshipped with us is too 
 long to be called and I must pass it by to call up min- 
 isters born in this church, or sent out by it. 
 
 Take Derieux whose life is an evangel and whose min- 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 1T5 
 
 istry is enriched by his own grace and unction ; or 
 Carter Jones, the inimitable pulpit orator of our Southern 
 ministry, and E. Pendleton Jones, attractive as a minister 
 and almost peerless as a pastor ; or take James Taylor 
 Dickinson, who stands among the foremost in our denomi- 
 nation at the North, or George Braxton Taylor, as modest 
 as he is scholarly, as efficient as he is unassuming, pure 
 and gentle as a woman, vigorous and powerful with 
 tongue and pen, — a leader and an example among us ; or 
 Wirt Trainham, approved of God, successful wherever he 
 has been ; or E. B. Hatcher, who would hardly speak to 
 his father if his father undertook to speak for him at such 
 a time as this ; or Arthur Cox, devout and full of holy 
 energy, and though his lot is cast afar, his loyal heart 
 often brings him home ; or Aubrey Williams, whose star 
 is ever in the ascendency and whose good works are his 
 sufficient testimonial j or J. P. Essex, whose fruitful min- 
 istry gives ample ground for all the pride we feel in him ; 
 or our own loved or somewhat lost Gardner, whose only 
 fault was that he was too stroug for us to be able to hold 
 him, and of course and by all means our own beloved 
 pastor D. M. Ramsey, one of the best of all and largely 
 because the church made him what he is and brought 
 him here for what he is able so well to do. But I must 
 not omit the youngest in the household, the boy of my de- 
 light, Thos. Y. McCaul, who started without a dollar, 
 took Richmond College honors, went to Louisville and 
 graduated there and came back to get all that our state 
 university could confer upon him. 
 
 May our ministerial tribe never grow less but rather 
 multiply and refresh the earth and lead the way to 
 heaven. 
 
 I tremble to mention the men with whom I have taken 
 sweet counsel in the past, and if I do mention a few and 
 pass over the many, think not that I have forgotten them j 
 
176 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 remember the hour is far spent and I must not make 
 shii^ wreck of your patience. I must call the name of the 
 senior deacon, who welcomed me here, — Wellington 
 Goddin, an amiable, home-loving, open-handed brother. 
 He gave his money, his life, his family to this church. 
 There used to sit with him in our official council -chamber 
 when I first came, Henderson, Jacobs, Evans, Glazebrook 
 and Minor. Minor was the man of prayer and of the 
 gentle mien, and all believed in him. There came a 
 troop of them later, Ellett, chairman for quite a while. 
 Crump, the shrinking, the refined and the faithful ; 
 Pilcher, brought up in the church, long the leader in the 
 music and faithful teacher in the Sunday-school, Otway 
 Brown, with many infirmities of body but of a lordly 
 and faithful soul and served as deacon, clerk and super- 
 intendent, and Dr. H. W. Davis, my boy friend at college, 
 converted under my eyes and as true a man as ever 
 entered the doors of this church ; and Wm. R. Jones, 
 who remembered for me the things that I was likely to 
 forget, who had a godly stubbornness and with whom I 
 found more pleasure in wrangling than I did with some 
 who always agreed with me, and Geo. R. Pace, whom I 
 loved when I was at college, who gave me his full heart 
 and who never fell short in any duty through his own 
 neglect ; and many more I love though unmentioned 
 here. 
 
 But the friend of friends whose home was mine, whose 
 children were as my own, whose love was immeasurable, 
 whose steadfastness and help largely held me up, El- 
 dridge Marcellus Foster, to-night looks down from the hills 
 of glory and my soul salutes him. 
 
 Think not that to-night I can fail to mention that 
 lovely and ever interesting feature of my Grace Street 
 pastorate, — My Boys' Meeting. It was born December, 
 1876, and departed this life in May, 1901. It was a boys* 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 177 
 
 affair but it was twenty-five years and a half old when it 
 passed away. It was the perpetual fountain of youth, 
 and at that fountain I drank freshness and bliss every 
 Sunday afternoon. They raised over $10,000 during 
 their lifetime, and on one occasion at least, when the 
 church was in a financial strait, they graciously loaned to 
 her four hundred dollars to help her along with her cur- 
 rent expenses. My boys often delighted great throngs 
 with their entertainments ; they always enriched the ex- 
 ercises of our Sunday-school anniversaries, and groups of 
 them went far and wide with their speeches, their dia- 
 logues and their music, ever ready to lend a helping hand. 
 For years they thronged the front pews of the church and 
 were my best listeners and among my sweetest singers, 
 and as for order they were next to perfection. Out of 
 that meeting went hundreds of men true, not ashamed of 
 their religion, well thought of far and wide, and it used al- 
 most to fill me with unseemly pride to know that a boy 
 that belonged to ' * Dr. Hatcher's ' ' boys rarely found it hard 
 to get a place. In these later days I travel much and go 
 afar and whether it be on boat or train or in the hotel or 
 in some church, be it in the North or the South or in the 
 West I never get out of sight of my constituents, my 
 noble, loyal and faithful boys. Here to-night I stood 
 upon this platform and saw them crowd in, scores and 
 hundreds, and while now they are men, brave, godly men 
 and only a fair sample of multitudes of others like them, 
 they are still my boys and I almost believe they will still 
 be so in that world where we can have a far greater re- 
 union than that it moves me so to see to-night. If I 
 could call the roll they would answer from almost every 
 part of the earth, and some already glorified would answer 
 from out the windows of heaven through which they look 
 out upon us to-night. 
 
 I must also be permitted to add that I had another 
 
178 ALONG THE TEAIL 
 
 band of boys, and that the students of Richmond College. 
 For much of my pastorate the bulk of them attended our 
 church. They came in troups to the Sunday-school and 
 used to throng into my congregations. A great number 
 of them I baptized with my own hands, and perhaps even 
 more of them were converted here who joined the 
 churches elsewhere. There too were a multitude of 
 ministerial students, the majority of whom constitute now 
 the bone and sinew of our Virginia ministry, and others 
 of them, a blessed contingent, are scattered all over our 
 republic and some of them beyond the seas. They were 
 an inspiring element in our congregation, and so far as I 
 know their love for this old church knows no abatement 
 and without an exception so far as I recall, I have in each 
 one of them a younger brother, faithful and full of com- 
 fort to me. It would not be fair if I did not add even 
 yet that troops of boys from the medical colleges often 
 came in with us, and in my travels I am constantly meet- 
 ing these students, now efficient, and in many cases 
 eminent physicians, doing their work and serving their 
 generation. With the grasp of their hand always come 
 fine words about this old church and the good they got 
 here. 
 
 But I promised a word in regard to our church build- 
 ing. From the day I got here I purposed in my heart to 
 build a house unto the Lord, just as David did, and I 
 greatly thanked my heavenly Father that though He 
 would not allow David to build one house for Him, He 
 gave me the exultant privilege of building two for Him. 
 It was a lonesome time I had, waiting for the day when I 
 might see my purpose fulfilled. After all I had to prac- 
 tice a little duplicity which I verily believe was of a good 
 moral sort. I started out under the pretext of enlarging 
 and improving the old house, which I intended to do if 
 nothing better could be done. It was John Gresham who 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 1Y9 
 
 fretted me into the start. He had a great Sunday dinner 
 prepared for me and I didn't want to go and I refused so 
 long as I could, but finally assured him that I was going 
 only because he wanted me, and also that I was going not 
 in the best humor. He said that his wife had had the 
 dinner prepared and he had promised to deliver me in 
 person at his house, and as to the state of mind in which I 
 went, that wouldn' t count at all. So I went and E. W. 
 Gates and B. B. Van Buren went, as John said, to fill up, 
 which same they faithfully did. After dinner I brought 
 up the church business and had a wrangle lasting until 
 supper, but I went back into town with forty -five hundred 
 dollars promised. Gold in the hand would not have been 
 one whit better. It was one of my happy customs to have 
 a New Year's reception every year and everybody from 
 the loftiest deacon to the smallest member of the infant 
 class was expected to come into my house, have a hand- 
 shake, take a taste of food and a New Year's card and go 
 away resolving to be better, and it looked to me as if all 
 of them kept their promise. 
 
 That Sunday night I told them that the following 
 Wednesday night would not only witness my reception 
 but would also celebrate my silver wedding, and that 
 I wanted them to bring me a present on New Year's 
 evening. They looked decidedly surprised, for I had not 
 made it a point to regale them with my mendicant ap- 
 peals, and after a little I told them it was for repairing 
 the church for which I asked the money, and I expected 
 them to bring me $10,000. They laughed an incredulous 
 but good-natured laugh and I told them I fully expected 
 to get it. When we counted it up it was a fraction over 
 $12,000 and by that time the ship had crossed the bars 
 and was fully out to sea. We got so much that I went 
 the circle again to see how much they would add to the 
 amount promised to have a new house. In three more 
 
180 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 days we had $30,000 and with that, after giving letters to a 
 few to whom progress was pain and disapi)ointment, we 
 voted unanimously to have a new house. It cost nearly 
 $70, 000. We subscribed our money when times were good 
 and had to pay it when times were hard and what was 
 more, had to take three pulls and four years before we 
 entered what was the largest, most convenient, most im- 
 posing building in the city. The glories of dedication 
 day cannot be spoken by my dull, unworthy lips. 
 Friends came from far and wide to rejoice with us. 
 Dr. John A. Broadus, peerless among American min- 
 isters, preached the sermon and my people were happy, 
 noble, and united in the triumphs and glories of the day. 
 
 The auditorium had ample sittings for 1,550 people and 
 thirty rooms all admirably furnished. My study in 
 some way touched the tender spot in my people and they 
 crowded it with all the choicest and most useful things. 
 It was truly a dream of a study. 
 
 We entered this edifice on the fifth Sunday in March, 
 1894, and on the 2Gth of February, 1896, the building was 
 turned into ashes with everything it contained. Its fur- 
 nishings had cost nearly $10,000 ; its glass was costly and 
 beautiful. My study had all my books, my manuscripts, 
 my most treasured correspondence and about everything 
 that a man gathers in a twenty years' pastorate in the 
 way of souvenirs, love tokens and heart treasures. Every 
 particle of it went up and out on the wings of the flames. 
 It was my bitter task to discover the fire and to seek the 
 help of the fire department. A wind, almost cyclonic in 
 its violence, was shaking the city and odd and unex- 
 plained delays in the coming of the fire fighters set the 
 flames beyond the reach of suppression. In five minutes 
 after the chief of the fire department arrived he ap- 
 proached me and said, ^' I am exceedingly sorry, doctor, 
 to say that we cannot save your building, but must 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 181 
 
 ^ive all of our time to preventing a general confla- 
 gration." 
 
 <' If it must be so," said I, *'do your duty to the city." 
 But I added as I turned to the crowd that if the church 
 had to go I must at least be spared the sight of its de- 
 struction. I turned away and some one threw his arms 
 over my shoulders from behind and said in cheery tones, 
 '^ Never mind, doctor, let her go and we will build you 
 another, and the glory of the second shall outshine that 
 of the first." 
 
 I turned and it was one of the best friends the church 
 liad,— the ever-popular Charles H. Eppes, city sergeant, 
 a royal fellow and though not a member of the church, 
 one of its most generous supporters. 
 
 The fire was discovered at two o'clock p. m., and at 
 three the funeral of Deacon A. L. Shepherd was to take 
 place in the building. One of the quietest of all our 
 deacons came to me and said to me, " What can I do for 
 you?" 
 
 I said, *'See Dr. Landrum and tell him to open the 
 Second Baptist Church for the funeral. Have notices of 
 the funeral put up where all the people can see it who 
 come to the fire, and notify the family to head the pro- 
 cession to the Second Church." With a delay of just 
 fifteen minutes the friends had about filled the Second 
 Baptist Church, though they left the burning church to 
 go, and the funeral service w^as as quiet and solemn as if 
 it was being held in the building which the good deacon 
 had helped to build and to which he had given a magnif- 
 icent solid communion set which, alas, was melted by the 
 same flames which consumed the house. 
 
 I dropped in at Deacon Foster's to wait until time for 
 the funeral and told the dread news, and mother and 
 daughters actually wailed in piteous distress. The spec- 
 tacle reversed the current in my case and I sprang to my 
 
182 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 feet and declared that never a sigli nor a tear should tell 
 any grief of mine, and truly from that moment I never 
 felt one pulsation of sorrow. I did more than that. I 
 assumed a most arbitrary and exacting air and told those 
 ladies that I had to go to the funeral and that I wanted a 
 lunch, a good one and at once, and in five minutes the 
 good things were multiplying on the table, and those 
 heroic women were chatting almost gleefully about what 
 a time we would have in building another church. In 
 spite of it all, I felt a rawness of heart and wondered how 
 many prophetic shriekers would beat around to talk of 
 what a significant dispensation of Providence it was. I 
 was weU scourged for my thoughts, for on my way to the 
 funeral I met one of my boys and he remarked that the 
 burning of the church was very unfortunate. ' ^ But, ' ' said 
 he, ^'doctor, call on me for $100," and I turned the 
 corner and there was my most distinguished and eminent 
 friend. Dr. M. D. Hoge, the very flower and pride of 
 Southern Presbyteriauism, and he gave my hand a most 
 reviving shake and said, " My good brother, you must 
 not deny me the coveted privilege of giving you a mite 
 to get you up at once another church j draw on me for 
 $100 at any hour you need it." 
 
 I ought to say that we were in the midst of a great re- 
 vival at the time, aided by Dr. L. G. Broughton, whose 
 sermons were in my study and met the same fate as my 
 lumbering pile of homiletic matter. I told him that I 
 knew that when the flames struck his sermons that they 
 could never be stopped and he rather meanly intimated 
 that if the fire got into mine it would be the first time 
 they knew what fire was, — or words to that effect. 
 
 The next morning papers contained my request that 
 my people would meet in the First Presbyterian Church 
 at two o'clock that afternoon. It looked as if every one 
 of them came and with them hundreds of the children 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 183 
 
 and yet other hundreds of friends and neighbors. The 
 general voice was that there never was such a meeting as 
 that. I entered the room with several friends from the 
 rear, and as we advanced to the pulpit we struck an old- 
 time hymn. Everybody cried but us and I dare say we 
 cried some too during the first stanza. With the next 
 stanza some lifted up their heads and began to sing, and 
 by the time we got to the end of the hymn the house was 
 reverberating with exultant praises. Outsiders came 
 and looked as if they were almost disposed to break up 
 the meeting by insistent offers of money to help us build. 
 Ministers and the Jewish rabbi were there to offer us 
 their churches, and I carried a paper appointing one com- 
 mittee to build us a tabernacle for temporary purposes ; 
 and a building committee to take into hand the matter of 
 a new house of worship. The spirit of the assembly rose 
 in fervency, reverence, exultation and joy. There was 
 no programme and not much order ; but it was the most 
 sacred, uplifting and heavenly disorder that ever marked 
 a religious assemblage. It looked as if we would not be 
 able to stop the buoyant fellowship and bounding praises 
 of the people. At last I thought we had the blessed mob 
 under control, when a man sprang up and said, ''For 
 heaven's sake, do not break up until we have time to 
 shake hands with our pastor. We want to let him know 
 that we are all right and if there is anything on earth 
 that he wants us to do, let him tell us and we are subject 
 to orders.'' 
 
 The hand-shake came on in which some of the minis- 
 ters shared and both of my hands were in sad need of a 
 physician after the hysterical squeezes which about a 
 thousand people had given them. 
 
 At the close of it all, the Jewish rabbi, a scholar, a 
 gentleman and a man of heart, said to Dr. Kerr, the hos- 
 pitable and distinguished pastor of the church, that he 
 
184: ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 Lad heard that there was uo power in the name of Jesus 
 and had often said so himself, but that he would never 
 say so again, solemnly adding that never in his life had 
 he seen such an impressive, religious demonstration as he 
 had witnessed at that time. 
 
 And then came the rarest and most unworldly mani- 
 festation of human nobility that I ever saw. The stream 
 of sympathy gathering from all quarters broke in over- 
 whelming volume upon the church. A distinguished 
 gentleman said that the outbreak of kindness constituted 
 a new era in the history of Christian fellowship. The 
 whole city poured out in practical shape its compassion- 
 ate sorrow. All gates were opened, and all hands 
 stretched out to help. Our church had more homes than 
 it could even enter to hold a thanksgiving service. It 
 worshipped in thirteen different places, and one unsophis- 
 ticated boy touched off the situation with unconscious 
 humor when he said, ^'Iwas converted in the Second 
 Baptist Church, received for baptism at the First Presby- 
 terian Church, baptized at the Calvary Baptist Church 
 and received the right hand of fellowship in the Jewish 
 Synagogue.'' 
 
 What a chapter of grace, liberality, self-sacrifice could 
 be written of the days that followed that fire. I never 
 knew people were so good, and never learned how to love 
 with unlimited ardors until that time. Truly did we 
 ^' build another" of old Virginia granite after a new and 
 admirable pattern, and sure enough the glory of the lat- 
 ter far outshone the glory of the former. That church 
 was dedicated on the first day of the week, the first day 
 of the month, the first day of the year and the first day 
 of the twentieth century. 
 
 It was a day of days, a day of new days and a day 
 whose glory will outlive the century which began with it. 
 
 But this racing, half-told and never to be told story of 
 
TWENTY-SIX YEARS TO A DAY 185 
 
 my Grace Street pastorate must lialt. Your patience has 
 been wonderful, and I am sorry that I have not told it 
 better. AYhen I resigned, it was not because I wished to 
 resign, and Deacon Foster, chairman of the committee 
 sent to ask me to reconsider my resignation, assured me 
 that he could find not a single one who wished me to re- 
 sign. But it was done under a long and oft-continued 
 pressure that I must do a service for my Alma Mater to 
 whom I owed so much and from whom had come a claim 
 so urgent and pathetic that I could not disregard it. No 
 pastor ever had a more inviting or satisfying pastorate, 
 and I think that no church ever had a more grateful or a 
 more loving pastor. I was never satisfied with my work, 
 but so far as it was unsatisfactory to my people, charity 
 covered up that part of it, and so we parted in sorrow 
 and in a love which can never die in this world nor in 
 the other. 
 
 I know that far more of those who welcomed me here 
 when I first came are in heaven than are here to greet me 
 to-night, and I feel well assured that out on the eternal 
 hills I shall see not only them but those who still abide 
 upon the earth as they come up to join the celestial 
 throng 
 
 Where congregations ne'er break up 
 And Sabbaths have no end. 
 
XI 
 
 QUITTING THE SHEEPFOLD 
 
 WHEX I was about sixty-five years of age my 
 life suffered a reluctant wreuch. Kiclimond 
 College was my alma mater ; she was exceed- 
 ingly good to me in the rude days of my early manhood 
 and opened the way by which I secured my not too gen- 
 erous collegiate training. I cherished the college with 
 filial devotion, and counted it my pride to serve her with 
 a zeal that asked no fee and halted at no sacrifice. Quite 
 early in my ministry I became one of the trustees, and 
 later on, I became the official head of the Board. The 
 trustees laid hold upon me and demanded that I go 
 out and secure an additional endowment. I shrank fear- 
 fully from the task and declined over and over again, but 
 the importunity of friends and brethren so beloved and 
 so insistent brought me to a reluctant surrender. It 
 meant retirement from a church of which I had been 
 pastor for a quarter of a century, which I loved more 
 than my life, and which had learned to be inexhaustibly 
 patient and gracious towards me. 
 
 It was not a good time to go after money ; it was too 
 late in my life to set my boat upon untried seas. I got 
 the money I was asked to get and did other incidental 
 work besides, but it led to the rending of my pastoral ties 
 and added nothing in compensation for that change. I 
 never had regrets : it seemed a thing of fate that I had to 
 do, and while uncongenial and irksome, I remember the 
 work as having been done by a thankful son for an ever- 
 cherished mother. It was something worth living for to 
 
 186 
 
QUITTING THE SHEEPFOLD 187 
 
 have five years of unbroken fellowship with two men to 
 be forever enshrined in my heart. One was Rev. Dr. C. 
 H. Ryland, financial master of the college for full forty 
 years, one of my old college comrades, true as steel, pure 
 as gold, and unrivalled in worth among all the sous of 
 men whom I have known. The other was Frederick 
 William Boatwright, whom I learned to love as a boy, 
 whose brave career I have ever watched with pride, and 
 whose reign as President of the Eichmond College has 
 been magnificent in its achievements and its splendor. 
 
 It is fitting that I should add that in considering the 
 appeal to devote some of my time to the better equipment 
 of Eichmond College I was brought face to face with the 
 question as to what the rest of my life should be concerned 
 with. I foresaw that it would involve the breaking of my 
 pastoral ties, and I felt distinctly that after giving up my 
 incomparable and ever loyal Grace Street charge I could 
 never grow into another pastorate. It was that fact that 
 made me pause so long and to suffer so much under the 
 clamor of the trustees for my services. If I could have 
 taken a little while and then resumed my pastorate, that 
 would have been quite another thing, but the change in- 
 volved the recasting of my earthly future which I hardly 
 then thought would be so extended as it has proved to 
 be. I dare not have the presumption of saying that God 
 was opening my way for me, and yet not even His good- 
 ness could have set out my path or my task in these latter 
 days more to my taste and to my comfort than it has 
 been in detail as well as in outline. 
 
XII 
 
 WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 
 
 MY unconquerable passion for going bore me far 
 abroad as a helper of my brethren in their 
 evangelistic meetings. The churches which I 
 served sought to moderate my enthusiasm in this fascina- 
 ting specialty, and not a few brethren assigned me a place 
 among the incorrigibles. My topmost delight was the 
 country revival which showed the rural brethren at their 
 best. It evoked their hospitality, furnished an open field 
 for social commingling and, by separating the people 
 from their avocations and their homes, put them in the 
 best mood for hearing the Gospel and looking after the 
 salvation of their neighbors. As time went on many city 
 pastors sought for my services. As a rule my summer 
 vacations were given out freely to revival meetiugs, from 
 their beginning to the time of my return, and during the 
 several seasons of the year I would slip away on the early 
 Monday trains and give the week days to revival services. 
 Quite often I would simply announce to my church on 
 Sunday that I would be in a revival meeting at a given 
 place for a given time, indicating the arrangements for 
 substitutes in my absence. Now and then I would sug- 
 gest to the city churches that were clamoring for my help 
 that they appeal to the Supreme Court, my church in that 
 case constituting the final resort, and almost without ex- 
 ception every well articulated appeal for my services was 
 honored by my people. My deacons used to sit up with 
 my case wondering whether I was beyond redemption, 
 now and then sending one of their number to labor with 
 
 188 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 189 
 
 me. He generally ended his Interview by apologizing for 
 his intrusion, and stoutly maintaining that he believed 
 that the indications of providence were on my side. I 
 found that I could afford to strain the patience of my 
 people to some extent by running off in revivals, — some 
 declaring that they did not believe that I could help it, 
 and others feeling that in antagonizing me they might 
 find themselves fighting against God. Now as I look 
 back and think of it all my heart melts as I remember 
 the patience, courtesy and loyalty of those whose pastor 
 it was my honor and glory to be. When I began my 
 Eichmond pastorate I told my church at the time of my 
 installation that the cry of the churches for my help rang 
 for me like the voice of God and that they might as well 
 understand that they would have trouble with me on that 
 score as long as they held on to me. When I preached 
 my farewell sermon to them after a twenty-six years' pas- 
 torate I reminded them of what I said at the beginning, 
 and told them that whatever they might think of my con- 
 duct in other respects, as their pastor, I thought that there 
 was one promise I made that I had fulfilled, and that was 
 the promise to go out and help the other churches. The 
 remark brought on almost tumultuous laughter, for my 
 wayfaring habits were well known to my church and they 
 had long ago given up the hope of breaking my speed 
 in that particular. After their laughter had ceased I 
 told them that while some mistakes might have been 
 made in that respect I fully believed that the church was 
 greater by reason of my going than it would have become 
 by my staying. Indeed my people came, during the later 
 years of my pastorate, to welcome me after my prolonged 
 absences by telling me that I always brought them bottles 
 of the old wine of the kingdom when I came back from 
 the Gospel feasts of the other churches. 
 Truly I had a holy fear of my church, — not the ignoble 
 
190 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 dread of rude dismissal, but the fear of wounding them 
 by an ill-proportioned interest in things apart from them. 
 Sometimes I would hasten home on late Saturday nights. 
 They always said that they did not look for me until the 
 last train. My accusing fancy would conjure before me 
 pictures of wounded hearts stricken by neglect and no 
 longer trustful and tender towards me. But in some unex- 
 plained and blessed way my soul would get charged with 
 a message, — heaven must have given it to me, — which was 
 the very bread of life to the thronging crowds which never 
 failed to meet me. Their welcoming smile, their eager 
 hand-grasp, and even their chidings, made my pastorate 
 a song whose enriching notes seemed full of the world 
 unseen. 
 
 In contrast with these times of bliss with my people were 
 hardships, downfalls and grim adventures which befell 
 me in my efforts to serve others. I give a case here which 
 occurred in the midst of the wildest mountains into which 
 I ever penetrated and which went far and wide at my ex- 
 pense, and I often told it myself. 
 
 One of the peculiar passions of my life has been to save 
 important occasions from going to wreck, as they are often 
 in danger of doing, from the lack of management. It is, 
 however, a species of interference that often reacts in a 
 dangerous way. On several occasions I was taught by 
 acute experiences that to intrude into situations not fully 
 understood may land a man into other situations far more 
 embarrassing. I was called into the mountains of Vir- 
 ginia to preach on the occasion of the dedication of a house 
 of worship in a small secluded village. One feature of 
 the services was an ill sorted and untutored choir which, 
 while harrowing enough in its performances, was evi- 
 dently very proud of itself, and thought that it was head- 
 ing towards immortal fame. On the day following the 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 191 
 
 dedication a large missionary association held its meeting 
 in the newly dedicated church. There were very distin- 
 guished speakers present j visitors had come from great 
 distances ; expectation was eager and the outlook for a 
 great impression was most inspiriDg. The morning 
 opened well and the choir reappeared in the little box 
 gallery in the rear of the church, and was evidently there 
 to win new laurels. Unfortunately several pieces of music 
 were rendered with the utmost maltreatment, and yet the 
 speakers were full of eloquence and power. 
 
 At the close of an address a modest brother was called 
 out to read an important paper. Just about the time he 
 was unlimbering and ready to fire off, something hap- 
 pened. Up in the choir gallery some man started out to 
 sing a solo which was evidently not on the programme. 
 It was quite clear that he was lying down and his voice 
 quavered mournfully and dragged along heavily as he 
 moaned out to the tune of old Martin, ' ^ Jesus lover of 
 my soul." 
 
 A look of painful surprise marked the audience and 
 the meandering soloist finished the line without interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 It was at this point that I entered the scene with the 
 brave intent to turn confusion into a musical victory, and 
 with religious energy the soloist and myself made a 
 duet as we sang together, '* Let me to Thy bosom fly." 
 
 I felt quite sure that under my bold leadership the 
 crowd would fall in and that we would make the old 
 hymn roll out with congregational vigor. I was mistaken. 
 The grim and desolate soloist and myself were left alone 
 in our gloom and glory. I confess that it provoked me, 
 and so I stopped to review the situation. The melan- 
 choly man in the gallery headed into the third line, — 
 *^ While the raging billows roll," and slurred and demi- 
 semi-quavered through it alone. The audience remained 
 
192 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 quiet, some, as if crushed with humiliation ; some, as if they 
 would explode with laughter, and I with far more zeal 
 than discretion felt quite outraged that neither the choir 
 nor the people seemed ready to take part. I determined 
 that something must be done, and so when the soloist in 
 the gallery turned into the fourth line I broke in with 
 him, fully set on getting the people into the song. 
 
 With all the vocal energy which I i)ossessed, and my 
 capacity for making a noise was considerable, I pealed 
 forth at the top of my voice, '^ While the tempest still is 
 high," and counted fully on a general musical rally in 
 the audience. 
 
 Not a note was heard except from the dismal brother in 
 the gallery and myself in the pulpit at the other end of 
 the house. I experienced all the coldness which attends 
 a man in the moment of a great failure. Indeed a sense 
 of being hopelessly stranded shot through me, and I 
 wished sincerely that I had not come. Just then a tall, 
 thin, reverential but excited man rushed down from the 
 gallery and pulled up the aisle and approaching me said, 
 with cutting reproach : 
 
 " Why, Dr. Hatcher, didn't you know that man in the 
 gallery with that maudlin voice is drunk ? " 
 
 ''No, I didn't," I said quite stormily ; "nor did I know 
 that you employed drunkards to do your singing," which 
 remark I fancied would wither my critic out of existence. 
 
 To my utter surprise the crowd broke into gales of 
 laughter which I knew instinctively were entirely at my 
 expense, and the echoes of that uproarious merriment have 
 broken around me many times since. I honestly believe 
 that from that time I have been a fraction more discreet, 
 but I have not been able to out-travel the amusement and 
 reminders of that story. 
 
 In sharp contrast with the humorous experience just 
 related I add the following bewildering and yet affecting 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 193 
 
 story, liow in tlie mysterious turns of life men of such 
 diiiterent characters, such bitter memories and such war- 
 ring hostilities may be brought together in sudden and 
 glorious harmony. This incident occurred in one of 
 the greatest churches in America, and only those who 
 witnessed it can understand the jar, the strain, the 
 humor and even the grace and beauty of it. 
 
 One night in a memorable meeting a gentleman came 
 forward, evidently a Christian but not an acquaintance of 
 mine, and told me that he was very anxious to introduce 
 to me a friend of his in whom he was especially inter- 
 ested. He brought uj) a well-dressed and fairly attract- 
 ive looking man, not yet old enough to be counted mid- 
 dle aged. I entered into conversation with the man and 
 found him very serious, and he so attracted me that I told 
 him he must not go away until I had brought him in con- 
 tact with some of the members of the church, many of 
 whom were standing around in different portions of the 
 house. My eye chanced to light on one of the deacons, 
 Deacon Duncan, and I called him forward. 
 
 ^'Deacon Duncan," said I, ''I want to introduce to 
 
 you my friend, Mr. C , and I desire that you will 
 
 take him in charge and be to him a brother and a friend." 
 
 I saw an unmistakable embarrassment on the part of 
 the deacon and the man. It was acute, benumbing, and 
 yet I determined to push it along. I told the deacon that 
 he and my friend had better get into a quiet part of the 
 room and have a good talk together, and they walked off 
 in company. After a while the room had emptied itself, 
 
 the conversation of the deacon and Mr. C had closed 
 
 and Mr. C had gone out with his friend, and Deacon 
 
 Duncan walked up on me with about as queer and crush- 
 ing sort of a look on his face as I ever saw in all my days 
 upon any mortal face. He was pale, sick and tremulous. 
 
194 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 '' Doctor, do you know what you have done to-night 1 " 
 he inquired with great seriousness. 
 
 I replied that if I had done anything that ought not to 
 have been done, it was his time to do the preaching and I 
 would do the repenting. He then proceeded to tell me 
 that the man that I had placed in his charge, had, about 
 five years before that, burglarized his home and stolen 
 every piece of silver there was in the house. 
 
 There it was now, sure enough. It was my time to be 
 silent and yet it was a time when I was bound to speak. 
 I asked him what occurred when they walked off and got 
 face to face. 
 
 ** The poor fellow," he said, ** was cut to the heart and 
 said to me that he hoped that I would not feel it my duty 
 to strike him down. ^ I see that you know me, Mr. Dun- 
 can,^ he said, with great humility, ^and if you did not 
 know me, I would not be unwilling for you to know me. 
 You know the wrong that I did you ; I fully justify your 
 pursuing me ; I am glad that you got all of your property 
 back ; my punishment I took, and when it was over I 
 determined that my future should be spent in this city. 
 There were several gentlemen who had not lost faith in 
 me, bad as I was, and they took me up. They have set 
 me up in business in another part of the city and I am 
 getting along. I want to be a better man and came 
 to this meeting that I might seek the mercy of 
 God.' " 
 
 '' What did you say to him ? " I ventured to ask. 
 
 " 'Do not be uneasy,' I said to him ; ' we will bury the 
 past right here ; I have nothing against you now and I 
 offer you my confidence, my sympathy in your struggle 
 to be a better man.' " 
 
 He then added that the past was blotted out and he had 
 a hope that the man's desire to begin life anew would 
 ripen into a conviction, adding that he and others would 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 195 
 
 treat him as a brotlier and do what they could to help him 
 to a better life. 
 
 It would iudeed be wonderful, and it ought to be usual, 
 if cases of this kind were occurring at all the churches. 
 If the Gospel of Jesus had free course to run, it would 
 win some of its chiefest glories in the salvation of such 
 cases as this. 
 
 Another one of my revival experiences occurred in 
 the winter of 1898 when it was my good fortune to spend 
 about a dozen days in assisting Dr. H. F. Colby, then 
 pastor of the First Baptist Church at Dayton, Ohio, in 
 evangelistic services. There grew up in the meeting the 
 odd and yet helpful fashion among the Christian people 
 of bringing their unsaved friends forward at the close of 
 the service to introduce them to me. It brought about 
 several most unexpected results. 
 
 One night a gentleman came up and told me that he 
 was authorized by a certain lady to say to me that she 
 would be present at the service on the following night to 
 make an open confession of her faith in Jesus Christ. It 
 was something out of the ordinary and drew us to further 
 conversation, during which he was led to tell me that she 
 could not come that night, that she had a great social 
 function, a euchre party, as he called it, at her home. 
 He also gave me to understand that she belonged to the 
 fashionable set of Dayton and was not in any way con- 
 nected with the congregation to which I was preachiug. 
 I confess frankly that it brought a decided coolness over 
 me to learn that she was kept away from the meeting by 
 such a peculiar form of social dissipation as the man had 
 frankly spoken of. I made no reply but I practically 
 turned the whole thing out of my mind and would prob- 
 ably never have recalled it again. 
 
 The next night came and I, utterly forgetful of the 
 
196 alo:ng the trail 
 
 woman who was coming to make public avowal of her 
 faith, made the usual appeal for public confessions of 
 faith. Almost with the moment that the invitation 
 passed my lips there arose in the rear of the church a 
 youug woman— I would not say brilliantly dressed but 
 herself so rarely and brilliantly beautiful that she im- 
 parted beauty to her dress and to her entire person. A 
 lawyer friend, a member of that church, declared after- 
 wards that it was a transfiguration. He said that the 
 lustrous beauty of her presence must have been touched 
 with irresistible glory for, as he declared, the whole side 
 of the church on which she came flashed with resplendent 
 light. For my part, I only know that I saw in her one 
 of the most beautiful women that I ever looked upon and 
 when she came forward and grasped my hand, she said, 
 *' I am the lady that had the euchre party last night and 
 I will be glad to speak with you after the service ends." 
 
 She took a seat on the front pew and waited until many 
 different friends, for one reason and another, had held 
 me in conversation and until, indeed, I was free from all 
 interruption. She rose and came forward and I sug- 
 gested that we take a seat and she told me her story, 
 which I believe I can reproduce without any important 
 variation. 
 
 ''I ought to tell you," she said, ^'that I form a little 
 part of the social life of Dayton. The custom in the city 
 is, among the members of Dayton society, to give a series 
 of entertainments or functions for the season, each young 
 woman having her own night. Last night was my time, 
 chosen weeks ago after good understanding with other 
 friends who expected also to entertain. Of course, it is 
 quite an undertaking to prepare for one of these occasions. 
 My tickets were sent out a full month ago and went to 
 friends in many parts of Ohio and not a few in other 
 states. We had worked hard to have every detail all 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 197 
 
 right and day before yesterday it was decided that we 
 had everything in readiness and would have a day and 
 night of freedom. Night before last a friend was in to 
 see me and told me of the meeting here and, as I was at 
 liberty and as I was not without thoughtfulness about 
 religious things, I accepted his invitation to come 
 around. The services affected me profoundly— so 
 deeply, indeed, that before I went out of the house I 
 fully determined that I would devote my life to Jesus 
 Christ, my Saviour, but I made no public acknowledgment 
 of it. When I left the church I was confronted with the 
 impending function which I was to give and which I 
 suddenly felt was in some way out of harmony with my 
 new religious experience. I can tell you frankly that if 
 I could have seen any satisfactory escape from having 
 the party, it would have brought me great relief, but my 
 tickets had gone out long ago ; my guests were already 
 coming into the city ; the supper, the music, the flowers 
 were engaged and there was no power of recalling the 
 engagement. I knew that to retreat at that point would 
 never be understood and would bring criticism, which 
 in my judgment would have hurt the cause far more than 
 to have the party. So I determined to let it go on ; it 
 passed off with all the fitness, grace and effect that 
 previous care could make possible. I devoted myself to 
 the comfort of the guests, I gave them all that I had in- 
 vited them to and gave it with all the cordiality of which 
 I was capable. There was no hitch nor break nor blunder 
 and the friends seemed to have an evening full of pleasure 
 and happiness. I desire to say to you that I did not 
 deny my new Master, although we had the party. When 
 it came to the end and the friends were gathering with a 
 view to separation in a little while, I got their ear and 
 thanked them for their coming, expressed the joy in hav- 
 ing them and my high appreciation of their good-will and 
 
198 ALOXG THE TRAIL 
 
 friendship, but I added that the night before an event 
 had happened in my life that was destined to exercise a 
 controlling iufluence over me in the future. I told them 
 that to-night it was my full purpose to make an open 
 declaration of my Christian faith and enter upon my 
 work as a servant of Jesus Christ." 
 
 She told the story with a simplicity and candor and 
 a tearful warmth that made it wonderful. I said to her 
 that i^eople might differ about things but that for my 
 part I thought in that case she showed the levelness and 
 intelligence of her faith by having the euchre party and 
 that whatever the future held for her, I was sure the 
 honor of the Gospel and the name of her Saviour could 
 never suffer in her hands. 
 
 I left Dayton in a few days and never undertook to 
 follow the case. The incident as thus related was to me 
 irresistibly charming and I have counted it a most signal 
 and assuring example of the saving power and the good 
 sense of the Gospel religion. 
 
 In 1878 I assisted Dr. Frank H. Kerfoot in revival 
 services at the Eutaw Place Baptist Church, Baltimore. 
 The meeting drew much vital force from the Moody meet- 
 ings then in progress in that city and had, besides, ex- 
 traordinary features of interest and power. Among the 
 various services held was a men's morning prayer-meet- 
 ing which met in the church at 8 : 30 A. M., and was for 
 the benefit of men going down into the city to their work. 
 It was not a large meeting but it was a meeting of sur- 
 passing force and tenderness. It well illustrated, what it 
 would be well for everybody to understand, that men are 
 the commanding force in a great evangelistic movement. 
 Their place is in the front and when they fail to take 
 their place, they do hurt to the kingdom of God, and 
 when they are endued with power from on high and 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 199 
 
 amply equipped for service, nothing can stand in their 
 vay. 
 
 One morning Baltimore was swept with a northeaster 
 —a genuine and terrific blizzard. The winds cut like 
 steel and the streets were carpeted with ice, the trees were 
 loaded with icicles and travel on the streets was scant and 
 perilous. That morning there were not more than two 
 or three dozen men present, but the prayer-meeting room 
 was one of the hot spots of sorely-bewintered Baltimore. 
 I was conducting the meeting and announced that our 
 time would be up in several minutes, and asked if there 
 was any man present who was bound to speak. 
 
 Instantly Joshua Levering sprang to his feet. A look 
 at him told that his soul was swept by a fiercer storm 
 than that which was rattling the windows and blowing 
 off the signs of the Monumental City. 
 
 '' Yes," he said, '' I have something to say— something 
 very sad to say. Last night as I was preparing for bed 
 it broke over me with shocking force that the grandson 
 of our old pastor. Dr. Eichard Fuller, is an avowed in- 
 fidel. He is a student in the John Hopkins University 
 and, I understand, a member of an agnostic club and is 
 quite ready to cast contempt upon that religion in which 
 his grandfather so fully believed and which he preached 
 with such resistless eloquence in this church. Brethren, 
 while we have been asleep, the devil has come in, passed 
 by us and has put his deadly charm upon that young 
 man and drawn him away into his camp and now 
 has him busy in his service. All night the sorrow of this 
 thing has plowed up my soul ; my eyes have refused sleep 
 and I have been able to do nothing but cry unto the God 
 of my old pastor for help. Let there be no division of 
 feeling with us ; there is but one thing to be done and 
 that must be done— we are to invade the camp of the ad- 
 versary, recover this boy and bring him back to the altar 
 
200 ALONG THE THAIL 
 
 of bis graDdfather. There must be one prayer before this 
 meeting ends and it must not end till we have i)ut the 
 case before the Lord." 
 
 "Brother Joshua," I said, shaken to the depths of my 
 soul by the spectacle of his agony, "no one can make 
 this prayer but you. We will get down with you and 
 join in with you, but you must be the leader." 
 
 Low down Mr. Levering fell, as if his li]3S would touch 
 the dust, and every man went down with him. It was a 
 prayer never to be written and yet never to be forgotten. 
 It had in it the resistless might of intercession ; it ached 
 and groaned and cried with confession ; it breathed 
 mighty appeals and towards the last took on an assur- 
 ance, a strength, an almost imperious demand of a confi- 
 dent faith which stormed the very throne. 
 
 When it ended and I returned to sober thought, I felt 
 that we would get that young man. The meeting ended 
 with a prayer, but the praying went on all day. That 
 night as I was in the vestibule of the church, waiting till 
 the prayer was over, Miss Florence Fuller, the lovely and 
 devout aunt of the young man, drew up to me and said, 
 " 1^0 hope ; no hope at all. I tried to induce him to come 
 to-night buthe showed no interest ; he instead took his skates 
 and went to the park to spend the evening in skating." 
 
 "Don't say it, Miss Florence," I said very strongly. 
 "God is good and God is faithful and He cannot get 
 around Joshua Levering' s prayer. We must hear from 
 him sooner or later. ' ' 
 
 The door opened and we entered the crowded church 
 and at the proper time I preached. The tide of heavenly 
 feeling rolled high that night and the only thing that I 
 remember about the sermon is that at the close of it I did 
 an unusual thing ; did it under a moment's impulse, 
 though I had never done exactly that thing before and 
 have never done it since. 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 201 
 
 " This ends iny sermou," I said, '' and if tliere is to be 
 any more speaking, I open the way to hear from those 
 who know not God. If they have anything to say, let 
 them say on and say it before this assembly of God^s 
 friends and let them say it now." 
 
 Almost instantly a tall, commanding figure arose at the 
 back of the room. ''Yes," said he, with a voice ringing 
 and yet very serious, '' I have something to say. If there 
 bo a God, I do not know Him, and if Jesus is the Son of 
 God and the Saviour of men, I do not know Him, but I 
 do know that He has never saved me. If there be a God, 
 a God who made the universe and made me, I would like 
 to know Him, and if Jesus Christ is truly the Saviour of 
 the lost, I wish that He would save me. If any of you 
 know God, I wish you would speak to Him for me and 
 tell Him that one of His creatures is lost out in the dark- 
 ness and would like to know Him ; and if Jesus Christ 
 has saved any of you, I would like to ask that you will 
 tell Him about me, a lost one, and ask if He will not 
 show me mercy." 
 
 Instantly he fell back to his seat and the effect was in- 
 stant and irresistible. Few dreamed who he was but 
 there fell upon that great audience the conviction that 
 there was a strong young man whom God had touched 
 and that the smitten young man was feeling his way into 
 the light. 
 
 I was overwhelmed with excitement and I lifted my 
 hands, pronounced the benediction and bade the people 
 go. As the house was emptying itself, I chanced to see 
 Mr. Levering, like one fighting an adverse tide, beating 
 his way towards the pulpit, and in time he sprang upon 
 the platform and almost shouted, '' There he is ; that is 
 Fuller Kendall, the young man that we prayed for this 
 morning." 
 
 The meeting ended without my hearing anything more 
 
202 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 from the youDg man, and I was not back at that church 
 for nearly ten years and then I was in an exchange of 
 pulpits with Dr. F. M. Ellis, then the pastor of the 
 church. In the afternoon I attended the Chinese Sun- 
 day-school in that church, and in passing through, some 
 one plucked my coat and drew me around. It was one 
 of the teachers with his solitary Chinese scholar. 
 
 ^' Do you know me 1 " said the young man, rising to his 
 feet, and I replied that I did not. "Do you remember,'^ 
 he continued with unconcealed eagerness, ''the young 
 man who rose one night at the end of the service during 
 the meeting you held here with Dr. Kerfoot and said that 
 he was out in the dark and would like to get back into 
 the light?" 
 
 ''Yes, indeed," I replied; "that was Fuller Kendall, 
 the grandson of the imperial Eichard Fuller." 
 
 " I am Fuller Kendall," he said with charming simplic- 
 ity. He was fair and strong to look upon and I let my 
 eyes feast upon his manly beauty. 
 
 "You said that you were in the dark that night," I 
 said inquiringly ; " may I ask whether you ever found the 
 light?" 
 
 "Oh, doctor ! I found it," he said in gentle ecstasy 
 and, turning to the Chinaman and putting his finger upon 
 his shoulder, he continued, "and I am now trying to 
 make it shine into the benighted heart of my Chinese 
 brother." 
 
 Twenty years after this experience I preached again at 
 the Eutaw Place Church and told this story outright, 
 with Joshua Levering in front of me, and the story was so 
 reinforced and enriched by what the people knew of the 
 case, that all hearts seemed to get a new warming and 
 tears glistened on almost every cheek. I closed by inti- 
 mating that I should be glad to hear something more of 
 the subsequent history of this young man. I was told 
 
WAYSIDE AND OUTSIDE 203 
 
 that he became a lawyer, almost a rival of his grand- 
 father in his kingly form and in his eloquence, but one of 
 the ladies came up and said, '' Evidently you have not 
 heard ; only two or three months ago his end came and, 
 as we stood about his grave, the common agreement was 
 that the best of all our brethren— the very best, had 
 been taken from us and taken because he was the readiest 
 to go.'' 
 
XIII 
 
 THE INEVITABLE BOY 
 
 POSSIBLY it was the hardships of my boyhood, my 
 loneliness without a mother, my bothers about 
 education, the perplexities of mj religious strug- 
 gles, and withal some heavenly suggestion unheard, but 
 powerfully felt, that kindled from the beginning of my min- 
 istry a peculiar interest in boys. My first consciousness 
 of it was in revivals, and every boy that evinced decided 
 i nterest in religion instantly grappled me. This served 
 to stimulate the interest and it was noticed that even in 
 my college days the revival meetings that I held were 
 marked by unusual interest among boys and girls. 
 When I became pastor in Manchester, I soon had a 
 Sunday-school thronged with boys and they joined the 
 church in flocks. In almost all cases they were the sons of 
 the poor, boys that worked, bright-minded in most cases, 
 but with inadequate restraint at home and with countless 
 seductions on the street and in the shops and factories 
 where they worked. At first they would come singly, or 
 two or three together to my study and I would talk to 
 them. Then I commenced to teach them to sing and 
 after a while we had what was called the boys' meeting, 
 which lasted and grew until I left the town. From Man- 
 chester I went to the Franklin Square Church in Balti- 
 more, and soon I found myself happy in the life and work 
 of the boys' meeting ; from Baltimore I went to the First 
 Baptist Church, of Petersburg, and there the boys 
 gathered in troops, and during my seven years there the 
 boys' meeting was the very poetry and song and pride 
 
 204 
 
THE INEVITABLE BOY 205 
 
 and poorer of my pastorate. There the boys were trained 
 for the pl^itform and their performances were read of and 
 duiDlicated in many directions. 
 
 Bat my interest in boys never rose to its full height 
 until May, 1875, when I became the pastor of the Grace 
 Street Baptist Church, and where I remained for twenty- 
 six years almost to the day. The church had a large 
 Sunday-school, with the boys greatly in preponderance, 
 and the first year of my work there brought about 250 
 new members into the church. Among them was the in- 
 evitable boy, and for that matter he was already in the 
 church and there were scores of the unchurched boys. It 
 seemed that I had found my inheritance at last,— banks 
 and tides and storms of boys. The boys' meeting was 
 founded in December of that year, and as an augury of 
 things to come Carter Helm Jones was the first president. 
 That meeting continued unbroken for twenty-five years 
 and six months and went out of existence when I went 
 out of the pastorate. 
 
 The boy is a perishable asset. I set the limit for 
 transferring the larger boys at fifteen, though there were 
 many cases of self- elimination and a noble company that 
 lovingly overstayed their time. The attendance often 
 arose towards a hundred and fifty ; that would generally 
 be after our fruitful revival seasons, and then the tide 
 would go down, but it rarely fell below fifty, and the 
 regularity of the boys in attendance was a miracle of 
 fidelity. I often said that that was the only meeting unaf- 
 fected by seasons or weather. Eain and snow had little 
 effect except upon many of the jjarents who were glad 
 enough to shift their restless youngsters over to me to 
 break the strain of the afternoon ; and as for the boys 
 themselves they had no rheumatism, no outside engage- 
 ments, no sweethearts to count and undying joy in their 
 meeting. We usually held the meeting at half-past two 
 
206 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 in the afternoon, but many of the boys would beg that 
 they might come into my study a little beforehand, and 
 precious chats and songs we often had together. The 
 purpose in the early hour of meeting was to avoid conflict 
 with other afternoon exercises and to afford me oppor- 
 tunities to meet engagements to preach or speak elsewhere 
 at a later hour. 
 
 The exercises were largely without form but never 
 void of spice and life. We had a great deal of singing 
 which much of the time I had to lead, but at other times 
 I had efficient help, given gratuitously by great-hearted 
 men who saw the good of the meeting. How the boys did 
 sing ! Oh, the memory of it floods me with joy at this 
 moment. Sometimes we had boys to sing solos ; some- 
 times duets, quartettes, and they did it well ; and as for the 
 choral songs they were thrilling, heart-stirring, and the 
 boys revelled in them with joy untenable. Men and 
 women flocked to the meetings at times to get a taste of 
 the boys^ songs and to witness the other exercises. We 
 had a business schedule including the calling of the roll, 
 reading the minutes, receiving new members and having 
 little exercises such as repeating passages of Scripture, 
 reciting standard hymns, short speeches, written by my- 
 self, finely spoken by the boys, the never forgotten collec- 
 tion and incidental things as they came. 
 
 I took the utmost pains in having the choicest men of 
 the country to address the boys. Dr. Eichard Fuller of 
 Baltimore was their orator on one occasion ; Mr. Charles 
 Pratt, the Brooklyn millionaire, told them in most ef- 
 fective style the story of his boyhood life ; lawyers un- 
 counted were the orators of set occasions ; Bishop Newton 
 of the Episcopal Church was always ready to come upon 
 call ; physicians came sometimes and gave such primary 
 talks on physiological or Christian topics as they might 
 select J eminent missionaries while in the city were often 
 
THE INEVITABLE BOY 207 
 
 pressed into service j business men were always ready to 
 come and tell the boys the ups and downs of life ; and 
 later on my "old boys," as they rose to distinction, were 
 called back and we would have fine reunions with them. 
 As for myself I was always picking up things for the 
 boys, vital, pungent, boy-enlisting things, and it was no 
 trouble to keep the boys quiet if you had anything for 
 them that suited their case and kind. 
 
 At times the spiritual features of the meeting became 
 distinct. I must say that the Christian boys in the meet- 
 ing were living wonders, many of them of good living 
 and manly bearing, not a few would lead in i)rayer, and 
 some were ready with their testimonies, though I never 
 frightened them by overpressure and never reproached 
 those who did not dare even to open their lips. 
 
 The spirit of the boys made the meeting self-perpet- 
 uating. They always had bright and cheery things to 
 say about the meeting, were amazingly proud of it, and 
 it was fine to see how they lured other boys in and per- 
 suaded them to join, and they delighted to bring them 
 forward and make them known to me. 
 
 The great bulk of these boys attended worship on Sun- 
 day morning. They occupied the front seats, and in case 
 of an overflow they bunched themselves on the platform 
 in front of the pulpit, packed themselves on the pulpit 
 steps and on many occasions overflowed into the pulpit. 
 They were among my best hearers, and as we had our 
 hymns for worship on slips, each boy had his slip and 
 sang not only with evident enjoyment, but with a sweet- 
 ness and reverence which gladdened the audience. For 
 many years these hymn slips were distributed to the au- 
 dience as it assembled by a detail of my boys, not uni- 
 formed, but yet with certain articles of dress alike ; their 
 order was admirable, they did their work with grace and 
 dignity, and were always the talk of strangers. It used 
 
208 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 to be said that the other churches decorated their pulpits 
 with flowers, but that I made bold to decorate mine with 
 boj's. I recall that on one occasion the distiuguished 
 Alvah Hovey attended our church, and he was quite ex- 
 travagant in his praises of the boys, their order, their 
 music and their good attention. 
 
 It was easy to get the boys to take little parts, repeating 
 verses of Scripture or hymns, or sometimes delivering lit- 
 tle speeches of which I had quite a good many prepared, 
 and it was amazing to note the thorough self-possession 
 which they so soon acquired. I remember one boy whose 
 timidity was pitiable, and he implored me not to make 
 him stand up to say anything. Finally he promised to 
 commit one stanza of a hymn and to say it to me next 
 Sunday afternoon in my study. He was on hand in time 
 and was in a tremor in view of what he had to do. He 
 stumbled through it and readily tried it again, and after 
 several repetitions his tongue was glib and confident. 
 Presently another boy came in, and he said it to him, and 
 before the time for the meeting there was a group of boys 
 clustered around us, and he rehearsed it to them. When 
 we went down to the boys' meeting I asked him if he 
 would not say it, and he did not hesitate to comply. It 
 was not long before I had him in a popular entertainment 
 with almost a thousand people present, and with unruf- 
 fled composure and in a tone distinctly audible he took a 
 part and won happy applause. 
 
 This reminds me that my boys were great money mak- 
 ers. They always had their collection, and hardly a 
 boy came that did not bring a penny or more. They 
 were always glad to prepare their songs and their dia- 
 logues, which usually I composed for them in my spare 
 moments, and to give entertainments, and we could get 
 no hall big enough to hold their crowds. They were 
 often invited to go to other churches to sing and render 
 
THE INEVITABLE BOY 209 
 
 their dialogues for the benefit of any good cause that 
 came along. Many times the boys would have an even- 
 ing's entertainment with no outside help. One would 
 preside, one make an address of welcome, ever so many 
 would sing in the choruses, take part in the dialogues and 
 other things, and then hand the baskets around, and they 
 always came back heavy laden, for their audiences 
 jammed every corner of the building, laughed and cried 
 under the boyish magnetism as its spell fell upon them, 
 and dropped in their money with a joyous liberality. It 
 was estimated that during its lifetime over 810,000 passed 
 through the treasury of their society and on one occasion 
 the church itself, finding itself in a strait, borrowed quite 
 a sum of money from the boys. When our new church 
 was built the boys had an entertainment which turned 
 them out over $600. They never made a i3romise of 
 money that they did not fully redeem, and their faces 
 glowed with pride whenever they took part in raising 
 money for Christian purposes. When the Sunday-school 
 had its anniversary, — an event always of great popular 
 interest, the most eagerly anticipated features of the oc- 
 casion were the boys' dialogues. Again and again groups 
 of them went to the country and did their parts for the 
 benefit of the country churches, and so far had their fame 
 spread that the crowds followed them wherever they 
 went. I sometimes took them out for a picnic in the 
 country, and they were gladly received everywhere, for 
 their reputation for good order, inspiring music and cap- 
 tivating speaking always insured them a royal wel- 
 come. 
 
 During the lifetime of the boys' meeting there were not 
 over three boys that were requested to discontinue their 
 attendance on account of serious disorder, and even in 
 those cases the honorable and thoughtful boys showed 
 grief that such a course of action was necessary. What 
 
210 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 was exceedingly satisfactory to me was the cordial respect 
 shown by the church for the meeting. It became one of 
 the regular institutions, and at our annual meetings the 
 boys' report was rendered, and always heard with strong 
 signs of pride and satisfaction. 
 
 Something has been said about the dialogues and some- 
 thing more in candor ought to be said. The dialogues 
 were somewhat elaborate, having anywhere from three to 
 eight or ten participants. Humor and local hits almost 
 invariably constituted a part, but the tone of these pieces 
 was reverential, courteous, free from slang and always 
 carried a note strong and ringing in favor of the right. 
 They frequently hit off the fads, the cheats and the pre- 
 tenses of every-day life. Sometimes they dealt with 
 honesty ; sometimes with kindness to the weak ; some- 
 times with temperance ; sometimes with the faults of 
 boys, — indeed they touched almost every phase of life 
 and their voice was always authoritative in support of 
 the truth. It was a remarkable thing that new boys 
 were worked into almost every occasion and had long 
 parts, and yet through all the years there was never a 
 breakdown or even a serious hitch ; — so faithful were the 
 boys in doing what they were told to do. The meeting 
 was peculiar ; its exact like I have not known any- 
 where. Frankly it was a great strain upon me and yet 
 it was an unfailing fountain of life. It was a rejuvena- 
 tion to mix with such buoyant, responsive and happy 
 beings as composed that extraordinary meeting. I 
 honestly feel that I got as much out of it as I put into it. 
 It seemed to foster the self-respect of the boys. It was 
 not a heavy, tiresome thing. What instruction they got 
 was in small doses spiced and seasoned with humor and 
 kindness. They had a sense of freedom and proprietor- 
 ship in the meeting that bred in them the joy of manhood. 
 They did not have to come. The mothers said that they 
 
THE INEVITABLE BOY 211 
 
 could hardly hold the boys until they got their dinner and 
 that you know is a well-nigh incredible thing to say 
 about a normal boy. There, were many of them that 
 came for eight years and a few for ten and scarcely 
 missed a meeting during all that time. They met every 
 Sunday and all the year round, unless I was out of the 
 city. I tried the meetings in the hands of substitutes but 
 somehow things went not well. 
 
 How did the boys turn out ? I never heard of but one 
 of them that fell into disgrace and he was a hardened boy 
 before he came under the meeting's spell. Of course they 
 were no extraordinary boys, — only a fair average, and 
 yet my grateful soul bows down in thanksgiving as I 
 think what magnificent men went out of that meeting. 
 Many of them went into the trades, the stores, the 
 foundries and the shops, but they grew up among the 
 very best of their class. Ever so many of them caught a 
 passion for learning and went off to the colleges and uni- 
 versities. They became a distinct class in Richmond and 
 indeed far and wide, and I cannot even to this day go in 
 any i)art of the country but they run upon me on the 
 train, on the steamers, in the hotels, in the churches 
 where I am advertised to speak, and their greeting almost 
 invariably is, ''Here is one of your boys ; do you know 
 meV As for the lawyers, the doctors, the bankers, the 
 merchants, the travellers, — I see them on all roads and 
 get letters from them telling me of their joys and some- 
 times of their sorrows. It is a princely constituency, a 
 free-born brotherhood, my pride and my crown. 
 
 This is not written to reflect upon any pastor who has 
 no boys' meeting, nor is it intended as a plea that others 
 shall undertake such a movement. That is not for me to 
 say. It was of my own heart that I gave myself to this 
 species of work, and as I was free about it I seek to 
 trammel no man nor to browbeat him into attempting 
 
212 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 wliat was such a fruitful and invigorating phase of my 
 ministerial life. 
 
 I»fot very long ago I was summoned by my old church 
 in Richmond to make on the occasion of their anniversary 
 a reminiscent address. It was the joy of a lifetime to see 
 the vast throng which filled the great auditorium, but 
 what charmed me most was to see about three hundred 
 of my boys march in as a body. In look and form they 
 were boys no more ; many of them had their own boys 
 with them and things showed a shocking change, but in 
 the happy hour after the exercises were over, when I 
 shook the strong hand, when I saw on many a face the 
 tears which told of melted hearts, when I felt strong 
 arms around me and heard words all freighted with love 
 and kindness, I felt that my boys w^ere still living and 
 that out on the eternal hills somewhere we would have a 
 reunion and know each other forever. 
 
XIV 
 
 BETHEL BUILDING 
 
 IN the long run of life men gravitate towards special- 
 ties. They find the things they can do and learn to 
 do them better by doing them so often. It would 
 be quite impossible for me to recall all the occasions of 
 church dedications for which my brethren have called me 
 into service. These dedicatory engagements have taken 
 me into many states and into many of the larger cities, 
 but perhaps my most pleasing and comfortable recollec- 
 tions cluster around the little country churches in whose 
 opening services I was brought to take part. I may as 
 well be candid about it and say that the frequency with 
 which I was called into these services could not be taken 
 as tokens of unusual popularity on my part. In multi- 
 tudes of cases these houses of worship were built and 
 made ready for dedication while yet there rested upon 
 them more or less indebtedness. To my no little em- 
 barrassment I won the reputation for some success in 
 engineering public collections of money and I understood 
 well enough that my selection had a very vital connec- 
 tion with the inevitable collection that had to be taken 
 before the dedication of the house. It became known 
 quite widely that I did not favor the dedication of 
 churches upon which there were heavy mortgages or 
 heavy indebtednesses which imperilled the building, and 
 my agreement to conduct the service generally implied 
 that the debt must be removed or satisfactorily provided 
 for in advance. It was not long before I learned that it 
 
 213 
 
214 ALONG TPIE TRAIL 
 
 was unwisdom itself to trust to the whims and moods of 
 a promiscuous audience for a collection. It became my 
 custom to go the day beforehand, hold an ''inquiry 
 meeting," as I called it, in which I had my tussle with 
 the leading men of the church as to the financial situa- 
 tion. It was quite common to find that the men of the 
 church were quite satisfied with what they had already 
 done and they brought me on the scene with the pleasing 
 thought that I would induce the outsiders to wipe out the 
 rest of the debt. They usually opened the interview 
 with me by complacently saying that they had done 
 about all they could and that they did not expect to give 
 any more. It was a gruesome task to assail their com- 
 placency and to explode their delusion. In a few cases 
 they stood by their guns and utterly refused to boost the 
 collection by additional gifts, and without exception the 
 occasion ended in financial disaster. 
 
 Usually, however, it was possible to make them see the 
 situation, to realize that they must lead in the giving in 
 order to get others to give at all, and that if they would 
 not give, the occasion would fail by turning the dedica- 
 tion into a tragedy and leaving upon the church the en- 
 tire burden. I hardly recall a single case in which the 
 church people, the real burden-bearers, evinced extraor- 
 dinary liberality that the congregation did not fall in and 
 render valuable help in extinguishing the debt. In al- 
 most every case the dedicatory exercises would fill the 
 day. If after the sermon sufficient money was realized 
 to cover the debt, the formal dedicatory service would 
 take place at once. 
 
 If, however, there was a deficiency, the dedication was 
 laid over until the afternoon service and another appeal 
 for money was made, and in a few instances a third serv- 
 ice would be held in the evening if sufficient money had 
 not already come in, and the last thing of the entire day 
 
BETHEL BUILDING 215 
 
 would be the formal setting apart of the house for the 
 worship of God. 
 
 To uiauy readers this account will come as with some- 
 thing of a shock. They will be surprised at methods so 
 primal, so mechanical and so straining, but it is worth 
 while to remember that these things occurred during the 
 reconstruction period of the South, when the country peo- 
 ple were in a deadly struggle to rebuild their fortunes and 
 when they had but little money for any purpose. The 
 building of churches at such a time was arduous indeed 
 and they had to do just the best they could. There were 
 many extraordinary cases of magnificent giving. It was 
 no uncommon occurrence for the tide of giving to gather 
 such strength that it would land us far above the amount 
 asked for and leave a welcome surplus in the treasury. 
 These happy surprises gave a peculiar rapture and en- 
 thusiasm to the occasions. I recall one service in the 
 dedication of a house in the smallest sort of a village and 
 in which the church- membership was small and poor. 
 The house had not cost much and there was a debt of a 
 few hundred dollars. I had my inquirers' meeting, and 
 one untutored and simple-hearted old brother opened the 
 exercises by volunteering to say that if I could get $30 in 
 the collection that morning that he would think it would 
 be a great victory. I told him with a severity somewhat 
 simulated that I would not touch the collection unless he 
 would promise to give $30 on the spot. The look of 
 amazement which he gave me was quite a comedy in it- 
 self and shook the little company into noisy merriment, 
 and nearly every man in the room gave me $30 each, in- 
 cluding my good Brother Collins who had taken such a 
 depressing view of the outlook of the occasion. When the 
 collection came on, and these brethren one after another 
 arose and in such cheery tones announced their subscrip- 
 tions in quick succession, it started a tide that fairly 
 
216 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 cleaned up the neighborhood. Not only was the debt 
 paid but the modest little church found itself in con- 
 dition to add ever so many comforts and ornaments of 
 which it had not dreamed. 
 
 In a notable dedication I was associated with Dr. Geo. 
 C. Lorimer of Boston. He was to preach in the morning 
 and take his collection and I was to preach in the evening 
 and make my appeal for money. Dr. Lorimer was a man 
 of transcendent eloquence and on that occasion preached a 
 sermon of almost unparallelled power. It was, however, 
 one hour and a quarter in length and was preceded by a 
 very elaborate musical schedule, and though the house was 
 filled largely with a ticketed audience there was an almost 
 unanimous stampede when Lorimer brought on his col- 
 lection. The people were wild over the sermon and were 
 also wild to get out when his sermon was through, and his 
 collection suffered sore disasters. At night many of the 
 neighboring churches of the same denomination closed 
 their houses and came in overwhelming numbers to our 
 service. I was in the worst stages of my first experience 
 with grippe. I had stayed in bed all the afternoon and 
 started for the church with deadly aches in every quarter 
 of my anatomy, with a nausea the most dismal, with my 
 brain almost on the verge of delirium and my voice scarcely 
 audible to the natural ear. Lorimer presided and gave 
 me an introduction which would have been ruinous under 
 the most favorable circumstances, but which filled me with 
 helpless terror. I really went to the front seriously 
 doubting whether I could stand or speak. In some way 
 a new vitality arose in me. My voice returned ; all sense 
 of suffering went out and I preached without strain or in- 
 convenience for about thirty minutes. Then came the 
 task of asking for the money. I was in despair as to the 
 result and stage-struck to the last degree. I blundered 
 out the remark that I was pleased to see what a choice 
 
BETHEL BUILDING 217 
 
 and beautiful audience I had, — a thing that had no par- 
 ticular sense in it, but Lorimer, facetious, amiable, im- 
 pudent and always full of wit, remarked that my audience 
 might do very well, but that he wanted it understood that 
 no man ever had such a fine audience as he had in the 
 morning. I told him I thought I could safely claim that 
 my crowd would never forsake me so ingloriously as his 
 did in the morning and that if they did I thought I would 
 go out and hang myself. The audience broke into happy 
 laughter, put me at my ease and went quite beyond the 
 morning audience in its contributions to the church fund. 
 Whenever there was a pause in the giving I would ask 
 Lorimer what he thought of the staying qualities of my 
 constituents and would call his attention to the fact that 
 I never lost a man. The mystery of it all, as yet unex- 
 plained, is that during the sermon and the collection I was 
 free from pain, about as free from it and as full of com- 
 fort and enjoyment as I had ever been in my life, while 
 for three days before I had suffered unspeakable tortures, 
 and after the service I was hopelessly delirious before I 
 reached my hotel, and I had a night of keenest suffering. 
 
 During my pastorate in Eichmond my i^eople erected a 
 very noble edifice but decided there should be no appeal 
 for money at the dedication beyond the usual weekly of- 
 fering. The occasion was memorable in many respects 
 but perhaps most of all by reason of the fact that the 
 sermon on the occastion was preached, as I have already 
 said, by Dr. John A. Broadus, the incomparable preacher 
 of the South. That was his last visit to Eichmond and it 
 so chanced that not long afterwards the magnificent house 
 was burned and that too not far from the time when Dr. 
 Broadus finished his masterful career and entered into 
 his heavenly rest. 
 
 In no great while and practically without debt my peo- 
 ple replaced the house with a handsome granite structure 
 
218 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 and laid upon me not as a burden but as a token of their 
 gracious kindness tlie task of preacliing the dedicatory 
 sermon. Some things come to men in a way that they are 
 made untellably grateful and I cannot deny myself the 
 pleasure of commemorating here that event as one of a 
 class of events by which that church of churches, the 
 church of my happy memories, the church which came 
 nearest of all earthly things to being my idol, did for me. 
 On a recent occasion I went to the dedication of a rural 
 church on which there was a debt of about two thousand 
 dollars. After reaching the grounds we summoned the 
 leading members of the church to a conference at a point 
 in the park which surrounded the building. We laid 
 plans for raising the money and hammered it into the 
 members quite vigorously that they must acquit them- 
 selves on the occasion with exemplary liberality. Mean- 
 while the church building was thronged with the peo- 
 ple. It was with difaculty that the ministers edged and 
 pushed themselves in through the rear door and reached 
 the pulpit. The sermon was delivered and the appeal 
 for money to wipe out the debt was suitably made; 
 but there was a silence at once surprising and de- 
 pressing. The pastor looked impotently in every direc- 
 tion, but his staunch old standbys were not apparent 
 and no gifts were announced. We charitably announced 
 that the suffocating crowd had shut out the gentlemen of 
 the church and the collection would be looked after later, 
 though in the inward recesses of our being we wondered 
 whether the absence of the members was more to be ac- 
 counted for on the score of their inability to get in or from 
 a willingness, superinduced by the dread of the collection, 
 to stay out. If the latter supposition was the true one it 
 is due to history to say that the attempt to evade the col- 
 lection did not carry well because the membership was 
 corralled in the afternoon and the bulk of the money wa^ 
 
BETHEL BUILDING 219 
 
 forthcoming. It transpired under the light of a varied 
 experience that usually in talking money at a dedication 
 for the removal of the debt that the average of money 
 given by outsiders on such occasions is somewhere from 
 one-fourth to one-third of what the church -membership 
 gives at the time. In many cases the members flatter 
 themselves that the service will attract a great throng, 
 and in that they are usually right, and they fancy also 
 that the visitors will be very liberal, while the result 
 usually shows they will not. 
 
 Some have chosen to brand me as the professional 
 church dedicator, and inasmuch as it seems that the num- 
 ber of such occasions on which I have been called to take 
 part falls not very much short of two hundred, I must not 
 resent the nickname thus imposed. It is not a work to be 
 sought after, but it is a work that can be usefully done, 
 and as my time in these latter days is at my own com- 
 mand I rejoice that I can be of some service in that way. 
 
 Largely incidental to the happy burdens that came to 
 my shoulders in the way of church dedications came also 
 a small dip into the precarious resort to the popular 
 lecture. The modest avowal is entered here that neither 
 self-interest nor ambition took any part in bringing me to 
 the lecture platform. 
 
 The Civil War did its destructive work in manifold 
 ways, and one of the saddest of its ways was the destruc- 
 tion or dismantling of houses of worship. Some were 
 burned, some were turned into hospitals, some became 
 temporary barracks for detachments of the army. Some 
 were turned into stables, some were wrecked and left to 
 the weather and to vandalism to finish the job. Indeed 
 nearly all of the country churches were in sad need of re- 
 pair, and the process of political reconstruction griev- 
 ously stayed the tide of industrial progress. Money 
 
220 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 was scarce and the people had a desperate struggle in re- 
 building their fortunes. It is not hard to understand 
 how at such a time houses of worship went to pieces and 
 were in sore need of rehabilitation. 
 
 The good women in the little churches resorted to all 
 kinds of expedients for gathering funds for putting on new 
 roofs, painting the walls, buying Sunday-school literature, 
 installing their little reed organs and many other things 
 to get their churches into housekeeping shape. I was 
 born in the country and seemed to be born for it. My 
 soul was wedded to the rural churches, and it was delight 
 unspeakable to me to go to the far-away places to hold 
 revivals and cheer up the small households of faith as far 
 as I could steal time from my pastorate for that purpose. 
 Out of this grew a few lectures which I made and for 
 which there was incessant demand from the churches in 
 city, town and country. Sometimes I paid my own fare, 
 gave all the income of the lecture to the suffering church 
 and had a day of delicious fellowship with the little band 
 of Christian workers. As a rule they would pay my ex- 
 penses, which were calculated with skillful accuracy so as 
 to avoid not giving me too little, and now and then I 
 would be surprised to find some actual compensation in 
 the little wad of greenbacks which would be thrust into 
 my hands when I was starting on my return. One of the 
 lectures was on ^' The Advantages of the Modern Dance, '^ 
 and I delivered it so many times and through so many 
 years that a friend of mine, an uupitying satirist, sug- 
 gested to me that I would change the topic and call it, 
 '^The Financial Advantages of the Modern Dance." 
 I told him in rather severe terms that he was outraging 
 sacred things in shedding his flippant sneers at the 
 lecture. ^'That lecture," I said, with simulated resent- 
 ment, ''has been roofing churches, buying organs, pro- 
 viding libraries for Sunday-schools, laying out and enclos- 
 
BETHEL BUILDING 221 
 
 ing cemeteries, helping sewing circles, raising money to 
 educate young preachers, replenishing missionary treas- 
 uries, provoking the nimble-footed children of Terpsichore 
 and wearing out my best clothes for a quarter of a cen- 
 tury.'^ 
 
 Perhaps the next most useful lecture of the unpreten- 
 tious little group had for its title, ** Whose Neighbor 
 am I ? " It used to go with me to church entertainments, 
 dedications and numberless other denominational gather- 
 ings, and in addition to the door fee which it demanded it 
 warmed the cockles of many rustic hearts to the point of 
 opening their purses and helping the churches in their 
 work of reconstruction. I was urged now and then to 
 join some of the lecture associations and try my hand in 
 larger fields, but not for a moment did I ever think of it. 
 That was outside of my ministerial outlook. 
 
XIV 
 
 SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 
 
 A GOER by nature I have been a traveller by habit, 
 and that too without being in the least sense a 
 mountain climber, a tourist or a sightseer. Ex- 
 cept in trivial ways I never passed out of the boundaries 
 of our country but twice,— once into Mexico and once for 
 a few months across the Atlantic. It would distinctly 
 violate the very conception of this reminiscent volume to 
 indulge in the smallest degree in the story of these modest 
 little rambles. As for my trip across the Atlantic, it was 
 notably commonplace in its schedules, its financial out- 
 lays, its gathering of relics, its visits to cathedrals, gal- 
 leries of art, palaces, ruins, mountains, glaciers and 
 ancient institutions of learning. All that is told in guide- 
 books and newspapers and has in no way enlisted my 
 attention or my energies. 
 
 In this little chapter I will throw together a few inci- 
 dents which it is pleasant for me to recall, and from which 
 I pluck some little satisfaction in jotting them down for 
 those who may care to read them. A lady member of my 
 church insisted that I ought not to go out of this country, 
 and for the very odd reason that I never could be happy 
 if I fell into conditions which rendered it impossible for 
 for me to take collections. She was quite outspoken in 
 saying that I wouldn't stay out half my time on account 
 of homesickness, produced by my being deprived of the 
 ever congenial task of plucking money from the pockets 
 of the people in the interests of humanity and religion. 
 I sent back a little letter to an Aonerican paper, giving 
 
 222 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 223 
 
 some incidents of the outgoing voyage, in which I men- 
 tioned a peculiarly interesting incident. We were for- 
 tunate enough to encounter quite a formidable ocean gale, 
 which added great spice, excitement and charm to the 
 trip. 
 
 Among the events mentioned in my letter was the loss 
 of a member of the ship's crew who was a bridegroom of 
 several weeks' standing, who had promised his bride that 
 after one more voyage he would quit the sea and devote 
 his life to her support and happiness, and who, in the 
 midst of the storm, was blown from near the top of a mast 
 and sank into the sea to be heard of no more. I chanced 
 to mention that much sympathy was felt for the bride 
 widow, and that by request I took a public collection for 
 her benefit and sent her quite a snug and consoling purse. 
 It chanced that this gossipy letter fell into the hands of 
 the good woman of my church, and she was rejoiced be- 
 yond measure. ''Ah," the good woman jubilantly ex- 
 claimed, ' ' that is good news indeed. It was almost worth 
 having some poor man drowned to give our pastor an op- 
 portunity to take a collection for the surviving widow." 
 I was somewhat fiercely set upon when I returned to 
 America, that I had actually drowned a sailor in order 
 to enjoy the luxury of a collection. 
 
 The friend who went abroad with me. Dr. L. R. 
 Thornhill, was simply invaluable in looking after lug- 
 gage, schedules, hotels and other matters of comfort, but 
 I blush to say that he suffered untold cruelties at my 
 hands, although I loved him ardently in my normal 
 moods, but when I had an acute case of travel-tire I hated 
 him with all possible abnormal ferocities. I remember 
 particularly that in Florence I seriously meditated an 
 open break with him, and felt thoroughly that to break 
 his neck would be a sweeter pastime than seeing St. 
 Peter^s or lounging in gondolas in Venice. We met a 
 
224 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 friend living in Italy, who expressed the utmost surprise 
 that we seemed really attached to each other, and I asked 
 him if he imagined that we elected to travel together be- 
 cause of strong mutual animosities. It was after this 
 I had my travel tire. 
 
 '• ' Not at all, ' ' he said with candid humor. ^ ' I generally 
 notice that ^Americans who set out to travel together 
 usually fall out and part before they get to Italy." 
 
 My fellow traveller had one habit which to my taste 
 was despicable, — he wore red flannel in the summer. As 
 we had our stateroom together, and as I have had all my 
 life a mortal antagonism to red flannel, I requested him 
 either to consign these crimson nether garments to a 
 watery grave or to hire storage room in the steerage for 
 keeping his loathsome garb. When we were entering 
 Italy the custom-house officer gravelled into our trunks to 
 see if we were smugglers or any other unscrupulous sort, 
 and found the change of this flannel in his valise. They 
 were horrified. They believed that he was wearing the 
 uniform of the anarchist and took my friend in charge. I 
 confess frankly that I was greatly delighted. I was glad 
 they caught him, and while I could not say one word in 
 Italian, yet with all dramatic gesture, with many out- 
 breaks of joy, I besought them to take him and execute 
 him as one of the robbers of the Apenines. 
 
 Honestly the desperate satisfaction I felt in cherishing 
 the worst possible thoughts and feelings against my un- 
 suspecting victim was something most entertaining to me. 
 I actually meditated an abrupt and scornful break 
 with him, to be varied with such assurances of undying 
 contempt, and this pleased me thoroughly. Meanwhile 
 he was as usual the same that I had been cherishing as a 
 friend for a number of years, and he was apparently in 
 no degree conscious of any eruptive antagonisms existing 
 within my bosom. 
 
SHEEDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 225 
 
 Finally my feeliDgs sullenly walked out and pro- 
 claimed a strike. I tumbled into a hopeless collapse, 
 staggered into my hotel, took to my bed. My languor 
 bordered on dissolution, and a grim pessimism enthralled 
 my being. Finally sleep, never so blessed before, wrapped 
 me in its embrace, and for ever so many hours Florence, 
 the home of art, music and culture, shrank far beyond my 
 dreaming. I would blush to tell how utterly I turned 
 from all the things of earth that pleased me, and slept my 
 fatigues away. When finally I recovered consciousness I 
 found myself composed, clear-headed, grievously hungry 
 and fully restored to fellowship with my good friend 
 Thornhill. 
 
 I had a friend of many years' standing,— a Virginian 
 and withal a most courtly, literary and public-spirited 
 gentleman, Rev, George B. Taylor, D. D., at that time 
 superintendent of American Baptist Missions in the 
 city of Eome. He had heard of my coming, and had 
 written me that he would be summering in the Apenine 
 mountains, and that I must join him there for all the time 
 that I could spare. In subsequent pages I present 
 the account of my adventure, successful in the end, of trying 
 to find the dwelling-place of this cherished friend of my 
 early days. 
 
 I must say very frankly that of all countries which I 
 visited, Scotland charmed me most. There is one inci- 
 dent connected with my brief sojourn in the land of the 
 thistle which will, in part at least, indicate the social ex- 
 periences which came to me while in Scotland, and which 
 I can never recall without grateful emotion. 
 
 When I decided to take my little spin across the Atlan- 
 tic a friend, learning of my purpose to go, brought me 
 quite a formidable letter of introduction to the late Mr. 
 John C. Graham of Glasgow, Scotland, at that time the 
 
226 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 president of the Scotch Convention of Baptists. As a 
 fact, I was not out for multiplying acquaintances, and I 
 always felt that I was under suspicion with almost any 
 sort of an introduction in my hand, but the gentleman 
 who gave it to me was precise, exacting, and, as I knew, 
 would have to be reckoned with when I got back. 
 
 My ship dropped me out at Glasgow, and with a some- 
 what selfish sense of duty I raided the premises of Mr. 
 Graham, whom I had not seen and who I inwardly feared 
 was in no high mood to see me. The charming sense of 
 a task well performed pervaded me when I ascertained 
 that Mr. Graham and his family were summering on some 
 unknown shore of Scotia, and so I sailed off for Is"orthern 
 Scotland and careered up and down land and sea until I 
 found myself packing my trunk in Loudon and getting 
 ready to set forth for Glasgow, where I was to reembark 
 for America. I was sensibly disgruntled to find the 
 solemn letter of my friend, which, after articulating my 
 supposititious virtues, commended me to the endear- 
 ments of Mr. Graham. 
 
 Once more I faced the question of encountering the 
 author of the recommendatory letter, and so I slipped 
 the letter in my vest pocket and determined to ring the 
 Graham door-bell one more time. A most gracious and 
 charming lady met me at the door and with the utmost 
 courtesy directed me to the office of Mr. Graham. I 
 thought soberly that if the Lord had been as careful in 
 building the yet unseen Mr. Graham as He evidently had 
 been in the creation of that engaging woman, I would be 
 glad to get a glimpse of the face and form of that mascu- 
 line piece of His handiwork. 
 
 It turned out that Mr. Graham was a prominent rail- 
 road officer, and his office was within the precincts of the 
 Glasgow station of that road. To say this would be about 
 equal to undertakiDg to find a house in a town of a thou- 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 227 
 
 sand people without any special direction. I was directed 
 this way, then that way, then another way, then around 
 somewhere, then back again, until I was far more con- 
 cerned as to whether I would ever find my way out than 
 I was whether I would find Mr. Graham. 
 
 Finally, I struck a man in working clothes who had a 
 heart, also a head. He informed me that he would take 
 me straight to Mr. Graham's office. In vain I fumbled 
 in my pocket for that letter which was to give me my 
 character and ambled along as if going to the slaughter 
 pen or some other place of relief. After running me a 
 race amid cars, passages, stairways and short turns, he 
 jerked open a door and said, ^^Mr. Graham, a gentleman 
 wishes to see you," and shot out, as much as to say that 
 his part was done and he was determined not to witness 
 the meeting. I stopped, '^framed in the door," accord- 
 ing to the tiresome phrase of the day, quite tired myself. 
 
 A gentleman, immense in frame and with a head colos- 
 sal and in part barren of its locks, threw up his golden- 
 rimmed spectacles to the top of his head, whirled sud- 
 denly in his revolving chair towards me and fixed two 
 large and truly magnificent eyes upon me. His gaze 
 was keen enough to clip the buttons on my clothes and 
 uncover me for inspection, and yet behind it there was 
 something gracious, as seen in the distance. 
 
 ^'Excuse me, Mr. Graham," I said, doing my best to 
 look solemn like a Scotchman, ''let not my presence 
 alarm you. I do not come to ask for anything ; not that 
 I have much, but I am an American, and I have my 
 return ticket and enough to get me on the boat. A 
 friend of yourself in Richmond, Va., was much set on my 
 shaking your hand and presenting his compliments, and 
 to show you that you were not being imposed upon, gave 
 me a good character, sketched with his own pen — an 
 excellent letter, indeed, which I discovered two or three 
 
228 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 minutes ago that I had lost. As I am here for nothing 
 on the earth except to shake your hand, that I may tell 
 Mr. Samuel S. Clopton that I had seen you (truly an easy 
 thing to do if you got anywhere in his neighborhood) and 
 had grasped your hand 5 if now," I said with ponderous 
 dignity, ^'you are willing to shake my hand, we will 
 have the ceremony at once and close the exercises." 
 
 I paused a full period's length and some more over 
 and yet he looked at me so. I said to him that in the 
 event he declined to have the hand-shake, I would not 
 take it ill ; that I had lived that long without shaking 
 hands with him and thought that by hard pulling I 
 might make the rest of the trip, even though deprived of 
 that i)rivilege. 
 
 ^'I wish to say to you, sir," he said in a tone that 
 fairly shook the shoes on my feet, ^'I hardly find myself 
 in a humor to shake your hand, sir. You have not 
 treated me with that respect to which I think a friend of 
 Dr. Clopton' s is fairly entitled. You tell me that you 
 are to take the American steamer to-morrow afternoon. 
 You have so schemed, sir, as to make it impossible for 
 me to give you an adequate taste of old Scotia's hospi- 
 tality. Where is your luggage, I would like to ask, 
 sir?" 
 
 ^'My trunk has gone to the steamer and my hand 
 baggage is at the Victoria Hotel," I answered, much 
 amused and infinitely interested in the powerful person 
 before me. 
 
 *^My mon w411 call for it and you will be in my charge 
 until you set your foot upon that ship for America." 
 
 I told him with imperturbable coolness that I did not 
 doubt at all that his mon was an ideal official and would 
 do right by my luggage, but that I had a friend with me 
 and I thought that I would retain the oversight of my 
 luggage and stay with my friend. 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 229 
 
 ^ * No, sir, ' ' he said, * ' you will do no such thing, ex- 
 cept that your friend will stay with you and both of you 
 will stay at my house, but i^ractically nothing will be 
 done for your entertainment because of your grievously 
 bad conduct in not reporting to me until on the very eve 
 of quitting the country. I will take you to Hamilton 
 Palace j I will have some gentlemen to come in and take 
 dinner with you to-night j I will notify my pastor that 
 you will preach for us to-night, and I, with my family, 
 will take you down to Greenoch to-morrow evening and 
 see you on your steamer. Poor treatment, I admit, but 
 you are to blame for its not being better." 
 
 Altogether, it struck me that it was the shrewdest and 
 most delightful hit off in the way of hospitality that I had 
 met, and it would be impossible to tell of the charms, the 
 humor, the merriment, the banter and, with all, the win- 
 some kindnesses of that memorable visit. Big as he was, 
 he had the heart of a child, the soul of a. saint, the spirit 
 of the hero and the grace of the Christian gentleman. 
 Well-nigh every hour of that and the following day was 
 packed with some pleasing device, some happy trip, some 
 rare sight, the unexpected dropping in of friends and the 
 homelike, brimming attentions of the family. It took 
 but a little while to shatter every barrier, to thaw out 
 every restriction and to shake us together in the unity of 
 a good understanding and a faith that knew no doubt. 
 
 I found in his family a number of children and among 
 them a very sensible and timid daughter, an ideal Scotch 
 maiden, too timid to be brave and too brave to be timid 
 and just right to be both. Before the time of my de- 
 parture came I extended a formal and most cordial 
 invitation to this young woman to make a visit to my 
 daughters in Richmond, Va., and the parental consent 
 was guardedly but finally given. Several months later 
 she crossed the ocean without an acquaintance, was met 
 
230 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 at the pier in 'New York and transferred to the Richmond 
 train, and before she reached our station I swung on to 
 the train and all lingering anxieties flew out of the 
 window and for three months she was the joy of our 
 house. Nor was that all. Those hard-headed Scotch 
 people complained that they were brought under obliga- 
 tion, and the old gentleman, acting as spokesman, said 
 that the account had to be squared or that we would be 
 roundly abused if it was not done ; but it was done. 
 Two years afterwards two members of my family (so 
 unseemly was our eagerness to square the account), my 
 wife and daughter, ran over to Glasgow and gave the 
 Graham house all the trouble that they could think of, 
 which, after all, in the eyes of the Grahams, consisted 
 in not extending their visit. A thousand pleasing 
 memories hover around 183 St. George Street. 
 
 Time has done sad things with that ideal home. 
 Death has called its honored head into the invisible 
 world, but he went full of honor and faith, and this day I 
 do honor to the memory of an uncommon man. His soul 
 was clean as the sunlight, his word was as good as the 
 King's seal, his home was lit with virtue, honor and 
 godliness, and his life was an offering upon the altar, 
 acceptable unto God. 
 
 Another pleasing and unexpected episode marked my 
 excursion through Northern Scotland. I found two gen- 
 tlemen on the packet, neither of whose names I could 
 recall, and yet the face of each one carried certain familiar 
 features. One of them was massive, thoughtful and 
 quiet ; the other, restive, busy with his pen and con- 
 stantly reading things or talking things to his sober 
 companion. It vexed me greatly that I could not keep 
 my eyes off of them, and particularly did I find myself 
 eyeing the larger and more dignified of the two. I 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 231 
 
 would have been quite ashamed of my curiosity except 
 that every time I flung my furtive glances at him, our 
 eyes met in baffled curiosity. 
 
 By some odd chance our impulses rolled us together. 
 At one time we were almost in touch on the upper deck 
 when a rain, one of the inevitable and ever-recurring 
 rains, stamj)eded us and we went down in the salon and, 
 sure enough, we took our seats facing each other and 
 glared at one another as if about ready for mortal combat. 
 
 ^* Every time I have looked at you to-day," I said to 
 him in a grim and resentful tone, ''I have found you 
 watching me as with some deadly purpose.'^ 
 
 ^* I believe, sir, that your remark is substantially true,'^ 
 said the portly and white-haired stranger, ^ * but I do be- 
 lieve I can truthfully say that I have not looked at you 
 one time to-day that I did not catch you looking 
 at me." 
 
 '*I confess it," I said, without any break in my lofty 
 and dignified tone, '*for it is very natural to watch the 
 man who you find is constantly watching you and, be- 
 sides, I have a vague, almost a distinct, conviction that 
 somewhere on terra firma I have had a vision of you 
 before." 
 
 '' Exactly so, my good stranger," the man of the whited 
 locks responded. ' ' I appreciate what you say exactly ; 
 that is what is the matter with me. I not only suspect 
 that I have seen you, but I am almost ready to think that 
 I have gotten you down to the last dot of identity." 
 
 I told him that probably both of us were to see that 
 each of us was mistaken but that I proposed that we take a 
 guess at each other and, if we missed, we would then take 
 up the question as to whether our looks interested each 
 other enough to incline us to reveal ourselves. The 
 suggestion was accordingly adopted and he told me to 
 fire away. 
 
232 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 ^'A. J. Gordon of Boston," said Ij ''now take your 
 trial on me." 
 
 ''W. E. Hatcher, Eichmond, Ya.," lie said, and I 
 bowed acquiescence. 
 
 I found that his friend was Dr. A. T. Pierson, that 
 they had both been attending a missionary conference 
 in England and were on their way to Inverness to hold 
 missionary meetings on the following day, which was 
 Sanday. Those who travel know the delight of picking 
 up genial and resourceful companionship along the way, 
 and who could find a nobler spirit than Dr. Gordon? 
 He and his friend gave me a memorably rich and 
 stimulating Sabbath at Inverness. 
 
 The story which follows reveals the ups and downs of 
 two awkward and inexperienced tourists, but it has to 
 be reluctantly admitted that the peril of the night was 
 hardly sufficient to add spice to the adventure. The 
 story is in reality a memorial of Dr. George B. Taylor, a 
 chieftain among my friends. 
 
 At midnight on a Saturday night, in the month of 
 September, I tumbled, sick and black with dirt, into a 
 hotel in the city of Pisa, Italy. My sickness was dis- 
 tinctly traceable to a slice of Bologna sausage picked up 
 at Genoa, and my blackness was fairly won by travelling 
 eighty miles in the tunnels of that railway which skirts 
 the Mediterranean shore between Genoa and Pisa. Being 
 thus out of kelter both outside and in, I took the last 
 half of the night to adjust myself to better conditions and 
 to hammer myself into shape for the Sabbath. For lack 
 of something better, I took that blessed day to study the 
 Leaning Tower, the historic clock and the mendicant 
 gang which huddled about the doors of the cathedral. It 
 was an empty and dismal day and my soul cried out for 
 fellowship, and in my extremity I told my companion of 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 233 
 
 the journey that I thought the most religious thing 
 that I could think of, as possible on that day, was to enter 
 the Apenines and find Dr. George B. Taylor. This 
 gentleman was rare and notable among the sons of men. 
 We had grown a friendship in America in our callow 
 days which not many years of separation had in any sense 
 abated. Already for more than a score of years Dr. 
 Taylor had been tbe official head of missionary work 
 in Italy as conducted by my denomination in the southern 
 part of the American Republic. He had heard of my 
 coming and had written me that he was summering in a 
 little town, Cutialano. That was a perilously inadequate 
 directory for leading an untravelled American to the 
 designated point. Nevertheless we set forth and after 
 many mishaps, a change of railroads which was made in 
 an unknown tongue, and an unavailing search for a few 
 drops of water to quench the most deadly thirst that I at 
 least had ever known, we heard the flagman cry out 
 something which sounded faintly like Pracchia. We 
 alighted from the train. It was about half-way between 
 sundown and the darkness of the night. The place— if in- 
 deed it was a place, squatted its shabby houses amid 
 the mountain crags, and proved to be, by all odds, 
 the most filthy and abhorrent locality that my eyes 
 had ever looked upon. There was a four-roomed, dirty 
 structure pointed out as the hotel, and it was seething 
 with about as pestiferous a mob of human filth as the 
 earth could afford. Besides, the station was infested with 
 a noisy brood of loiterers snatching at our baggage, in- 
 sisting on seizing us and carrying us whithersoever they 
 would, and making the mountains hideous with their 
 malevolent noises. We were told that there was no hope 
 of our getting supper or bed, whereupon I held a thanks- 
 giving service with myself right on the spot. We two 
 knew not a word of Italian and our speech attracted not one 
 
234 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 who could speak English. Finally I stumbled upon a 
 cabman — a huge, fiery-faced, and half drunken fellow 
 whose bearing set us against him at once, and all the 
 more so as the cab bore many marks of hard usage and 
 creaking infirmities, and as the horse, shrivelled, dejected, 
 and with ribs bespeaking a starving rate of living, seemed 
 nigh to his end. I shrieked, " Cutialano ! " until finally 
 and besottedly he responded, ^'Cutialano." A little 
 proud of my ingenuity, I held up my ten fingers and 
 said, ''lyras," which in a Christian country would have 
 meant that we would give him two dollars to take us to 
 Cutialano. He shook his head negatively. Then I put 
 up my hands again with ten fingers, and suddenly lower- 
 ing my fingers and leaving my thumbs erect, I gave him 
 to understand that we would make it twelve lyras, and 
 that brought a smile and a friendly grunt which closed 
 the bargain. It was then night and the distance fifteen 
 miles and the route up mountains, over and down moun- 
 tains, through deep valleys, along splashing streams and 
 ofttimes beneath or over hanging rocks or between 
 boulders on the one side, and precipices on the other. 
 In our favor was very brilliant moonlight, excellent 
 roads and groups of people strolling the narrow ways as 
 we went along. My friend who was with me had read 
 books about the mountain bandits of Italy, their robber- 
 ies and their murderings, and his imagination gave him 
 much trouble and at times his vivid pictures of our 
 dangers made me think of the awful inconvenience and 
 the serious detentions that would result if, instigated by a 
 belief in our great wealth, a robber band should fall afoul 
 of us and do us their usual way. At one point in the 
 road where the moon could not get in its friendly work, 
 our driver sprang from his seat and blended himself into 
 the general darkness, and for quite a while we could hear 
 men talking in solemn and measured tones and this went 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 235 
 
 ou a good while. It reminded my friend of more robber 
 literature which he had read and prompted me to sing a 
 song, which, if it did not bubble out of a cheerful soul, 
 was intended to make that impression upon the low- 
 voiced sons of darkness who seemed to be planning for an 
 inquest over our remains after they had taken everything 
 else that they were not willing to have remain. Pres- 
 ently two men appeared leading a horse, and in the most 
 businesslike way, began to hitch him in tandem style in 
 front of our equine dwarf which had brought us thus far. 
 It turned out that we were about to ascend a fearful hill 
 and this extra force was brought in to meet the emergency. 
 Both men rode on the driver's seat, and the new man 
 proved to be quite loquacious, emphasizing his utterances 
 with fierce gesticulation ; not one word of all he said could 
 we understand, but I had already learned that when cab- 
 men or guides grew garrulous in a language which we 
 knew not, their conversation had something to do with 
 money. But in this case I decided to let the ^performance 
 continue to the top of the hill. Suddenly, however, we 
 were stopped and the man turned squarely around on us 
 and making as well as he could a beer or wine mug of 
 his hand he applied it to his lips. That was a language 
 which we readily understood and we decided that it meant 
 that he expected a treat at our hands for hauling us up 
 the steep. I told my friend that ordinarily my principles 
 utterly forbade my treating men to liquid intoxicants, 
 especially on Sunday night, and asked him if he did not 
 think it would be a good time for him to repeat one of 
 his able temperance addresses for these two weak Italian 
 brethren. This proposition failed and we decided that 
 in view of the valuable aid that this cabman had rendered 
 us we would take up a small collection in his interest, 
 and that inasmuch as we could not get off the lecture we 
 would leave it to the driver^ s honor— provided he owned 
 
236 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 any article of that sort, not to spend the money in an im- 
 proper way. 
 
 After descending that mountain we came to what we 
 took to be a summer boarding-house. It was quite an 
 extensive and handsome building, and a number of good 
 looking women with a decided business look attached to 
 them came out, and very voluminously entreated us to do 
 something, but what we could not understand. I thought 
 at that moment of the glory of the old Latin tongue, of 
 my joy in its study, of my passionate enthusiasm over 
 Ovid, Caesar, Yirgil, Juvenile, Cicero, and some besides. 
 Then as I sat there pelted, jagged, slashed up on that fair 
 moonlight night with such lingual jargon, and with such 
 maddening effect, I felt that my religion was slashed into 
 tatters and in sore need of repair. But even at that 
 desperate moment I still believed that if I could get to 
 my friend of friends, Dr. Taylor, his godly humor and 
 his heavenly philosophy could save even me. So that 
 while the Italian women were clamoring for me to get out 
 and spend the night, and while the cabman of the glaring 
 face stood at the open door of the cab, and by threaten- 
 ing gestures ordered me to get out, I simply sat still and 
 filled in the silent spaces with the emphatic cry, 
 *• Cutialano ! " ^ ' Cutialano ! " And in the course of 
 time I subdued the hospitable mob. They finally held a 
 council of war or something else and the cabman came 
 back with new crimson shades on his cheeks and deluged 
 me with unintelligible abuse — so at least I thought he did — 
 and then — well, then I piped out with unruffled composure, 
 ^* Cu-ti-a-lano ! '^ The man sprang upon his seat and 
 such a cruel scourging he inflicted upon his little horse 
 that it made my blood boil, but it being Sunday, I for- 
 bore to thrash the wretch as he deserved, and as I was 
 much inclined to do, if all the external conditions had 
 been safe and favorable for such a task. 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 237 
 
 As we went sweeping along we overtook a carriage, and 
 our driver, after some chat with the man ahead, leaped 
 out, threw open the cab door, and in a very curt way or- 
 dered us to get out. In some way we were made to un- 
 derstand that the other conveyance would take us to 
 Cutialauo. No tears were shed in parting with the cab- 
 man of the fiery cheeks and the grating voice. 
 
 Finally our new charioteer sang out very assuringly : 
 ^ '■Cutialauo.^'' Far up on the open mountainside we 
 glimpsed the twinkling lights which served to tell us that 
 the end of our journey was at hand, and that my noble Dr. 
 Taylor was in easy reach. The climb of that hill, no 
 small attainment in itself, brought us to an open square in 
 which all the town seemed to have emptied itself. Sure 
 enough, it was a giddy, boisterous throng, and they 
 swarmed around us with embarrassing familiarity, each 
 vying with the rest in taking charge of us for commercial 
 purposes. In time I made them understand that I was an 
 American, and instantly scores of voices were shouting, 
 '"Merikee ! 'Merikee ! 'Merikee ! " which meant that they 
 were looking for some one who could talk to us. They 
 found a lad who must have claimed that he could speak 
 English, for they brought him forward with noisy delight. 
 He proved entirely inadequate to the occasion, for he could 
 not speak any English word intelligently. After much 
 perplexity I called out, '' Dr. Taylor,^' putting great em- 
 phasis on the last syllable in each word. The crowd 
 caught the word instantly, and the whole park rang with a 
 continuous cry of ''Dr. Taylor," while many who looked 
 upon us as fair game for their commercial tricks hung 
 around us hoping to be called into service. There stood 
 near the carriage, distinctly visible under the radiant 
 beams of the moon, a man plain of dress and sober of 
 mien, who took no part in the restless excitements of the 
 scene. It was not hard to make him understand that I 
 
238 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 wished liim to take me to Dr. Taj^lor's house, which 
 he did in an orderly and prompt manner. When we 
 reached the gate he pointed to the house with the simple 
 utterance: ''Dr. Taylor." In every fibre of my being 
 I was tremulous with a j oy unspeakable. The man struck 
 the door, and instantly movements on the inside of the 
 house assured us that the inmates were up and awake. 
 Very quickly the door opened, and I caught the outline 
 of two young ladies, but they had outgrown me, and I 
 was about to begin the task of introducing my friend and 
 myself, when the face of Dr. Taylor — that dear, open, in- 
 tellectual, winsome, classic face upon which I had often 
 looked, and from which I had plucked comfort and light 
 many, many times, came in plain view in the entry. 
 The joy of that moment was great indeed, after our long 
 separation, and after the nocturnal journey with its strain- 
 ing experiences. I was simply entranced with the sight 
 of that countenance. As the full light from the lamp fell 
 upon my face he recognized me instantly, and with open 
 arms and with eyes suddenly dimmed with tears, took 
 me to his heart as he exclaimed : '' Oh, Brother William, 
 I have waited for you so long, and longed for you so 
 much ! I feel you bring with you my kindred and my 
 country!" But enough! I grow too sentimental. I 
 must call off my iDen. The happiness of the days which 
 followed would be to others nothing if told to them, but 
 it is all the more to my old heart, if it may remain untold. 
 Dr. Taylor pointed out the hiding-place of Cataline, 
 the arch conspirator of his day. Those grim crags of the 
 Apenines furnished him a retreat so far from the public 
 eye that he could do his deadly work without serious 
 dread of being overtaken. The doctor knew so much 
 about the traitor, and made the story so vivid, that I had 
 a weird dread that the spirit of the deceased conspirator 
 still wandered through those solitary haunts, and was 
 
SHREDS OF A TRANSATLANTIC OUTING 239 
 
 liable to mistake me for a messenger of vengeance, and to 
 do me up beyond repair before I knew what was going 
 on. But my imagination has always had a super- 
 stitious attachment, and my best friends have charged me 
 with having a constitutional horror of the unconfined 
 ghosts of the wicked, but it is a simple act of justice to Mr. 
 Cataline to say that neither he nor any of his remains in- 
 terfered with my liberty or pleasure during my happy 
 sojourn in the Apeuines. 
 
 I put that stay with Dr. Taylor as among the most 
 unique, memorable, and in many respects, the most de- 
 lightful of all the experiences of my foreign travel which, 
 while if not very extensive, was rich in incidents and 
 surprises. 
 
 It may be allowable to add another bit of ex- 
 perience which occurred with me on my arrival in the 
 city of Rome. I reached there on a train at the unsenti- 
 mental hour of seven in the morning. The train emptied 
 its throngs of passengers on the platform and I, unwashed 
 and out of kelter, went shambling down the walkway. 
 Above all the clatter and confusion of the moment, I heard 
 a voice, solemn as the tomb, repeating something in a way 
 so dismal and sepulchral, that it brought me to a shiver. 
 It continued its fearful cry until I distinguished, partially 
 at first, but distinctly enough after a while, that the bur- 
 den of the croaker was, ''Dr. Hatcher, " and it was re- 
 peated with every other breath, and with an ever-increas- 
 ing and accusing solemnity. Oh, my country and my 
 kindred, what could it mean ? AVas the avenger after me ? 
 It looked so, for the cry drew nearer and nearer, until I 
 found myself confronted by a very respectable looking 
 man, the very man who was taking all of those unearthly 
 liberties with my name. He advanced on me quite ag- 
 gressively and said, "You! you, are yon, are you, Dr. 
 Hatcher 1" I admitted rather regretfully that I was 
 
240 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 something of the sort lie was talking about, and awaited 
 developments. His face suddenly lit with friendly light, 
 and he told me that he was Eev. Dr. Paschetto, the pastor 
 of the Baptist church in that city, and that Dr. Taylor 
 had asked him to meet me at the station, though the 
 doctor had said nothing to me about it. I asked him how 
 he identified me, and he replied that he picked out the 
 man who had the tallest hat, supposing that in that way 
 he would find the man whose name was Satcher. It was 
 my beaver which betrayed me. The noble kindnesses of 
 that worthy gentleman are beyond forgetting. 
 
XVI 
 
 GLAD DAYS WITH SPURGEON 
 
 IT was when I was a college student at Eiclimond, 
 Va., that I first saw the name of Spurgeon, and I 
 was struck with the fact that although he was fast 
 attaining a world-wide fame as a preacher he was only- 
 five weeks older than I was. He excited intensely my 
 admiration and there sprang up in me a desire to see 
 him, which, however, it took a third of a century for me to 
 realize. It was no mean part of my eagerness for a little 
 run beyond the sea that I might hear this man, now in 
 the zenith of his glory, and a figure of far-reaching 
 renown. At that time there was quite a sharp con- 
 troversy within the Baptist family of England, known 
 as the Down Grade Movement and in which Mr. Spurgeon 
 was deeply involved. There may have been some pre- 
 vision on my part in arranging with the New York 
 Examiner to write up that controversy, as in that way I 
 might get closer to Spurgeon, though I cannot recall that 
 I was sensibly influenced by that consideration. A 
 warm personal friend of mine in New York and also Mr. 
 Spurgeon' 8 literary representative in this country, with- 
 out my knowledge, sent a letter to Mr. Spurgeon, 
 announcing my coming and also telling him of my 
 arrangement with the Examiner. On the first Sunday 
 that I was in London I was introduced to Mr. Spurgeon 
 and he indicated at once that he was informed as to my 
 presence in that city. With characteristic hospitality he 
 invited me to spend the following Saturday at his home, 
 an honor which I accepted with genuine pleasure. He 
 
 241 
 
24:2 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 added to my obligations by authorizing me to invite twN, 
 of my American friends to accompany me, — Eev. Dr. 
 Henry McDonald of Georgia, and Eev. L. R. Tliornhill 
 of Virginia. 
 
 That day can never be forgotten and is cherished all 
 the more gratefully because it opened the way for many 
 happy and intimate associations with this eminent min- 
 ister of God afterwards. 
 
 It was at the stroke of one when we rang the belL 
 The door was opened by the butler and we asked if Mr. 
 Spurgeon was at home. 
 
 ^'Yes," Mr. Spurgeon himself replied, quite far back 
 in the hall, though approaching. ^'I am at home and 
 you command my respect at the outset by showing your 
 respect for time. Many of those who come to this house 
 seem to live in eternity and have no need of clocks j but 
 I, a common mortal, live in time and find every moment 
 of it too precious to waste.'' 
 
 I noticed that he had on a well-worn slouch hat, and a 
 gray alpaca duster which nearly touched the floor. His 
 greeting was as informal as you would likely receive 
 from a warm-hearted American farmer, and soon we were 
 involved in a conversation informal but easily sustained. 
 Mr. Spurgeon took an eager part in this, but also with 
 silent courtesy divided time with the rest of us. He 
 handed cigars and those who took them smoked except 
 myself, I taking one and toying with it but not smoking. 
 The Down Grade Movement came in for extended dis- 
 cussion, which revealed the fact that Mr. Spurgeon was 
 feeling keenly the strain of it, and yet his bearing was 
 lofty and magnanimous to a degree. He said that he 
 honored a candid opponent and found unspeakable sup- 
 port in friends who were decided and trustworthy, but 
 that to him the heaviest strain of his life was to endure 
 those who were on both sides of the conflict. The nearest 
 
GLAD DAYS WITH SPURGEON 243 
 
 that Le ever came in my hearing to bitterness was wlien 
 he uttered a philippic against ingratitude. He said that 
 he asked no man to bend to him because he did him a 
 kindness, but that he was too human to bear patiently the 
 secret thrusts of those who before had asked his confi- 
 dence and feasted on his bounty. 
 
 "Why," he said with kindling resentment, "a 
 preacher lost all of his teeth and with it his power of 
 articulation, and in my sympathy I gave him a full set of 
 artificial teeth and he turned around and bit me with 
 them." 
 
 I confess there was something admirable in the high 
 note of indignation and resentment with which he uttered 
 his contempt for the ingrate. Not long after this I left 
 London and was gone quite a while. In the early autumn 
 I returned for a stay of several weeks and during that 
 time I was many times in his company and had the 
 amplest opportunities of contact and comradeship with 
 him. He appointed a day which the students of his 
 college were to spend with him, and invited me to join 
 the party, a pleasure which I ardently anticipated. A 
 pitiless rain drenched the grounds and made it impossible 
 for him to entertain the boys. Soon after he wrote me a 
 note saying that he had to go down to Leightonstone to 
 the reopening of the church in which that noted pioneer 
 of the far back days, Elder Bradford, preached, and he in- 
 vited me to accompany him as his guest. We were quite 
 magnificently entertained by a distinguished London 
 author. The service occurred in the afternoon and Mr. 
 Spurgeon preached the same sermon which I heard him 
 deliver in his tabernacle on the previous Sunday evening. 
 After the service we went for a season into the pastor's 
 office and while there I saw Spurgeon in a new role. A 
 weary-eyed and somewhat ill-dressed man sprang into the 
 room unbidden and said with great excitement : 
 
244 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 ^' Mr. Spurgeon, God has given me a vision j He showed 
 me an open door and told me that that door was the door 
 to your college and He told me I must go through that 
 door and get in your school and get ready to be a great 
 preacher." 
 
 ''Very well, my man,' ^ said Spurgeon good-naturedly 
 but with a dangerous accent. "Did you say the Lord 
 showed you all that?'^ 
 
 "Yes, sir,'^ the man replied. "He showed me all 
 that." 
 
 "Then let me tell you," Spurgeon continued, "as 
 soon as He shows it to me I'll send for you." 
 
 There was a certain snap and bang in the closing part 
 of that sentence which disturbed the air, and the man as 
 if terrified dashed out as suddenly as he had come in. 
 
 There was a gentleman living possibly a dozen miles 
 from Leightonstone, at a little town called Louton, whose 
 name was Gould. He was a friend of Mr. Spurgeon in 
 the opening days of his ministry and it was through him 
 that Mr. Spurgeon was first called to London. They 
 were fast friends, and the admiration and devotion which 
 the old gentleman had for this peerless metropolitan 
 preacher seemed close akin to worship. He came up to 
 the dedication in his magnificent carriage to take Mr. 
 Spurgeon and myself to his home to spend the night. 
 The rain was falling in a flood and the air was heavy and 
 cold, and it was quite a ride that we had. As we went 
 along, Mr. Spurgeon mentioned that he had a sick mem- 
 ber of his church somewhere near the road which we were 
 travelling and he was anxious to call on him. Mr. Gould 
 said it was out of the question. Mr. Spurgeon said that 
 the man was very ill and that he feared that if he did not 
 see him then, he never would. Mr. Gould still refused. 
 Mr. Spurgeon said that he had promised to call on the 
 man and he hated to break his promise, but Mr. Gould 
 
GLAD DAYS WITH SPUEGEON 245 
 
 stiffly maintained his ground and said it would be cruel 
 on the horses. Spurgeon had something to say as to 
 whether a Christian man was worth less than two horses, 
 or something of that sort. Mr. Gould said the driver 
 was a man and that mercy ought to be shown to him ; 
 whereupon Mr. Spurgeon opened the door, stated the 
 case to the driver and asked him if he would be willing 
 to take him to the place. 
 
 *'Lord, Mr. Spurgeon," said the man, ^^rdbewillin' 
 ter drive yer anywhere, sir." 
 
 "All right, John, drive ahead ; we will go." 
 
 Mr. Gould was defeated and manifestly enjoyed it. 
 As for myself, I looked at Spurgeon and realized on the 
 spot that it was his indomitable spirit, his bull-headed 
 but heaven- born determination that had made him the 
 most eminent preacher of the nineteenth century. Faith- 
 fulness in that which was least had made him triumphant 
 in that which was great. 
 
 Mr. Gould had quite an ample and, indeed, elegant 
 home. He invited also a number of his prominent 
 neighbors to take dinner with Mr. Spurgeon, — a dinner 
 which commenced about ten, and ended about midnight. 
 The parlors were well filled, and, although not well, Mr. 
 Spurgeon bore himself superbly, mingling with the peo- 
 ple, joining in cordial fashion in the chat, and now and 
 then, with an admiring group around him, he talked 
 gloriously, mixing seriousness and humor, telling a story, 
 cracking a jest, stirring everybody to joyous laughter 
 and filling his listeners with admiration and delight. 
 During the evening Mr. Gould, with great deference and 
 modesty, requested Mr. Spurgeon to repeat a story which 
 he had heard him tell before. Spurgeon was most reluc- 
 tant, and sought to escape the appeal, but the company 
 joined in and pressed him so hard, that he finally said 
 that if I would tell a story he would come to terms. 
 
246 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 I refused outright aud told him to fight his owu battle ; 
 and theu the comx^auy, iu order to carry their point with 
 Mr. SpurgeoD, joined in upon me. 
 
 ''Have you nothing to tell?" inquired Mr. Spurgeon. 
 
 "Yes, I have things to tell," I said quite flatly, "but 
 this is not my time. I am only a voice crying in the 
 vrilderness, and ought not to be used in order to make 
 Mr. Spurgeon do his duty." 
 
 Finallj^, however, the stubborn Britons forced me to sur- 
 render and I told the story of " Miss Sally and the Gray 
 Mare," probably influenced in part by a very human de- 
 sire to drive Mr. Spurgeon into a corner. He told his 
 story well and greatly amused his little audience. In- 
 deed, he knew how to tell a story. He could train it to 
 the point and explode it at the fateful moment. I was 
 low-spirited about my story and doubted whether I had 
 reached that mysterious point in an Englishman's make-up 
 where the sense of humor dwells, though I must candidly 
 say they were amply demonstrative. 
 
 The next Sunday I dined with Mr. Spurgeon in the 
 home of one of the most distinguished families of his 
 tabernacle, and after dinner he said to me : 
 
 "Tell them the story of 'Miss Sally and the Gray 
 Mare,' " but I told him that the story was very worldly- 
 minded and not suitable for Sunday use. He said there was 
 ever so much good doctrine in the story and good for seven 
 days in the week, and so I had to tell it again. Later 
 on, if the reader travels that far, he may find the story of 
 " Miss Sally and the Gray Mare," which won its place in 
 this volume because Mr. Spurgeon approved of it. 
 
 It was a great dinner spread that night in the Gould 
 mansion, and it would be pleasant indeed to enlarge 
 upon the social abandon and exuberant freedom of the 
 dinner-party. 
 
 When the lady of the house asked Mr. Spurgeon if he 
 
GLAD DAYS WITH SPUP.GEON 247 
 
 would have coffee, he answered that he would, but that 
 it must be without sugar. As my seat was near to his, I 
 noticed that when the coffee was set before him, he took 
 out a little round paper box, opened it, took up a small 
 tablet and pinched the tiniest piece off and dropped it 
 into the coffee. My curiosity took up the subject and 
 asked for light. He said that it was saccharin ; that it 
 took 350 pounds of sugar to make one pound of saccha- 
 rin and that he used it because the sugar itself aggra- 
 vated his rheumatic gout, from which, as is generally 
 known, he was an almost constant sufferer. Indeed, he 
 told me that he did not know what it was to have a 
 moment entirely free from pain, and said that it had been 
 that way for a full score of years. Think of it. It was 
 under all that debility and acute suffering that he did the 
 most valuable part of his work as a student, a preacher, 
 an author, a lecturer and a man of the people. 
 
 When the guests rose from the table it was past mid- 
 night and they went at once for their wraps ; their car- 
 riages lined up at the front and in a few moments only 
 the Goulds and Mr. Spurgeon and myself were left. 
 Almost immediately Mr. Gould brought out the cigars 
 and handed them to Mr. Spurgeon. 
 
 ''No," said Mr. Spurgeon, doggedly, '' Iwill not smoke. 
 This American here," pointing at me, *'was over at my 
 house last summer and I offered him a cigar. He took it 
 but was too good to smoke it, and I am afraid that 
 such a man as I am ought not to smoke in his 
 presence." 
 
 I gave forth no sign and the cigars were taken away 
 and we began to rekindle the conversation when Mr. 
 Gould, bethinking himself, brought the cigars and offered 
 them to me. I thanked him quietly, took the cigar, lit 
 it, turned my back to Mr. Spurgeon and began to smoke, 
 for the first time in full ten years. The clouds of smoke 
 
248 ALONG THE TEAIL 
 
 were visible in the room but almost absolute silence 
 reigned. 
 
 ^'Mr. Gould, '^ said Spurgeon, in a grimly humorous 
 tone, ^' bring that box of cigars back. This is a better 
 man than I took him to be and I believe I will join him 
 in his smoke. '^ 
 
 That was all that was said. He never asked me whether 
 I often smoked or not and it ended at that. 
 
 We occupied different rooms after retiring for the night, 
 but our doors were open and we passed back and forth 
 and chatted I know not how far into the night. 
 
 The next morning we went out to the little station for 
 the train to London and in some way it was belated. 
 Spurgeon grew weary of standing, and they brought him 
 a chair and he sat in the door of the little station. The 
 agent or guard was very busy with his tasks and at first 
 evidently took no note of the great preacher. In passing 
 him, however, he recognized him, and his behavior 
 was something not to be forgotten. He sprang back, 
 took off his railroad cap, and bowed almost to the 
 ground. 
 
 ''Oh, Mr. Spurgeon, I am guilty, indeed, and beg for 
 mercy. Here you are, and I did not know you," he said 
 with manifest pain, '' and this, too, after it was your ser- 
 mon that brought to me the light of salvation. I am 
 ashamed of myself and I ask you to forgive me." 
 
 Thus spoke the guard, and his words were deeply im- 
 pressive. They drew the little company quietly around. 
 Mr. Spurgeon was strongly moved. 
 
 " Oh, my man," he said, '' reproach not yourself. You 
 were busy with your duties, as all of us ought to be ; and 
 why should you be looking at me? It is enough to hear 
 that I did you good and helped you find the way. Take 
 my hand, my brother, and let us greet each other in the 
 name of our common Lord." 
 
GLAD DAYS WITH SPURGEON 249 
 
 They had their hand-grasp and the man stepped back, 
 and said with untenable sweetness : 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Spurgeon, good-bye ! We shall know 
 each other better when the mists have rolled away. ' ' 
 
 No more delightful incident have I ever witnessed. It 
 fell upon the people like the dews of Hermon and heaven 
 seemed very near. 
 
 We were soon in London where Mr. Spurgeon' s carriage 
 was waiting, and we were driven immediately to his or- 
 phanage, where we spent the bulk of the day. As we 
 approached the entrance, he pointed from the open 
 carriage and said : ' ' Yonder is my bank, where I 
 get my money for taking care of my family of 500 chil- 
 dren. '^ 
 
 I told him, somewhat grumblingly, that I did not need to 
 have very much to do with banks, but ordinarily I could 
 see a bank when it was in front of me, but that I didn't 
 see any bank about there. We were then about to pass 
 under an archway and pointing up to the wall he said, 
 ^^ There it is," and I saw cut into the wall the words 
 "Jehovah Jireh." 
 
 " That," he said, " is my bank ; it never breaks, never 
 suspends, never gets empty. My children have never 
 lacked for covering, or for food and I have no fear that 
 they ever will." 
 
 That day was one of the memorable days of my life. I 
 saw Mr. Spurgeon at his best ; I saw the order and the pre- 
 cision with which that vast charity was conducted. I saw 
 the almost adoring reverence with which everybody 
 treated him. I had him tell me of how the work was 
 done, how well the boys and girls turned out, and how he 
 baptized scores and hundreds of them, and how almost 
 every day letters full of gratitude, and telling of useful 
 and happy lives were pouring in upon him. I caught, 
 that day in some little measure, a glimpse of what a Chris- 
 
250 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 tian orphanage meant, and by a curious coincidence, al- 
 most immediately upon my return to America, I was 
 made the official head of an orphanage whose scheme it 
 fell upon me in quite a large part to lay, and with which 
 ever since I have been associated. I almost told myself 
 after it turned out as it did, that the Lord sent me to 
 Spurgeon to learn how to do my humble part in orphan- 
 age^work. 
 
 I have already referred to a Sunday dinner which Mr. 
 Spurgeon brought me to, on the last Sunday that I was in 
 London. I counted it a kindness which I have never 
 been able amply to repay, to be a guest in the home of a 
 man who was by general agreement, the most efficient 
 helper that Spurgeon ever had in the various enterprises 
 in which he and his people were engaged. Already this 
 dear man had finished his course, but his home stood, and 
 I was happy indeed to sit down with his honored 
 widow, her three sons and her eleven daughters, to a din- 
 ner, elegant in its provision and its appointments, and 
 unspeakably grateful to me by reason of the heavenly 
 atmosphere which filled the home. It was an exceed- 
 ingly cheerful dinner-party. The tide of talk ran very 
 free, but it was clear as crystal and refreshing as the water 
 of life. Spurgeon sparkled with wit, and led the laughter 
 as the quiet jest, or the apt repartee went round. 
 
 I must be pardoned for a little prank played upon him 
 and of which I dare to tell. Mr. Spurgeon was a vege- 
 tarian who talked ; he made free to proclaim himself a 
 vegetarian. At the table that day he occui)ied the seat 
 next to the lady of the house, on her right, and I sat at 
 his right. They had roast pheasant for dinner that day 
 and during the progress of the meal my vagrant eye 
 caught sight of quite a formidable slice of the pheasant's 
 breast on Mr. Spurgeon' s plate, and what was more, I saw 
 that he was vigorous beyond his wont in his attack upon 
 
GLAD DAYS WITH SPURGEON 251 
 
 the juicy viand. I heaved an untimely sigh and ex- 
 pressed dolefully enough my regret that I had to return 
 to America. 
 
 He took the matter quite to heart, and owned to grave 
 surprise that I spoke so slightingly of my country. 
 
 I justified myself by saying that the Americans were so 
 benighted and that I would have such a grievous task in 
 bringing them out of darkness into the true English light. 
 
 *' You shock me," he said. " What is the matter with 
 your country 1 ' ' 
 
 ^'The matter? Matter enough indeed. Why, they 
 have not even found out in America, — they do not really 
 know that a pheasant is a vegetable.''^ 
 
 He broke into good-natured laughter, and after a pause 
 he said : " Blame me not ; the woman, she gave it to me." 
 
 ^^ Yes," said the lady of the house, '' and you did not 
 fail to observe that the man, he did eat." 
 
 Mr. Spurgeon engaged to meet me at his college one 
 afternoon. It was the day on which he was to lecture 
 and I w^ent hoping to hear him speak to the students. 
 Upon my arrival I found a note from him in which he said 
 that his old enemy, *Hhe rheumatic gout," had him in 
 hand and that he was unable to leave his bed. He 
 begged that I would make '* a long address " to the boys, 
 and truly I never had a happier time with a body of 
 students than was mine that afternoon. 
 
 These are but samples of lovely delicious days that I 
 had with Spurgeon. I heard him preach about a dozen 
 sermons, was often on the pulpit with him, spoke for him 
 again and again and learned to feel what a simple, trans- 
 parent, pure-hearted man he was. His love of God was 
 his life ; his work for humanity was his happiness and 
 his heart was full of light. Some time after my return to 
 America he wrote me a letter which I accounted the most 
 precious, valuable and honorable script that I had 
 
252 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 among the papers which constituted my treasures. In it 
 he gave me thanks for the good which he said he got out 
 of me, asked me to return to London some time and be a 
 guest in his family and seal a friendship which he was 
 kind enough to say he was anxious should take on new 
 strength and abide to the end. I told him I would come ; 
 it made me proud that he wanted me and I felt that I 
 would gladly cross the sea if I could put even a little 
 cheer into his overtaxed and often aching heart. 
 
 But it was not to be. Soon the news of his death came 
 and after that I had little heart for seeing London again. 
 Then came the burning of my church and its flames con- 
 sumed his letters and other tokens of kindness which he 
 had bestowed upon me. Nothing was left of it all except 
 the assured hope that I shall see him in the morning and 
 know him better then than I could ever have known 
 him here. 
 
XVII 
 
 WORK IN COLLEGES AND IN THE EDITORIAL 
 CHAIR 
 
 I CAN recall no part of my career as a minister that 
 has been more interesting or fruitful than what it 
 has been my privilege to do in colleges and uni- 
 versities. Not that I have in any sense made that a spe- 
 cial feature, for during the bulk of my life it was only 
 on rare occasions that I could snatch an opportunity 
 of visiting these institutions of learning, sometimes for 
 addresses, courses of lectures or more distinctly for evan- 
 gelistic services. Wake Forest College, of North Caro- 
 lina, has always been to me a school which commanded 
 my heart and enlisted my energies. It would be hard to 
 tell how many times I have gone to this school within the 
 last forty years. It has always had a peculiarly reveren- 
 tial spirit. Wingate, Pritchard, Charles E. Taylor, my 
 old college mate, and W. L. Poteat have all been men 
 whom I have revered and ardently cherished and my 
 work was done under their several presidential adminis- 
 trations. They have had associated with them all the 
 time not only men of accurate, strong scholarship, but of 
 devout and active piety. 
 
 In the first revival meeting held at Wake Forest there 
 was one young man who did not disguise in the least his 
 antagonism ; his unbelief was outspoken and his mag- 
 netism drew around him quite a number of sympathizers. 
 He was looked upon as a grave menace to the progress 
 and effectiveness of the meeting. I could not regard him 
 
 253 
 
254 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 in that light. He struck me as one doubtful of his own 
 ground and anxious to disguise his own convictions. 
 The meeting closed, however, leaving him uncommitted, 
 and while I did not keep in communication with him I 
 thought of him constantly as one who had in him con- 
 victions in favor of religion which he would never be 
 able to destroy. It was no surx)rise to me to receive four 
 years later a letter announcing his decision to unite 
 with the church and saying that he dated his change 
 back to the meeting at Wake Forest. He is now one of 
 the most influential Christian men in North Carolina, 
 full of righteous leadership, honest to the core and hon- 
 ored by the best people in his state. It seems that in 
 the case of young men of high spirit, stubborn will and 
 wild ambitions, they always find it hard to submit to 
 Christ and surrender only after long battles. 
 
 Wq must not despair of young men who are hard to 
 convert, for when they are converted you may look out 
 for them at the front in after times. 
 
 During that same meeting a young lady came to see me 
 one afternoon at the president's home and asked for a 
 private interview with me. She was not connected with 
 the college in any way but lived several miles away in 
 the country. I saw at once that she was sorely troubled 
 and yet reluctant to reveal the burden which she felt 
 unable longer to bear. I drew her along by quiet stages 
 until she was bold enough to tell me her story. 
 
 ^'I was converted," she said, *'when I was twelve 
 years of age, and from that time I felt that my life must 
 be absolutely devoted to Christ and that I must allow 
 nothing to cross my way that could possibly divide my 
 affections or my service. My parents knew of my con- 
 viction and approved it. They gave me the advantages 
 of the best schools, and when I finished my school career 
 I decided that if the Lord did not direct me otherwise 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 255 
 
 I would go to tlie foreign field, and up to that time I had 
 scarcely known a momentary waver in my purpose. 
 
 ' ' Some months ago there came into my life a new ap- 
 peal and I must tell you frankly that it was novel and 
 mighty. There came before me a new claimant for my 
 heart and I must do him the justice to say that he was 
 loyal, honorable and worthy of any woman's affection. 
 He opened before me a career so alluring that my purpose 
 has been quaking, for I am sure that if I were to link my 
 fate with his I would make him unhappy unless I should 
 go with him in his plans, his methods of living and his 
 views of life. 
 
 *^I^ow," she said, *^I stand at the parting of the ways 
 and I find that a spirit of hesitancy possesses me. I bring 
 my case to you and ask for frank dealing at your hands.'' 
 
 I confess that I was moved out of all my composure by 
 the strain and pathos of her story. It was the sight of 
 a great soul in a supreme conflict. Of course I took time 
 and dropped soothing words as the moments went by. 
 But at the last I told her it was one of those personal, 
 untransferable things in which no stranger and even no 
 friend could intermeddle. We prayed together and 
 parted without my once telling her to dismiss her lover. 
 
 The meeting went on for days, and one night it ended. 
 Friends lingered in the hall after the great crowd had 
 gone out, for pleasant chat, and to say their kindly 
 farewells before I went to the train that was to take me 
 away. As I went down the aisle in leaving the hall 
 some one touched me and drew me around. It was the 
 young woman with the battle on hand. Her face was 
 radiant, — I had almost said heavenly, — and as she took 
 my hand she said, ''I would have you know before you 
 go ; I have conquered in the battle at the Cross," and 
 we parted. 
 
 Less than two years ago I was at a great country 
 
256 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 gathering and she came up and made herself known to me 
 as the wife of one of the most gifted young ministers in 
 the South, and I found that she was at the head of the 
 missionary movements of the women of her denomination 
 in her adopted state. Her life is the wonder and joy 
 of her associates and all because of her undivided loyalty 
 to Christ. 
 
 In the nineties I went to Denison University in Ohio 
 to preach the baccalaureate sermon. My visit was 
 under extraordinary pressure, I reaching there late and 
 leaving hastily to meet other engagements, and I easily 
 recall with what a sorrowful sense of failure I bade adieu 
 to the place as one that I would gladly forget and one 
 that would be glad to forget me. 
 
 Sometimes, however, the aftermaths of a preacher's 
 performances come in as providential comforters. A few 
 months after my visit to the university I received an 
 invitation to come during the ensuing winter and 
 conduct evangelistic services. These were held in 
 January, 1896, and were marked by many surprising and 
 thrilling incidents. 
 
 Candor constrains me to say that I never had a more 
 depressing beginning. A spiritual numbness, almost 
 arctic in its chill, possessed the town and the school, and 
 I readily admit that a part of the spiritual torpor seized 
 me and it looked like the case of a pithless and pointless 
 preacher feebly descanting on the resurrection to an 
 apathetic and unresponsive people. For nearly a week 
 I beat the air without a convert, without a tear and with 
 nature's thermometer at about fifteen below zero and the 
 thermometer of grace a good deal lower. I almost be- 
 lieve that I would have been requested to leave if 
 there had been enough vitality in the meeting to organize 
 public sentiment on that point. After I had been there 
 
WORK IX COLLEGES 257 
 
 from Tuesday until Suuday niglit I ended my sermon 
 with a statement about like this: ''I have been here 
 hammering away upon you for nearly a week and I have 
 not seen a spark fly nor a single sign that any arrow from 
 my quiver has entered any soul. If you have cared for 
 my preaching you have not said it, and if you care for 
 the salvation of the lost you have adroitly concealed 
 your feelings. There seems to be no spiritual relation 
 between you and me, and I have reached the point where 
 I want to find out something. I am coming down out of 
 this lofty pulpit and take my stand on the floor, and if 
 any of you have a living interest in these meetings, if 
 any of you are crying after a better life, if any of you 
 are burdened for the salvation of the lost, and if any of 
 you wish this meeting to go on I ask you to come up 
 and give me your hand. I will give you five minutes to 
 come or not to come, and if you do not come then I will 
 have something else to say to you." 
 ' Then I went down and there I stood ; I did not look 
 at my watch but it was a momentously long time, and I 
 was beginning to wonder what time the train would start 
 next morning. Then a very distinguished gentleman, 
 very prominent in the town and a part of the university, 
 arose quite far back in the large building and came 
 forward, moving very slowly as if he had the burden of 
 several centuries upon his shoulders, and gave me his 
 hand. I told him that I was very happy to see him and 
 that I would remember him to my dying day, which 
 thing I am honestly doing. Then another ominous and 
 appalling pause struck me. In a little while, however, a 
 woman started and on her way her emotions overcame 
 her, and when she reached me she was shaking under a 
 strain which she made no effort to conceal. She was one 
 of the choicest Christian ladies of the community and 
 there was a resistless contagion in her feeling. It called 
 
258 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 out the timid and half- conscious struggles of unnumbered 
 souls and it would not be too much to say that within 
 the next few minutes 300 people came and there were few 
 faces that were not bedewed with tears. 
 
 When the tide went out I announced that the meeting 
 would go on and asked for a hymn and also for con- 
 fessions of Christ. The response was six men and one 
 boy. A week later the meeting ended and so far as 
 could be known there were about 250 conversions. 
 Hundreds of people attended daily from outside of the 
 town and of course school and town poured their contents 
 into the great meeting at every service. My attention 
 was called, by some of the university boys, to one of 
 their number who was quite a brilliant and defiant 
 atheist by profession. I dined one day at the chapter 
 house where he ate his meals and got my first sight of 
 him. He was almost big enough to constitute an agnostic 
 club all to himself. I ventured to speak to him one day, 
 — at least as much of him as I could get in the neighbor- 
 hood of, and the scornful growl which he let fly at me 
 almost took my breath. He disposed of me by saying, 
 *' You must know, sir, that all men do not see alike, and 
 I see nothing in the doctrine of a God." I told him rather 
 tremulously, big as he was, that after all there might 
 be space enough in the universe for God to get standing 
 room, and we parted at that. 
 
 "We had inquirers' meetings and one day there were 
 many present and among them was my colossal atheist. 
 I began by inquiring the names of the difierent persons 
 present and asking them a question or two with the view 
 of a brief address and a prayer. 
 
 When I came to the giant I expressed surprise to see 
 him and he instantly put on the war paint. ^* I ought 
 not to have come," he said harshly ; '' the boys persuaded 
 me in to it." 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 259 
 
 **Tlie boys made a mistake,'^ I said, *^and I will 
 pause a moment to give you time to leave. '^ 
 
 He winced evidently. 
 
 *' Before I go, sir,'^ lie said haughtily, "will you 
 kindly tell me why you believe in the existence of a 
 God?'' 
 
 " No, I will not," I replied, " but I will ask you some 
 questions. The president of your university has written 
 a book on Christian Theism. Have you studied it f 
 
 "No, I have not,'' he replied. 
 
 "There is a book," I continued, "called the Bible, 
 which claims to come from God ; have you read 
 that?" 
 
 "No, sir, I have never read it," he said rather sul- 
 lenly. 
 
 "Evidently you are not seeking light as to the exist- 
 ence of God," I said with decision, "and I am sur- 
 rounded by those who are inquiring the way to God. If 
 I had three days and nothing to do, I might possibly give 
 you some of the reasons why I believe in God, but under 
 my present condition and in your present mental mood I 
 have no time to give you and I request you to retire." 
 
 It was strong medicine, and he revolted from it, being 
 manifestly anxious for a wrangle. Just as he was rising 
 to his feet to go out, a thing occurred so touching, so 
 beautiful, and so full of spiritual power, that I almost 
 thought it must be the voice of God. A young man 
 sprang to his feet, truly one of the most handsome speci- 
 mens of the genus homo that I ever looked upon, and 
 bursting into tears, he said, "Dr. Hatcher, I believe in 
 God, but I am so sinful and blind that I cannot find my 
 way to Him and I am afraid that He will never let me 
 come to Him." 
 
 "Sit down, my dear boy," I said, moved to tears by 
 his pathetic speech j "I can help you. Wait till this 
 
ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 young man gets out and I'll show you the path that leads 
 to God.'' 
 
 It was a striking scene. One young man turning his 
 back upon God ; the other trying to find Him. 
 
 I saw nothing more of the atheistic giant until the last 
 night of the meeting. My last message had been de- 
 livered and I asked for public confessions of Christian 
 faith. I saw some one rise near the door and start for- 
 ward. As he came into full view I discovered that it was 
 none other than my obstreperous atheist, and walking 
 over to his side of the house, I said to him as he drew 
 near, "Hello ; it looks as if you have discovered that 
 there is a God." 
 
 Choked with emotion he replied, "Yes, I have found 
 that there is a God and I have come foith to declare my 
 faith and to give Him my life." I never saw him after- 
 wards, but the university offered special advantages to a 
 young Virginia boy in whom I was interested, and that 
 boy, during one of his vacations, canvassed in Michigan 
 for books to help him out in his hard pull for an educa- 
 tion. During the summer he wrote me a letter and told 
 me that he and my ex-atheist were working together, and 
 that he accounted him the most devout and godly young 
 man within the range of his acquaintance. 
 
 During the progress of this same meeting. President 
 Purinton came from the chapel and calling me into his 
 office said to me that he had a renewed faith in God, and 
 said it in a manner which told plainly enough that he 
 had a new experience ; and so I asked him to tell me how 
 it happened. 
 
 There was a young man in the university in his senior 
 year who was from Cincinnati, — very gifted, very irre- 
 ligious and dangerously magnetic. The president said 
 that he had been uneasy about that young man's influence 
 ever since he came to the university j not that he was a 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 261 
 
 corrupter of morals, but that he was so fascinating in his 
 worldliness and irreverence. He said also that he had 
 constantly prayed for him through the four years that he 
 had been in the school and yet at times was tempted to 
 feel it was vain to pray. 
 
 He then told me that the young man was present at the 
 meeting in which we had the memorable and moving 
 hand-shake, and was greatly offended by it, even making 
 a vow and sealing it with an oath, when passing through 
 the vestibule in leaving the church, that he would never 
 enter the church again. To that ill-born committal he 
 stuck inexorably for a week, but on the night before, the 
 president told me, a group of the godly students deter- 
 mined that they would call on the young scoffer in a body 
 and seek to bring him to Christ. 
 
 He knew them well ; they were among his best friends 
 and he well understood the reason for their coming as 
 they did. He anticipated their appeal by ordering them 
 out of his room and refusing sternly to hear them. They 
 would not go and undertook to plead with him, and he 
 finally took his chair to the corner of the room and facing 
 the wall and cramming his fingers in his ears, he re- 
 fused to hear them. His bearing was so cross and morti- 
 fying that the boys withdrew and went away to one of 
 their rooms, gathered reinforcements, told of their expe- 
 rience, and determined to continue in prayer. It was a 
 solemn meeting and with tears and agony they cried unto 
 God ; they cried long, and with holy persistency. Sud- 
 denly the door flew open and some one fell on the floor 
 in the midst of them. '' I give up, boys," said the young 
 man, '' I can stand it no longer ; that was my despairing 
 struggle down in my room. I fought it as long as I could, 
 but I want you all to pray for me that God will receive 
 me and make me His servant." 
 
 This was the story told by President Purintou and it 
 
2G2 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 was with an alert and buoyant step the young man 
 came out at the next service of our meeting and took his 
 stand for Christ. 
 
 Five or six years after that I was returning to Virginia 
 from the West, and left the train at Clifton Forge. Sud- 
 denly a young man rushed out of the sleeper, sprang to 
 the ground, and seized my hand. It was indeed a most 
 rapturous greeting, and I wondered who on earth it could 
 be who was overx)Owering me with his demonstrations. 
 
 '^You don't know me?" he asked. ^'Why, I am 
 Wiltsier, the Cincinnati boy who tried so hard not to be- 
 come a Christian during that revival at Denison, but 
 failed so gloriously in my resistance." 
 
 '^ Are you still at it r ' I asked. 
 
 "Sure, doctor ; ever at it and at it forever." 
 
 As this is somewhat of an Ohio chapter, I might add 
 one or two other incidents which occurred in meetings 
 held in the Buckeye State. 
 
 An incidental result of my work at Denison was an in- 
 vitation to the Ashland Avenue Church, Toledo. There 
 I had an experience quite different and yet about as 
 acute as was the depressing start in the meeting in Gran- 
 ville, the seat of the Denison University. For nearly a 
 week the Toledo meeting was thinly attended and con- 
 spicuous in nothing except in the multitude of empty 
 pews and the absence of men. The situation hit me in 
 the centre, and I became desperate. 
 
 '*I am going home to-morrow," I said gloomily one 
 morning to Dr. Emory Hunt, the pastor of the Ashland 
 Avenue Church. ' ' The men have ignominiously deserted 
 us, and while women are better than men, there never 
 was a great revival unless there were sympathetic men to 
 lead it." He made scant reply but I heard him tele- 
 phoning in the hall soon afterwards. 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 263 
 
 Presently one of his true men, a man converted not 
 very long before, and who had been at every service of 
 the meeting, walked in and Hunt asked me to repeat what 
 I had said to him about returning to Virginia. I did it 
 as tersely as possible. 
 
 The brother's name was Dow. He listened in silence 
 and admitted the justice of my complaint. He was pro- 
 foundly affected, and finally told us that if his carriage 
 and his telephone had any influence he would give me 
 some men to talk to that night. The night came, but I 
 could not see the men and thought that his carriage and 
 his 'phone were not effective as evangelistic agencies. 
 
 At the close of the meeting that night, however, I was 
 invited into one of the large rooms of the great church 
 building. There were the men and I was told that the 
 freedom of the occasion was mine, and I used it, not as 
 abusing it, but as coming quite near to the point of 
 abusing those men. 
 
 ^'I am here, gentlemen," I said, ^' not as an intruder, 
 but on an invitation from you to help in a revival meet- 
 ing. Thus far the meeting has failed because those who 
 invited me, in a large measure, have not come, and the 
 pastor tells me that you have pled pressure of business 
 as your excuse. If you are too busy to have the meeting, 
 then why not break it up ? I think possibly that you 
 stay away because you do not like to hear me preach. 
 If that be so, I am not surprised. There are scores 
 and tons of people where I came from who do not 
 seem to like my preaching, and if that is the trouble tell 
 me so, and I will go back where I live and where I have 
 men that are willing to hear me. I would not mind your 
 dislike one fraction as much as I do your neglect. In 
 fact I would rather for you to get bludgeons and clubs 
 and guns, and force me out of your town than to leave me 
 to minister on the lifeless remains of a revival in which 
 
264: ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 you invited me to help you. Settle sometliing to-niglit 
 aud tell me your conclusion." 
 
 I started to walk out but one man with ire in his eye 
 arose and asked, ^^ What do you want us to do 1 " 
 
 I told him that it would be a formidable task to write 
 a schedule for every individual in that room, but that I 
 thought that I could tell him what he ought to do. 
 ^'Yesterday," I said to him, '' your father, eighty years 
 old, came to see me, to tell me that he was born in Cul- 
 peper, Ya., and to talk with me about the land of his 
 birth. A fine old gentleman he was and a most interest- 
 ing chat we had, and when he was leaving I said to him 
 that he was once born in Culpeper aud that I would like 
 to know whether he had ever been born again. He told 
 me that he was still in his sins and without God in the 
 world." I then added that I thought that the son of an 
 old man like that, if he himself was a real hearted Chris- 
 tian, would have little trouble in knowing what he ought 
 to do. Be it said to his honor that he took the hint in 
 good part and did the work. 
 
 It was a thing never to be forgotten to see how those men 
 piled into the room the next night, many of them bring- 
 ing their families, some of them attended by their em- 
 ployees and yet others bringing friends and strangers as 
 they could. The work began that night with unmistakable 
 tokens of the power of God. The next Sunday morning 
 was the greatest day that I ever saw in all my ministerial 
 life. It was a grown-up people's revival. Scarcely any 
 children made confessions but a great number of men, in 
 many cases, men and their wives, and the bulk of the con- 
 verts were married people. One gentleman, a highly 
 reputable wholesale merchant, told his wife that morning 
 that he would go with her to church though he had no 
 respect for that kind of a meeting, that he would never 
 take any public stand in religion, and that if anybody 
 
AVORK IN COLLEGES 265 
 
 dared to speak to him that morning, he would walk out 
 of the church and never enter it again. "While the people 
 were going forward that morning a friend passed up the 
 aisle near this gentleman, and, pausing, said, ''Clarence, 
 have you heard the call this morning which comes to you 
 from God?" 
 
 "Yes, Julius, I have heard, and wait; I want you to 
 go with me," he replied, and both of his solemn vows got 
 smashed up that day to the glory of God and to his own 
 salvation. 
 
 In the audience that morning was an avowed atheist 
 from Detroit, who had come to church with his sister. 
 As they walked away she said to him, "Brother, 
 I have believed before that there was a God and on that 
 faith I joined the church, but I never knew that there was 
 a God so overwhelmingly as I know it now." 
 
 "Talk not to me," the man excitedly answered. "I 
 hate the very thought of God, and would rather die than 
 to believe that there is a God, but when that call for a 
 confession of faith in God was made to-day I had to hold 
 to the bench with both of my hands to keep me from going. 
 There was a power in that meeting that I never felt 
 before." 
 
 This meeting continued a week after the memorable 
 service just described, and on the last Sabbath there were 
 over sixty boys and girls converted. The last service of 
 the meeting occurred on Sunday night and it was a dis- 
 tinct Christian triumph. The conversions multii)lied too 
 fast to be counted. There lived a rich, retired gentle- 
 man in a house near the church and notable because of 
 its vast number of windows. The master of that house 
 had a friend who lived not far away and who had no em- 
 ployment. They had time on their hands and much to 
 spare and they played cards, so it was said, all day and 
 late into the night. The gentleman in the many-win- 
 
266 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 dowed home had one little daughter who found her way 
 into our meeting and was gloriously saved and in a little 
 ■while her mother confessed the Lord also. The father 
 was sensibly affected, but he and his comrade in the sport 
 held off and would not attend the meeting. On the last 
 Sunday night each of these men decided to go to the 
 meeting without telling the other. The auditorium was 
 very large and the crowd overwhelming and the two men 
 entered tlie church by different doors and sat far from 
 each other, but the arrows of heaven flew far and wide 
 that night, and each of them fell beneath the conquering 
 power of the Cross. Calls for confession were made ; the 
 audience stood up and sang and among the many who 
 came were these two men, and, by a curious coincidence, 
 while coming from different directions and in utter 
 ignorance of what the other was doing, they appeared in 
 the presence of the ministers almost in the same second to 
 make their confession of Christ. 
 
 It was also my delightful privilege to be associated 
 with Dr. Henry L. Colby, of the First Baptist Church, 
 of Dayton, Ohio, in a meeting whose strains and victories 
 are woven into the very shreds of my life. That church 
 is justly distinguished for its broad and abounding liber- 
 ality. Excepting one other church of our denomination 
 it is said to be the foremost church in its gifts to our 
 missionary treasuries. I was greatly stirred by the spirit 
 of that church as shown in our revival services. The 
 richest and most cultivated of the people were among the 
 foremost in their personal zeal in the matter of soul 
 saving. I recall a beautiful girl, trained in the finest 
 schools of the country and just home after a year of Oriental 
 travel, who stood in the vestibule and handed a singing 
 book to each person at each service and gave to them a 
 word of gracious welcome as they entered the house. It 
 seemed a simple act enough but it was the work of her 
 
WORK IX COLLEGES 267 
 
 heart, Ler way of betokening her interest iu every soul, 
 and her device by which she hox)ed to save some. 
 
 Prominent in the membership of that church were a 
 gentleman and his wife with only one child, a son grown 
 to manhood and under the deadly fascination of the 
 world. The anxiety of the parents played mightily uj)on 
 the hearts of the people. In this great company of the 
 anxious there was a modest Christian lady who hit upon 
 an unusual device for bringing the young man to the 
 meetings. She wrote him a note asking for his company 
 to the church on a given evening. It was a thing out 
 of the usual order ; she was fully his social equal, and 
 while naturally dreading the misinterpretation of her act, 
 she could think of nothing better and prayerfully made 
 the venture. At first the young man affected surprise 
 and offense, and told his mother that he accounted it a 
 distinct indiscretion. The mother knew well enough 
 what it meant but she told him that if he took that view 
 of it he ought by all means to decline her invitation. 
 She spoke kindly of the young lady but assured her son 
 that if he had any ground for suspicion that she had 
 transcended the bounds of propriety he ought to break 
 up existing relations and have no more to do with her. 
 For the time the suggestion pleased the young man and 
 he went off to put it into execution ; but as a fact he 
 was not acting candidly, and during the day he came 
 back and told his mother that he ought not to have 
 uttered such an unjust censure upon the young woman, 
 and he withdrew it. The mother then told him that he 
 need not go with her if he felt unwilling to do so and 
 that he could decline in a way that could not be offensive 
 to her. 
 
 That pleased him wonderfully and he retired to send 
 her a note. The note did not go, however, and he came 
 back again and said that he did not have any good reason 
 
268 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 for not going with her except that he did not wish to 
 attend the meeting. His mother suggested that he might 
 take her to the door and call for her at the end of the 
 service and he jumped at that suggestion and decided to 
 act upon it. Just before he left the house to go after the 
 young woman, he dropped in to say to his mother that 
 he had decided after all that he had better not emphasize 
 his aversion to the meeting by refusing to enter the church, 
 and so he had determined to go in. At the close of the 
 meeting the young lady brought him up and introduced 
 him to me. I knew nothing of the case but read in his 
 manner the traces of his embarrassment, and so we passed 
 a few genial and friendly words without any appeal to 
 him in favor of the Gospel. 
 
 On the following evening at the close of my sermon I 
 asked for open confession of Clirist and had the pleasant 
 surprise of greeting among others this young man. His 
 embarrassment was now all gone and he said that after the 
 young lady went forward with him the night before to meet 
 me it gave him some sense of what it meant to take a stand 
 for Christ. That young woman tried a bold expedient, but it 
 was all for her Eedeemer' s honor and she won a rare victory. 
 
 Think of that mother also. She had that preeminent 
 sense of knowing how to handle a capricious and tempted 
 son. When a woman is wise what a wise woman she is. 
 
 While I cannot even mention the names of the various 
 colleges and universities in which I have labored, I must 
 mention briefly several other schools. 
 
 Franklin College at Franklin, Indiana, has been an 
 institution of learning with powerful attractions to me, 
 under the presidency of E. B. Bryan, LL. D., one of the 
 most accomplished and interesting men in our American 
 Eepublic. He distinguished himself in educational work 
 in the Philippines, and then came home to add lustre to 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 269 
 
 Franklin College by his efficient administration. I was 
 there several times and witnessed most signal proofs of 
 the value of proper college government as a means of 
 promoting evangelical religion among the student body. 
 Glorious revivals I witnessed there, and felt that under 
 President Bryan and Eev. P. L. Powell, D. D., it was 
 indeed a charming task to preach the Gospel in a college 
 town in which the citizens and the college took har- 
 monious part, and shared equally in the showers of grace 
 which fell from heaven. It was a sight indeed to see the 
 college president grappling the business men of the com- 
 munity, and by tactful grace leading many of them into 
 the service of God. 
 
 I cannot forget a notable revival in Hamilton, New 
 York, the seat of Colgate University. It must be frankly 
 said that the atmosphere of the community was impreg- 
 nated dangerously with the spirit of TJnitarianism and 
 Universalism, and I found the difficulties in the way of 
 our work obstinate and formidable indeed, but there were 
 noble people there, those who believed in the saving 
 blood of the Eedeemer, who cried mightily to God for 
 saving power, and who during the long wait never 
 wavered. I can never forget Dr. Arthur Jones of the 
 university, who was the vanguard of the evangelical 
 hosts. He it was who planned a prayer-meeting in the 
 grand stand on the athletic grounds, a movement which 
 some oi3enly despised, and even many of the devout 
 looked upon with misgiving, and I fear I was among 
 them ; but Dr. Jones was unyielding. He said we 
 ought to have that meeting ; he planned for it, and in- 
 sisted on it. It looked as if all motives conspired to 
 make the peoi)le come, and especially the university 
 students, who were hard to reach. The stand overflowed, 
 many driven into it from the playgrounds by a rain, 
 which came just at the moment of meeting, and from the 
 
270 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 first song that was struck the power of God filled the 
 place. The feeling was something unworldly and irre- 
 sistible, and from that time the tide changed, and when 
 the meetings closed a little while after scores and scores 
 had been converted. 
 
 I wish to say that while I never spoke of Universalism, 
 or any of its kindred heresies, I put up against it the 
 plain, uncomi)romised Gospel as found in the New Tes- 
 tament. I presented Jesus Christ as the Son of God, as 
 the sacrifice for sin, as the King in Zion and the Bible as 
 the word of God, and on that rested the issue. Oh, it 
 was wonderful. I tremble as I think of it now. I never 
 undertake to count converts, but on the last night of the 
 meeting a mathematical brother kept tally of the con- 
 fessions, and reported that there were 130 of them. 
 
 We need not be uneasy about the old Gospel ; that is 
 all right, and just as mighty now as on the day of Pente- 
 cost. It is always adaptable to present conditions, with- 
 out any change in its doctrines or its terms. And if 
 those who harbor secret sympathy with the new doc- 
 trines and frigidly preach the old Gospel with frills of 
 the new theology pinned on to cover up the signs of 
 blood would stop their foolishness and tell the story of 
 Calvary, they could help us mightily in bringing the sal- 
 vation of the world. 
 
 I went to a school in the South several years ago for 
 revival service, in the midst of the baseball season. 
 Some of the sincerely, but narrowly devout, were droop- 
 ing with despondency about the meeting, because the 
 I)aseball team had four match games for the week during 
 which the meeting was to occur, two, away from home 
 and two at home, and it was actually discussed as an evil 
 that ought to be broken up. My reply was, ^^ Not at all ; 
 let the boys play their games, and let us ask God to use 
 those strapping giants for His glory during the meet- 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 271 
 
 ing." The boys came home and played their first match 
 on their own grounds on Thursday afternoon, and 
 whipped their antagonists gloriously, and that night the 
 captain of the team and two others whipped the devil 
 yet more gloriously, and came out for Christ. Up to the 
 closing meeting Sunday night every member of the team 
 had been converted but one. The next morning just as 
 the train on which I was leaving began to move, a brawny, 
 handsome fellow sprang into the car and seized my hand. 
 "My name is Cunningham," he said, "one of the 
 baseball boys ; the only one left out ; I thought you 
 would want to know, and so I ran in to tell you that I 
 am in also ; the whole team is now lined up for Christ. '^ 
 Then out he sprang from the flying train, and I was 
 thinking how greatly the Lord honored His grace by the 
 way He handled that athletic team. Even to this day I 
 can hardly see a hardy, determined baseball game with- 
 out hoping that the Lord will get a good contingent out 
 of the fray for His own service, later on. 
 
 It was no part of my consciousness of duty that I was 
 ever to be an editor, but the love of composition was in- 
 herent in me. The thought that I might at some time 
 see some production of my own pen in print burned 
 as a flame in my soul in my youthful days. The first 
 production ever published of my own was an obituary, 
 and possibly no other mortal ever was so jubilant over 
 a sombre specimen of literature as I was over that 
 obituary. I was almost insane with delight and would 
 probably have been hopelessly so but for the fact that I 
 committed the grievous blunder of putting the name of 
 Zaccheus for Zacharias in the article. That nearly fitted 
 me for the lunatic asylum by crushing me into the dust 
 with a sense of being an incurable fool. As that was my 
 first article it was also my last for many a weary month. 
 
272 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 My caccethes scribendi gradually returned, tliough con- 
 siderably chastened and cautious. 
 
 Just after entering the pastorate I wrote quite a 
 number of character- sketches which attracted some little 
 attention and revived my courage, which had suffered 
 such wreck in the Zaccheus tragedy. I found myself 
 writing for a number of newspapers in and out of Vir- 
 ginia but had no thought whatever of becoming an editor. 
 
 Dr. J. B. Jeter, a minister of commanding abilities and 
 greatly distinguished for writing the purest English and 
 that in the most winsome style, was a kinsman of mine. 
 For many years he was the editor of the Eeligious Herald 
 of Richmond, Va., and the paper attained an extraordi- 
 nary celebrity under his magnetic touch. Some time 
 after his death his widow, who still owned an interest in 
 the paper, made request of my church that I might be her 
 representative on the paper, and to this my people with 
 characteristic generosity consented. 
 
 The bulk of the editorial work fell on me and I carried 
 the burden in connection with the cares of my great 
 pastorate for three years. I found duty and pleasure 
 combined in that phase of Christian service but I could 
 not find it possible to continue the double duty any 
 longer, nor was I willing to quit my pastorate, and so I 
 went out of that editorial work. Immediately I became 
 correspondent of a number of papers in the several 
 sections of our country and wrote almost as much as 
 when I was editor. I became editor of the Baltimore 
 Baptist also and served in that capacity for quite a 
 number of years. Later on I became associate editor of 
 what is now The Bajytist World of Louisville, a noble 
 paper with a mission distinctively its own, and with a 
 constituency extending into every leading country of the 
 world. Perhaps I ought to add that covering nearly all 
 of the years of this editorial work I have been associated 
 
WORK IN COLLEGES 273 
 
 with the editorial i)ro(iuctiou of our Sunday-school 
 literature in the South, working without intermission in 
 that department of our denominational enterprises for 
 nearly twenty years. 
 
 A sentence may also be added to the effect that in the 
 meanwhile I had become the author of several books 
 whose names and purposes need no mention here. It 
 would be impossible to speak one syllable in commenda- 
 tion of anything that I have ever done ; for nothing that 
 I have ever done has satisfied me and everything that I 
 have ever done has upbraided me that I did not do it 
 better. At the same time my heart humbles itself before 
 the throne of the Father that even at all I have been able 
 to use my pen in the service of my fellow men. 
 
 In ending this hasty reference to my labors as a writer, 
 I might mention one episode in my experience which by 
 its singularity seems worthy of remembrance. At the 
 close of the war, Hon. Henry K. Ellyson was founding a 
 daily newspaper in Eichmond and he sent a messenger 
 across the river to me in Manchester, where I was then 
 pastor, bespeaking my influence in circulating the paper 
 in the town. It was just at the end of the war and we 
 were all miserably poor, but it chanced that I had just 
 encumbered myself with an orphan boy, who was desper- 
 ately anxious to escape from the cotton factory and to go 
 to school, and as I had no way of providing for this, 
 I wrote Mr. Ellyson that if he would select the boy as 
 his carrier, I'd put the go on the paper, a proposition he 
 promptly accepted. Thereafter, about once a week for 
 the next year, a series of letters from Manchester ap- 
 peared in the paper under the nom de plume of ' ' Struggle. ' ' 
 The author put herself forth as a factory girl, who got 
 some education just before the war, but whose fortune 
 was utterly shattered by the war, and who was reduced 
 
274 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 to the bitter necessity of being a factory girl. As about 
 all that appeared in the paper from Manchester was con- 
 tained in these letters, and as they had a decidedly crit- 
 ical and audacious air, and as almost everybody in 
 town was dead set on discovering the identity of the girl, 
 the paper took wings and flew to a speedy prosperity. 
 As the distinct note of the letters was dissatisfaction with 
 factory life, a yet deeper and more scornful abhorrence of 
 the stupidities and disorders of the town, it can readily 
 be seen that there was trouble ahead. She claimed to 
 send her letters to the paper and have her mail brought 
 back by her little brother, and the bridge was watched 
 remorselessly in order to waylay that non-existent little 
 brother. 
 
 Let me say, however, that my little factory lad was the 
 go-between in the matter, and he kept the secret with all 
 the diplomatic caution of the star chamber. By degrees 
 this writer touched up the civil authorities as to the con- 
 dition of the town, got after the churches, scored the fac- 
 tory authorities, criticized the front yards and the un- 
 painted houses of the people and, in short, impressed the 
 sluggish town with the belief that there was a deadly 
 enemy abroad in the community. She elected a new 
 town council, had quite a number of breaks in the streets 
 repaired, brought on several pugilistic encounters between 
 her friends and foes, got several proposals for marriage 
 of the most romantic order, often received free tickets to 
 the theatres and other entertainments in Eichmond, had 
 ever so many snares set for her detection, made many of 
 my most intimate friends furiously mad, and more than 
 once made allusion to me and my church so pointed, so 
 scathing and once or twice so just for that matter, that it 
 was hard for a factory girl even after dark to walk the 
 streets attended by her brother without the liability of 
 being called to account. 
 
WOKK IN COLLEGES 275 
 
 Several months before I left the town to settle in Balti- 
 more the correspondence ceased, and so when I departed 
 the authorshij) of the letters was never known. There 
 was one incident connected with it that was so laughable 
 that I venture to tell it though the gentleman involved in 
 it is still alive. He came to me one day in rather an au- 
 tocratic and patronizing way and asked me if I knew 
 Miss Struggle. My reply was that nobody up to that 
 time had satisfactorily proved to me that the writer of 
 those articles was a woman, though I told him that I 
 thought some of them did suggest a woman as their 
 author. He said in reply and with pomp befitting the 
 occasion, that he thought he could set my mind at 
 rest on that subject. He had studied the matter in a 
 painstaking and a critical way, studying not the clumsy 
 facts in the case, but the nicer shades, the unconscious 
 hints and the atmosphere and quite a number of other 
 things that had weight with literary critics, and that he 
 had decided that beyond question the author was a 
 woman. I expressed great satisfaction that he had 
 favored me with an opinion so nearly authoritative and 
 which I thought would have weight with people who 
 were constantly appealing to me as to the authorship of 
 the letters. The incident associated with those letters 
 would make quite a volume. 
 
 After years had passed, I was crossing the bridge with 
 a man thoughtful far beyond his station, who was an op- 
 erative in the factory at the time the letters appeared. I 
 asked him in a brusque, offhand way if the writer of those 
 letters had ever come to be known. He said no, but that 
 whoever the writer was, the letters had played the mis- 
 chief with him, and he told me quite a story. He said 
 that the factory people were in a perpetual wrangle over 
 those letters and that he was one of the wranglers, and 
 that on one occasion he repelled an attack upon the 
 
276 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 author for some criticism made upon the management of 
 the factory. It seems that his words went to the author- 
 ities in the main of&ce and he was ignominiously fired, — 
 to use his phrase, — in trying to defend that woman. For 
 a moment I almost felt that if he would put in and thrash 
 me for getting him into the trouble, it might have brought 
 me to repent of having played a woman's part for a full 
 year to the serious disturbance of belated, ill-governed 
 old Manchester, as she was in those first post-bellum 
 days. 
 
XVIII 
 
 NERVE SHAKERS 
 
 ONE fruitful source of trouble to me from my 
 childhood had been my disposition to fall in 
 love with people. My elective affinities have 
 been very powerful but not always discriminating. I 
 have allowed myself to become attached to people until I 
 actually suffered by separation from them. This was 
 peculiarly, painfully true of me in my youth, and it is 
 true even to the present time. 
 
 When I went out at seventeen years of age to teach 
 school, I was thrown entirely among strangers — many of 
 them rude in manner, limited in knowledge, weak in 
 morals and destitute of religion, but in some way they 
 were very gracious to me and in a little while they seemed 
 to grow into my very life. Even those who were eccen- 
 tric, unsociable, quick to anger and grossly selfish, inter- 
 ested me and it cut to the centre of life when I had to 
 separate from them. My heart always insisted on keep- 
 ing up its connections with them, and, though some of 
 them perhaps soon enough forgot me, I remember almost 
 every one of them and have had their children and their 
 grandchildren on my hands ever since. With ever so 
 many of their posterity I have had some part in watch- 
 ing and in shaping their career. I must give at least one 
 case, which will serve the double purpose of showing how 
 a half- forgotten tie of friendship may suddenly become an 
 important factor in a man's conversion, and also how a 
 most pitiable failure in preaching sometimes becomes the 
 
 277 
 
2T8 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 human force in God' stands through which He saves those 
 who are far away. 
 
 When I was in about my middle life, I went up to a 
 meeting in my native county of Bedford. At that time I 
 was not only a pastor in Richmond, but I was editor of 
 the EeUgious Herald^ and my visit was largely in the in- 
 terest of that paper. They had a kindly way of always 
 putting me up to preach whenever they caught me within 
 the boundaries of that county, but this time I was to be 
 there but one day and a half, and I wrung from the com- 
 mittee a promise that they would excuse me from giving 
 a sermon, as I would be much absorbed with other things. 
 When I arrived at the church the next morning, the 
 committee collared me on the spot. Apologetically, but 
 very firmly, they told me that several of the other minis- 
 ters present had disappointed them and they felt con- 
 strained to come back on me. I saw their situation, and 
 yet, owing, I suppose, to much unconquered badness, still 
 existent in me, I was rather rebellious and resistant. But 
 I never did have much stability when I came to deal 
 with an appeal for me to preach, and so I consented — not 
 gracefully but grudgingly. I had quite an angry spot 
 somewhere in the invisible domain of my anatomy. 
 
 There was a preaching stand erected in a little grove, 
 the arrangements being about as rude and inconvenient 
 as human folly could make them. The horses and mules 
 and hundreds of people were packed in the woods ad- 
 jacent to the ''Arbor," which was the name for the 
 preaching place. The excited neighing of the horses, the 
 discordant grumblings of the mules, the squeals of the 
 colts, the bark of the dogs and the hum and clatter of the 
 crowd, made the situation unbearable to me. Then, too, 
 never in my life did I see a more apathetic or indifferent 
 multitude of people. They sauntered in and perched 
 themselves on the back benches, or took their stand 
 
KERVE SHAKERS 279 
 
 around, many of tliem chatting and laughing, some of 
 them, disheartened by the sight of things, pulled out and 
 left, young boys, with summer flowers around their hats 
 and their sweethearts hanging on their arms, marched in, 
 laughing and blinking, and then, after a few minutes, 
 suddenly sprang up and careered away. We had no good 
 arrangements for the singing, "and I can hardly remember 
 more languid spasms of music than those that were 
 drawled out that day. 
 
 Truly, I was depressed to the level of despair. I felt 
 that neither earth nor heaven cared for me, and I was not 
 very far from feeling that I did not care much for them. 
 I was on the verge of doubting whether I had ever been 
 called to preach and of regretting that I had ever con- 
 sented to do it. I drove the order of exercises through 
 under whip and spur and felt thoroughly that it was a 
 ruined occasion — one circumstantially impossible. I 
 selected a sermon which on other occasions I had pre- 
 sented with satisfactory effects, but it looked to me as if 
 it had lost every throb of its life. The words fairly hung 
 in my teeth and what I said made me sick by the very 
 stupidity and emptiness of my saying it. So far as I could 
 see (I must have been almost blind with humiliation 
 and shame), not one person seemed to be listening. I was 
 interrupted by several dog fights and the restlessness of 
 the babies, some of them crying to the last pitch of their 
 lungs, and not a few people, with disgust deep written on 
 their faces, dropped asleep or ignominiously forsook me. 
 The only gleam of comfort I had was when I quit. As 
 my sermon ended I struck the doxology and sang it 
 principally as a solo, and then I struck for the convey- 
 ance which was to take me to my train. 
 
 That was the supremely misanthropic moment of my 
 life. The temptation struggled mightily within me to 
 commit myself by a solemn vow to heaven that I would 
 
280 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 never put my foot on Bedford soil again. It seemed to 
 me that it would alwaj^s be impossible for me ever to meet 
 my kith and my friends of old Bedford any more. When 
 the train rolled up and I sprang in and we went rat- 
 tling away, I felt like an escaped convict who was enter- 
 ing uiDon a flight with no thought of ever returning. 
 
 That anything could have been accomplished by that 
 service or sermon never for one moment dawned upon 
 my mind and for about six months every reminder of 
 that disaster at the Old Timber Eidge Church stabbed 
 my soul with deadly pain. But about that time a soli- 
 tary ray of light, sweet as heaven itself, flashed upon me, 
 and it came in a letter from a plain old country 
 preacher, Eev. James A. Davis, in which he said that he 
 had something to tell me which would probably do me 
 good. 
 
 He said, ^' You will probably remember a boy that you 
 used to know in the mountains, by the name of Henry 
 Welch. He was then a poor boy, working with his 
 father and, while he did not go to school to you, you 
 knew him and he never forgot you." 
 
 He related further that this Mr. Welch was now a very 
 prominent and prosperous farmer in the neighborhood of 
 one of his churches and that on the Saturday before his 
 writing, Mr. Welch gave a great surprise by coming be- 
 fore the church and asking for baptism, and when he was 
 requested to give some account of his conversion he made 
 the following statement : 
 
 ''For a long time I had entirely given up going to 
 church and really had ceased to give thought to religious 
 things. During last summer I found it necessary one 
 morning to ride down to the court-house to see a lawyer 
 on a matter of business which demanded immediate at- 
 tention. When I went to the lawyer's of&ce, I was in- 
 formed that he had gone down to the Strawberry Associa- 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 281 
 
 tiou at tlie Timber Eidge Church, and so great was my 
 auxiety to see him that I decided to drive dowu to the 
 church. As I drove up into the church grounds, some 
 one came along, crying the announcement that there would 
 be preaching at the stand in the grove and that every- 
 body was requested to attend. I asked who was going to 
 preach and the reply was ^ Dr. Hatcher,' and I asked, 
 ^ What Hatcher?' and they told me that it was William 
 E. H.itcher. That was the youth that I had known in the 
 mountains a quarter of a century before and he had never 
 crossed my path since. More to see him than to hear 
 him, I plodded my way to the stand and took my seat. 
 I don't remember very much about the sermon, but I 
 know that something in it struck my heart and put it to 
 aching. It fretted me and I tried to wear it off, but I 
 could never drive it out of me. It was like a nail in my 
 foot — always there and hurting me every step I took. It 
 has conquered me at last and brought me to humble my- 
 self before God, to seek His grace and to accept His yoke. 
 I feel that I ought to be baptized and be an open friend 
 of Him who has done so much for me." 
 
 It always thrills me in every nerve and tissue of my be- 
 ing to know that I have helped anybody into the king- 
 dom of God, but in this case it was the unexpectedness of 
 the thing. It seemed well-nigh incredible that even the 
 weakest should have been touched by any arrow that 
 flew from my bow on that miserable day at Timber 
 Eidge ; but to hear that a man, advanced in life, long 
 hardened in wrong-doing, should have been so power- 
 fully influenced by that sermon, did me a miracle of 
 good. I lived on bad terms with myself for many days 
 afterwards for having been such a fool as not to be will- 
 ing to preach on that occasion, and for having been so 
 idiotic as to imagine that men were to be converted by 
 the power of my preaching rather than by its weakness 
 
282 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 as energized by the power of God. I made one vow when 
 this news came that I have not found it hard to keep, 
 and that is, always to preach when the opportunity 
 opens and without the slightest regard to the circum- 
 stances under which the preaching is to be done. 
 
 About fourteen years after that Timber Eidge tragedy, 
 I was in quite a distant part of Virginia when I was in- 
 troduced to a young man who seemed to be peculiarly 
 affected by the meeting. He and his brother had just 
 bought some property and were getting ready to open an 
 academy, and, after he greeted me, he asked if I would 
 be willing to go with him to the library room of the new 
 building ; and this, though I was hurried, I readily agreed 
 to do. There he introduced me to his brother. They 
 both seemed to be under an unusual strain of emotion, 
 and presently they told me that their meeting of me was 
 what they had long desired, and that because they had 
 something of deepest interest to them which they desired 
 to say to me. They quite embarrassed me by their 
 enigmatical and emotional manner of speech, but when 
 they spoke it was to the point. They said to me that 
 they had seen me before, when one of them was sixteen 
 and the other fourteen. They added that it was at the 
 Timber Ridge Church in Bedford County, Ya., that they 
 went to the stand to hear preaching and that I delivered 
 the sermon, and that under that sermon both of them 
 were happily converted. 
 
 After all. Timber Ridge began to take on a sacred in- 
 terest and to hold for me some memories that were not 
 born to die. 
 
 Yet later on, at a great public gathering in that county, 
 I had the pleasant surprise of meeting Henry Welch. It 
 was out in the great churchyard, crowded with a multi- 
 tude and with the men and women talking all about. It 
 so chanced that when Mr. Welch and myself were brought 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 283 
 
 together, there were several standing around, and when 
 Mr. Welch expressed his joy in meeting me and spoke 
 of his conversion at Timber Eidge, a man, who did not 
 seem to know either of us, rushed forward. 
 
 * ' What is that you said about being converted under a 
 sermon delivered by Dr. Hatcher at Timber Ridge? '^ 
 
 Mr. Welch, of course, repeated the fact and the man 
 said, '* Why, that same thing happened to me ; I heard 
 that sermon and it was under the impressions which it 
 made upon me that I was brought to Christ." 
 
 These experiences, so uulooked for, so full of reproach 
 for me on account of my lack of zeal and of faith and yet 
 so rich in the profits of grace, seem almost too sacred to 
 tell ; my impulses really would be to hide these precious 
 stories in my own heart and use them to comfort and em- 
 bolden me when I feel unfitted for the pulpit. They are 
 told here, as heaven knows, in a humble and self- con- 
 demning spirit, but told that they may show that God 
 has ordained by the weak things to confound the mighty 
 and to magnify His power. 
 
 I ought to say outright that I have never been an evan- 
 gelist ; the bulk of my life has been spent in the pastor- 
 ate, in my judgment the loftiest phase of the Christian 
 ministry, but through the indulgence of my churches and 
 sometimes, I dare say, my defiant hard-headedness, I 
 have had the privilege of helping many pastors in their 
 revival meetings. 
 
 Of course no man can speak indiscriminately of Chris- 
 tian ministers. Their differences in native gifts, culture, 
 energy, taste and influence are so marked a/id varied 
 that any general opinion expressed about the ministry 
 must amount to comparatively little. I can say, how- 
 ever, that my experience with Christian ministers forbids 
 my having the smallest sympathy with those unaffiliated. 
 
284 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 liigh-strainiDg and i)essimistic preachers who are ever 
 quick to utter their iliads of woe as to the decay of the 
 Christian ministry. I have not found it so. No words 
 can express my reverence and affection for Christian min- 
 isters, and I can truly say that of those with whom I have 
 been brought in contact who have proved uncongenial 
 and obstructive, there have been fewer than I could 
 count on the fingers of my two hands. There have been 
 some whose temperament, theological views and tastes 
 have put quite a broad intermediate territory between 
 them and me, but even in those cases where the points 
 of disagreement were sharpest, I did not lose my confi- 
 dence in their integrity nor have to use my charity in 
 cloaking their faults. 
 
 I did have one experience that brought me a racking 
 strain. I was invited to a very prominent and influential 
 church to hold revival services, and that under peculiar 
 circumstances. Some of the leading members of the 
 church knew me, but the pastor did not. He yielded 
 amiably to the wishes of his brethren to have me. He 
 was a brother of great learning and of theological views 
 so advanced that they had gotten out of sight of my doc- 
 trinal opinions. I found the atmosphere quite frosty 
 upon my arrival, and my first meeting with the pastor, 
 while courtly and hospitable on his part, was not notably 
 enthusiastic, and I was dimly conscious that my first ser- 
 mons signally failed to warm his heart or to draw us very 
 closely together. 
 
 It must be frankly said, however, that his bearing 
 towards me did not foreshadow the seriousness of an in- 
 terview which came on between us later, and which I 
 must say was rendered all the more embarrassing because 
 we were on the way to his house at the time. He did 
 seem to feel some sorrow that he had to say to me what 
 he was about to say, but the sorrow was not of that pun- 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 285 
 
 geut sort that restrained him from a candor which was 
 decidedly admirable in its courage. He told me that he 
 had heard me in several services, and he felt constrained 
 to tell me that my method of theological statement was 
 not adapted to his congregation— that the old dogmatic 
 way of stating the Gospel was effete and had lost its 
 power, and that he could not see any outlook for the 
 meeting. 
 
 I told him with utmost good humor that I had evidently 
 been brought there under a misapprehension, and as he 
 had not seen or heard me before I came, I readily ac- 
 quitted him of all blame for whatever had been done. 
 I said to him also that it would be altogether impossible 
 for me to recast my theology or my methods of doctrinal 
 statement, so as to fit into his meeting, and that we would 
 have to face the question as to what ought to be done, and 
 that I would cordially leave it to him to decide the ques- 
 tion, assuring him that if he deemed it best for me to go 
 away, that if my going would save him from embarrass- 
 ment so far as I was concerned (meaning of course that 
 there should be no gossip about it), then I would withdraw 
 as soon as it could be quietly done. 
 
 He left it to me, evidently supposing that I would bow 
 myself out. The outlook of the meeting was not favorable 
 except that the congregations were growing rapidly, and 
 when I got away from my candid and frigid brother, I 
 fell back on my old theology and concluded that I would 
 talk with the Lord about it, and I was old-fashioned 
 enough to tell my Divine Master that I was in a predica- 
 ment. I told Him that the Gospel that I had been 
 preaching had worked moderately well where I had gone 
 along, and that I would be wonderfully glad to try it right 
 there — indeed, to put it on its mettle and see whether it 
 had lost its power, telling Him of course that if it was His 
 will that I should beat a retreat, to sound His trumpet 
 
286 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 and I would take to my heels. I preached about three 
 uights afterwards, and determined to make a test of the 
 congregation. I told them that there had been no fruits 
 during the meeting, and no special responsiveness so far 
 as I could see, and if there was none I wanted to know it. 
 I would come down out of the pulpit and ask those 
 who felt a living sympathy with my ministrations and 
 with the meeting to walk up and tell me so. It brought 
 an almost eternal pause, but presently they began to 
 come, and they came by the hundred, and at the end of 
 the hand-shake I called for confessions of Christ, and a 
 number of men came. It is due to the pastor to say that 
 he sat on the front bench about six feet from me and made 
 no response to my invitation, neither before nor after the 
 benediction. I think that he was rarely on the pulpit 
 when I preached. We had an inquirers' meeting every 
 day, and before the meeting closed there were hundreds 
 of inquirers, but he never attended the meetings. We 
 had also an afternoon prayer-meeting which if I remem- 
 ber aright he attended occasionally, and when I left I re- 
 call no word of approval or good-bye which was uttered 
 by the pastor. I can say with all truth that I harbored 
 no resentment against the pastor. I believed that we 
 were so far apart intellectually and temperamentally that 
 he was thoroughly sincere, and besides I was so inexiDress- 
 ibly thankful to the Lord that He did not have quite so 
 mean an opinion of me as the pastor did, I walked 
 the mountain tops. I am not sure that I ever had such 
 strength and bliss as that meeting brought me, though I 
 think I might have enjoyed it a fraction more if there had 
 been just a few others who knew what had passed between 
 the pastor and myself. Let me add that some time after- 
 wards I went back and preached a plain, old-time experi- 
 mental sermon at the same place and in the hearing of 
 the pastor, and after it was over he came and said some 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 287 
 
 of the most gracious things about the sermon, expressing 
 his assured belief that it would be of great service to the 
 people. Then, perhaps a dozen years afterwards, I 
 preached again in his presence and preached with little 
 change in my doctrinal standpoint or in my method of 
 expression, and at that time also he was kind enough to 
 say some things which I think I would not characterize 
 favorably enough by calling them compliments. 
 
 I think we got closer together through the lax)sing years. 
 His candor did me actual good, though I could hardly 
 imagine that my simple preaching could have had much 
 in it to enrich his lofty and scholarly life. Possibly our 
 paths, as they were coming nearer to the eternal world, 
 were getting closer together, and closer to the Redeemer, 
 and in those good ways bringing us closer to each other. 
 
 In my early ministry I was invited to assist quite a dis- 
 tinguished country pastor in a revival meeting. He was 
 a Christian by grace and an autocrat by blood. He was 
 an ecclesiastical satrap in his part of the kingdom, a man 
 of decided strength, an old-time theologian, and had lit- 
 tle respect for any preaching that did not take up solidly 
 some cardinal doctrine and hammer it until the sparks 
 flew. The meeting began on Sunday morning, the house 
 was large and the congregation overflowing, and I, a light- 
 weight at best, preached two sermons that evidently went 
 well with the simple and untheological people. That 
 evening he took me home with him, and we had scarcely 
 driven out of the churchyard before he gave me to under- 
 stand that my preaching was not according to his taste ; 
 it lacked body, doctrinal vigor, and was not sufficiently 
 instructive. His candor was decidedly caustic, and I 
 felt a faintness somewhere in the neighborhood of my 
 vitalities. I rallied presently and commenced telling him 
 that his fame as a theologian and his power as a doctrinal 
 
288 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 teacher had reached me quite a while ago ; that I knew 
 that I could not equal him in his own department, and 
 that I had decided to let my preaching run along hortatory 
 and persuasive lines. That quieted him, and I flattered 
 myself that I had disiDOsed of him in a very sagacious and 
 effective fashion. 
 
 Before the meeting was over it broke very fully upon 
 me, and under conditions never to be forgotten, that his 
 opinion of my performance was in no way modified. A 
 fine old gentleman of the neighborhood, with a magnificent 
 home and proud of his hospitality, invited quite a num- 
 ber of ministers who were attending the meeting to spend 
 the night at his house. When bedtime came, the pastor 
 and a modest and lovely neighboring pastor and myself 
 were put in the same room. There was a bed of good 
 standing and a pallet on the floor. The authority of the 
 lordly pastor decreed that he and I were to occupy the 
 bed and the brother of low degree was to betake himself 
 to the pallet. In due season things were quiet and, if 
 I was not sleeping the sleep of the great or the just, I 
 was doing full time on the sleep of the fatigued. Sud- 
 denly I was awakened by finding the pastor clambering 
 over my knees in rather a pitiless way and with the 
 evident intention of leaving the bed. I was partially 
 awakened but my tongue did not wake up. To my sur- 
 prise my critical master turned in with the brother on 
 the floor. Why, I did not know, but I was not unwilling. 
 Gradually by means of nudges and calls he wakened the 
 hero of the pallet and they fell into a subdued conversa- 
 tion—that is, the good pastor fell to talking and the 
 other brother lay listening. The conversation circled 
 around until finally there was a pause — rather a long one 
 — and then I heard him ask, ''How do you like the 
 preacher? " At once my ears pricked up ; things were 
 getting interesting j the topic was one that I had not 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 289 
 
 often heard discussed, and so all my ears went on duty. 
 This plain man of God of the rural charge was no critic 
 and loved everybody and kept his feelings in reach of 
 any touch the Gosj^el might have for them. The meet- 
 ing had assumed great proportions, and numbers were 
 converted every day, and this unthinking brother was 
 stupid enough to think that the preacher under discus- 
 sion almost amounted to a wonder. He broke into a 
 flood of commendation and praise of the young preacher 
 —all of which I heard, but with what feeling I heard it, is 
 not to be told at this point. When he finished, as he 
 felt sure that he was pleasing his illustrious ministerial 
 friend at his side, he asked him in great eagerness how 
 he liked the preacher. There was a long silence — a 
 silence so freezing that it could produce icicles in August. 
 Presently and in stumbling and regretful tones he an- 
 nounced his sore and bitter disappointment. He did say 
 that the young man seemed to be good and to mean well 
 but he was a pitiable failure as a preacher and he seemed 
 almost ready to repeat by memory some of the leading 
 lamentations of Jeremiah. 
 
 I was there, at least what was left of the wreck, and 
 very much embarrassed. I had not intended to hear the 
 conversation, and I felt that it would not be best to let it 
 be known that I was taking it in as it came, and so I re- 
 mained silent. To the modest preacher who, in the 
 frailty of his judgment, had made the mistake of exalt- 
 ing me to honors of which I was so unworthy, it seemed 
 well-nigh a sin against light and knowledge to disagree 
 with his strong and regnant critic, but he was not utterly 
 routed. He made a faint response in which he patched 
 up his argument and supported his judgment by quoting 
 some quite eulogistic remarks that had been uttered in 
 my honor by men of note. To this there was a short, 
 incisive reply. 
 
290 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 ^'I would not injure the young fellow and lie may im- 
 prove later on, ' ^ lie said, and then he brought up several 
 men by no means noted for pulpit power and mournfully 
 decreed that I was not to be mentioned the same day in 
 comparison with them. If I judge myself aright, I was 
 not in the least angry or resentful under the pitiless fusil- 
 lade under which I had been compelled to lie at three 
 o'clock in the morning. Indeed, I was painfully sensible 
 that there was a strain of justice in what he said and that 
 restrained me. I did myself the kindness to take another 
 nap and the next morning I told a good friend about it 
 and asked if it would not be better for me, in the interest 
 of the meeting, quietly and courteously to withdraw, but 
 he told me that the meeting was to close at the end of 
 two more days and strongly urged me to remain. This 
 I did and was unspeakably grateful that at the close of 
 the meeting, which lasted six days, I saw the pastoi bap- 
 tize forty-two converts. 
 
 I left on Saturday morning and travelled forty miles in 
 a buggy, harboring in my bosom as I went a rather re- 
 sentful conviction that, whatever the pastor might think 
 of my preaching, it was hardly worth while for him 
 to wake up people at three o'clock in the morning in 
 order to convince them that I could not preach, and I 
 must add that on that return home in that long ride in 
 the old country buggy I had one of the most desperate 
 chills that ever shook a languid and attenuated frame, but 
 whether that chill was a contribution to my system from 
 that malarial section, or whether it was attributable to 
 the downfall of my ministerial reputation, I never under- 
 took to decide. 
 
 Several years afterwards I wrote an article for our 
 denominational paper on ''Elder Grudge" and set him 
 up as a man with an acrid taste in his mouth, as usually 
 out of joint with the bent and wish of his people and as a 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 291 
 
 little crooked in his criticisms of Ms weaker brethren. I 
 gave a distinct account of that same revival and had my- 
 self come into the scene as Rev. Mr. Simplex, who helped 
 Elder Grudge in his meeting and heard the conversation 
 on the pallet. I was living out of Virginia at that time, 
 and it did not occur to me that the story under its new 
 dress would be recognized. Several years still later on, 
 I met at one of our denominational conventions the 
 brother who occupied the pallet, and who had made the 
 grievous mistake of telling the wrong man that I could 
 preach. He was overwhelmed with embarrassment ; he 
 broke out in a tempest of apologies and expressed the 
 utmost surprise that I spoke to him at all. In his con- 
 fusion he asked me if I would go apart and hear him for 
 a minute or two, for we were in a large room where there 
 was a crowd of chattering ministers. When we had gotten 
 into a quiet corner, he again overwhelmed me with 
 apologies, but I assured him that he had said nothing that 
 I could possibly be offended at, and that I would not have 
 been offended if he had uttered a different opinion as to 
 my ministerial capabilities. That did not satisfy him in 
 the least. He said that through all the years that had 
 passed, he had constantly accused himself of being un- 
 manly and unbrotherly towards me, because he did not 
 resent in an outspoken way what he regarded as an un- 
 warranted attack upon me. I blew his sorrows away 
 with assurances of good will and favor, and in time re- 
 stored him to his wonted serenity and content. 
 
 Just then another minister walked up and marched 
 into the conversation. I finally demanded to know of 
 the brother as to how he found out that I heard the con- 
 versation that night on the pallet. The question brought 
 something like relief. The new arrival on the scene, 
 himself a devout and lovely minister, said that a few 
 days after the pallet incident Brother D , the occu- 
 
292 ALOXG THE TRAIL 
 
 paut of tlie pallet that night, came over to his house and 
 told him what took place and expressed unspeakable 
 regret that it had occurred. He said also that two or 
 three years after that, when the article about Brother 
 Grudge appeared, he read it and, putting the paper in 
 his pocket, he mounted his horse and rode over to see 
 
 Brother D and said to him, '' He knows all about it ; 
 
 he has got it right here in the paper. ' ' All of us had a 
 free laugh. Before we parted we were on the best of 
 
 terms and I found that Brother D had suffered far 
 
 more from the incident than I had, and was glad to find 
 me in a hapiDy mood. 
 
 Years afterwards I got on a train one afternoon, going 
 to a meeting in the country, and when I entered the car 
 and was taking my seat, I was greatly surprised to recog- 
 nize my satrap ic critic just in the seat behind mine. He 
 dealt me a bow at long range and shrank into retirement. 
 When I left the train where I expected to be met, it was 
 cloudy and raining ; it was sundown and gloomy, and 
 there was not a mortal there to meet me, and not a house 
 whose door I could hope would be open to me. To my 
 surprise my satrap of pallet fame got off the train when 
 I did, and evidently enough he was not met and there 
 was nobody there to take charge of him. He did some 
 of the most solitary and despondent walking up and 
 down the track that I ever witnessed, and the grim ap- 
 prehension cut into me that possibly he and I might have 
 a night together, fighting mosquitoes, inhaliug malaria, 
 without supper, and with vast moral, social and psycho- 
 logical distances between us. About that time there 
 came a man to the station who knew me and he over- 
 whelmed me with kindness. I told him my story and 
 he said, ^'I will get a hand-car and deliver you just 
 exactly where you want to go." It did seem as if the 
 Lord knew how to look after His simpletons, of which I 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 293 
 
 felt about that time that I was chief. While the friend 
 was bringing up the hand-car, I took a rather triumphant 
 look at the grim figure, strolling up and down the track. 
 He was composed principally of skin and bones, and I 
 was bad enough to wonder if I might not play a joke on 
 the mosquitoes of that swamp by leaving my haughty and 
 critical brother for them to work on. There was some- 
 thing in me that was in favor of it, but when my loyal 
 friend rattled up on his car, I told him of the other man 
 and he said we could crowd him in. By this time one of 
 the darkest nights was upon us. I stepped down the 
 track, told my critic of the good fortune that had befallen 
 me and invited him to share it and he accepted. We sat 
 very close together and I liked the contact. My some- 
 what crippled admiration for him plucked up new life, 
 and we chatted of many things of interest to each of us. 
 I took him into a home all ablaze with light, filled with 
 friends as dear as life to me, and introduced him as one 
 of the Lord's chieftains. They treated him well. The 
 evening went gloriously, with happy talk about the king- 
 dom of God, with song and prayer and abounding hospi- 
 tality. It looked to me as if the floods had washed out 
 bad memories and that the tie that bound was more 
 blessed than it had ever been before. 
 
 While I was pastor in Richmond, the Culpeper church' 
 in Virginia, situated in a town of possibly two thousand 
 people, made a request of my church to send me to their 
 relief for ten days. They reported that their religious 
 condition was deplorably low and that vice and immo- 
 rality were rampant in their community. To this request 
 my people responded favorably, and I went. The spirit 
 of the people which prompted the request was in good 
 part a preparation for a great revival. I found upon 
 arrival that in an extraordinary degree the social and 
 
294 ALOXG THE TRAIL 
 
 business conditions of the town were in strong array 
 against the meeting. We began with small congrega- 
 tions, were discouraged by appalling religious apathy in 
 all the churches and all ungodliness was in open re- 
 bellion. One peculiar phase of antagonism was the or- 
 ganization of what came to be known as ''The Devil's 
 Revival. '^ It had its place of meeting in the back room 
 of a prominent store and numbered among its supporters 
 some leading business men, including a prominent physi- 
 cian, a popular merchant and others equally conspicuous 
 and aggressive. They all came to the meetings at every 
 evening service, and their exercises followed close on the 
 heels of the services at the church and consisted as nearly 
 as possible in a repetition of everything that the Chris- 
 tian people had done. They sang the same hymns, prayed 
 the same prayers and preached the same sermons, so far 
 as they were able to do so. The talent of this irreverent 
 mischief was very decided, and it was said to have been 
 exceedingly laughable and entertaining. The Christian 
 people were posted as to what was going on, but they 
 were not only ardent believers in religious freedom but 
 in irreligious freedom, so far as it operated within the 
 lines of law. 
 
 The meeting went at a drag speed for a while, but one 
 night the foremost citizen of the town made a public pro- 
 fession of his Christian faith. It came almost with the 
 force of a cyclone, and the following night the two leaders 
 of the services at the store made an open profession of 
 their faith. 
 
 One of the most effective features of this rival meeting 
 had been its choice and beautiful singing, one of its 
 leaders being a soloist of extraordinary magnetism and 
 popularity, and he was one of our converts. The day 
 after his conversion I sent him a message that I was 
 anxious to see him about a matter of great importance. 
 
NERVE SHAKERS 295 
 
 He came promptly but with many misgivings lest I had 
 in store for him some withering rebukes for past mis- 
 demeanors. Instead, I told him that I had sent for him 
 to request that he would come into our choir and that I 
 would expect him to respond with a solo whenever I 
 called upon him. He recoiled from the task, protested 
 his utter unworthiness and declared that he knew no solos 
 except those that he had sung in the other meeting. I told 
 him that they were the ones that I especially desired. 
 That night he stood on the pulpit and sang, ^'Almost 
 Persuaded.'^ His manner was modest, his voice tremu- 
 lous but exceedingly tender ; every word was distinctly 
 heard and the echoes of that song went far and wide. In 
 all my ministry I never witnessed a meeting whose power 
 was more profound, whose fruit was richer or whose in- 
 fluence was more abiding. 
 
 During that meeting a trial for murder was in progress 
 in the court-house, and the judge gave the jury the privi- 
 lege of attending the services at night. The very deepest 
 interest was manifested in the meeting by the jurors, and 
 several of them with the sheriff who had them in charge 
 were among the converts. 
 
 At the close of the meeting the rector of the Episcopal 
 church unexpectedly arose in the rear of the building and 
 expressed gratitude for the meeting ; said that he believed 
 that one-half of the membership of his church had been 
 savingly converted under the influence of that revival. 
 It was intimated to me, however, that possibly the un- 
 converted half made it so uncomfortable for the enthu- 
 siastic rector that he did not abide much longer. 
 
 A touching episode in the meeting was that a gentle- 
 man arose and expressed a desire to give the facts con- 
 nected with his own conversion. This he did in a simple, 
 pictorial, whole-hearted fashion. He described every 
 step in the processes of faith which led him to an accept- 
 
296 ALONG THE TEAIL 
 
 ance of the Saviour. The building was packed with a 
 great audience and I remarked that the religious experi- 
 ence just related was a jacket about big enough to fit a 
 boy, and that if anybody had put it on I would like to see 
 him. The audience room had galleries on three sides and 
 up in the end of the gallery, next to the pulpit, a boy got 
 up and through many difficulties picked his way out 
 through the standing lines of men, and after a while, by 
 knocking, got the front door of the church, which was 
 blocked up with men, sufficiently opened to slip through, 
 and came with a quiet, manly stej) up the aisle to the pul- 
 int. I asked him why he had come. ''What the gentle- 
 man said fits me exactly," the boy said, ''and I accept 
 of Christ as my Saviour just as he did." 
 
 " Here is one boy that the jacket fits," said I, and up 
 came another until there were eleven boys who came. 
 They were the sons of the prominent people of the town 
 and the sight was so moving and the signs of emotions in 
 the audience so strong that I dismissed the audience. 
 
XIX 
 
 RATHER TOO PERSONAL 
 
 NATUEALLY I was inclined to sarcasm but my 
 deepest religious sentiment protested against it. 
 I shrank from it as a thing unmanly and even 
 immoral. Either by nature, or choice, or conviction, I 
 was disposed to deal graciously with others in public. I 
 felt ashamed of myself if I ever attempted to humiliate or 
 belittle, even an antagonist, in public, and though in my 
 early life I was sometimes guilty of it, I invariably had a 
 bitter time with my own reflections afterwards. 
 
 But this statement needs one modification. There were 
 many who delighted to break a lance with me in plat- 
 form encounters, sometimes, I dare say, as an amusement 
 for others and sometimes in the hope of making a 
 spectacle of me by putting me in awkward positions. 
 Here my instinct for retaliation always came into play. 
 It sometimes sprang into the arena without granting me 
 a moment for forethought. The man who hit me I hit, 
 — not always wisely and not always wittily, though pos- 
 sibly I might be candid enough to say that if I had any 
 success in public collisions with others it was in the way 
 of repartee, and in speaking thus frankly I cannot acquit 
 myself of an unseemly love of victory. It really seemed 
 to me that in these unexpected passages at arms my 
 answer was invariably born of the attack. It seemed to 
 be waiting there for my use and hardly seemed the prod- 
 uct of my own thought. I repress my longing to give 
 some illustrations of this peculiar instinct of my being 
 and feel it just to myself to mention the matter only to 
 
 297 
 
298 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 say that these public adventures, unless thoroughly good- 
 natured and without all partisan taint, ought to be 
 avoided. 
 
 What others have chosen to call my humor has rarely 
 been dealt with as a useful asset by myself. From fun- 
 making as an art I have shrunk with intellectual as well 
 as religious sensitiveness. It has always cut me to the 
 core when solicited to amuse people by story or by 
 speech. At the same time I have found it no easy task 
 to exclude the playful, the comic, the hit, or the humorous 
 from my public utterances. I do not remember that I 
 ever premeditated laughable things for my sermons, but 
 almost any time when my self-mastery was strong and 
 my mind saw things in their varied relations, things 
 would break out unexpectedly along the line of my de- 
 livery that would provoke a smile and very often audible 
 laughter. There were some who urged me to stock my 
 sermons with playful, amusing and ludicrous things, but 
 my intellectual self-respect, as well as my sense of Chris- 
 tian propriety, always forbade it. 
 
 One thing I never could do and that is to tell a stock 
 story. That vast accumulation of anecdotes which I met 
 in one form or another on platform and in parlor, I never 
 could use. And this is true of those pulpit illustrations 
 as well. They did not fit my lips. I was always afraid 
 that somebody had told them beforehand and in point of 
 fact I failed when I undertook to repeat them. Indeed 
 my preaching was grievously impoverished by my 
 inability to use illustrations told me by others or found 
 in newspaper or book. It was one of my humbling limi- 
 tations and it reduced me almost entirely to such illustra- 
 tions as I accumulated in my own experiences. There is 
 some advantage in telling things which you saw in their 
 occurring and of whose truthfulness you are perfectly as- 
 sured. They are a part of your personality and of 
 
RATHER TOO PERSONAL 299 
 
 course ouglit to be peculiarly effective, the difficulty 
 being that it takes a long time for a man who has a great 
 deal of public speaking to do to gather a workable supply. 
 
 The Last Speaker 
 
 I have been, with almost oppressive frequency, called 
 to speak in mass-meetings and other public assemblages 
 of the popular sort. It also would come to pass that al- 
 most invariably I would be made the last speaker, a diffi- 
 cult position, and one which at the first I dreaded. As 
 time went on, however, and this was my fate so often, I 
 came to feel that I was at home nowhere else except at 
 the tail end of the occasion. The other men often played 
 me unpitying tricks and the dissolving crowd often de- 
 pressed me and sometimes hopelessly wrecked me. This 
 necessity of dealing with the shank end of a great occa- 
 sion had much to do with my supposed fondness for hu- 
 moring the crowd. The thing had to be done. To come 
 to the platform with the old people trembling their way 
 down the aisle, and the young folks, maddened with 
 fatigue, pulling out by the score, brought a crisis some- 
 times entirely beyond my control and always full of em- 
 barrassments. But I never had a story or a joke at com- 
 mand for the emergency. The effective things that I had 
 done at other places could not be recalled and I had to 
 trust to the occasion for material with which to awaken 
 attention and make a chance for myself. As I look back 
 to the multitudinous occasions of this sort in which I 
 figured, I find it far easier to recall the times when things 
 went awry with me than when they came my way and I 
 held the field. 
 
 It seemed to me that I never wanted to make a very 
 long speech except when I was put up to speak under a 
 time limit. Of all restraints that has been to me the 
 most terrifying, and instead of speeding me it has lum- 
 
300 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 bered me up with self-consciousness and obstructed my 
 progress. I recall a night in Washington City, at the 
 International Conference of the Christian Alliance, 
 which, by the way, struck me as one of the most power- 
 ful religious assemblies that I ever attended. Every sec- 
 tion of our country was represented. All the Christian 
 denominations were there with their distinguished spokes- 
 men, and the temper of the meeting was exalted and de- 
 lightful. 
 
 My time for speaking was on the second night ; the 
 meeting was in the Congregational church, a noble audi- 
 torium filled with an incomparably fine audience. As 
 usual, fate put me as the last man on the programme and 
 the theme assigned me was the religious conditions of the 
 South, a topic not peculiarly inspiring at that time. I 
 was simply the pastor of a fairly good church in Eich- 
 mond, Ya., and had no record that anybody knew about ; 
 and coming as I did, late in the evening, and having to 
 speak only for a given number of minutes, I truly found 
 myself voyaging on unfriendly seas and in mortal dread 
 of being wrecked by the timekeeper before I could get 
 into port. In my eyes my speech was crude and dull 
 enough, and what filled me with impotence was the 
 dread of being smitten in an untimely way. 
 
 The Hon. Wm. E. Dodge of ^ew York, one of our 
 noblest American Christian leaders, was presiding, and 
 for some reasons I turned during the speech to address 
 him and saw the hand of the timekeeper ominously lifted 
 to give the signal for me to quit. With more of despera- 
 tion than of courtesy I pointed my finger at him and 
 said, "Touch that bell if you dare, but only at the risk 
 of your life.'' 
 
 The roar of laughter which instantly shook the house 
 was something not to be forgotten. I had said one thing 
 at least which the vast assemblage approved. Just then, 
 
BATHER TOO PERSONAL 301 
 
 too, as tlie uoise subsided, I heard Mr. Dodge say, "Let 
 the bell aloue ; let liim go his way." 
 
 He didn't know that I heard him, but there was the 
 music of heaven and the freedom of earth in what he said. 
 Several of the most significant statements contained in 
 my address were yet unmade and the new sense of liberty 
 gave me a courage and an abandon that amounted to in- 
 spiration. It was mercy from above coming to a some- 
 what stranded man. I was put fully at my ease, said my 
 say, and let off ever so many sentiments so national in 
 their scope, so patriotic in their. spirit and so,— and so,— 
 at least I got through and the rest of it can well remain 
 untold for all the coming forever. 
 
 On another occasion I was called to make an address 
 in the city of Philadelphia. There Avere to be two other 
 speakers, one from Boston and one from New York, and 
 the time for the speaking was, according to my engage- 
 ment, on October the third. I decided to drop into Phila- 
 delphia the evening before and get my reckonings. I did 
 not know at what hour the speaking was to come nor the 
 place for the meeting. I landed in the town about night- 
 fall, went to the hotel, got my room and my supper and 
 decided to go out for a little stroll and come back and 
 spend the night with my ill-prepared speech, in the hope 
 of shaping it for the next day. I was in my travelling 
 clothes, which were decidedly worse for wear, my collar 
 was limp and soiled, and I had only dabbled a little in a 
 bowl of water and stroked my rebellious locks into shape 
 for appearing in the dining-room. 
 
 Out on the street I stopped for a shine and had a season 
 of fellowship with an old Virginia darkey who talked 
 well as he gave me the shine. He told me I was very 
 near to a great and notable church building, and as it was 
 Wednesday evening I thought I might drop into a prayer- 
 
302 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 meeting and trust to my well-established obscurity to 
 guard me from recognition or notice. I stood out at the 
 front and saw two or three people going into the church 
 and concluded that I would explore for the prayer-meet- 
 ing. A well-dressed man gave me a vigorous shake and 
 led me into the auditorium and every seat of the vast 
 building was occupied. I asked the usher what it meant 
 and I found that it was one service of the great bi-cen- 
 tennial which I was to assist in celebrating on the next 
 day. My first thought was to retreat, but I asked him 
 what they were going to do that night and he pulled open 
 a very elaborate schedule and said: ^'Have several 
 speeches." I felt that it did not necessarily require a 
 clean collar to sit in the rear and hear speeches, but pres- 
 ently he said, " The first speaker of the evening is William 
 E. Hatcher, of Richmond, Virginia." Then my only 
 thought was to make a dash for the tall timbers. Too late, 
 however. Here came up the aisle the very man who had 
 told me that my speech would come on the next day. 
 This he did in the correspondence which led me into the 
 engagement! '^Heaven bless you. Hatcher!" he cried 
 with such passionate fervor that he brought me to a pause. 
 He told me that it was about time for the speaking, that 
 the other orators were invisible to the natural eye, and 
 that I was the redeemer of the night. I pointed to my 
 dust- covered coat. I told him of my unfinished manu- 
 script in my valise at the hotel and assured him that of all 
 mortals I was the most miserable. It did no good ; he 
 heeded it not, but fairly collared me and took me into a 
 side room, shucked off my overcoat and hat and per- 
 emptorily forced me to the platform. 
 
 They were working off a few solos and notices when 
 the presiding officer who recognized me began to intro- 
 duce me in terms so effusive and extravagant that I grew 
 desperate, and to my temporary relief at least, the tide of 
 
RATHER TOO PERSONAL 303 
 
 Lis eloquence was suddenly checked and he was told that 
 he was introducing me at the wrong time, a statement the 
 truthfulness of which I felt most profoundly. 
 
 It turned out that this brother was only a temporary 
 chairman and that they had a Pittsburg congressman in 
 training for the permanent chairmanship of the evening. 
 In due course this distinguished citizen was brought for- 
 ward and a good deal of the concrete eloquence which 
 was about to be used in introducing me was expended 
 upon this eminent American citizen. Meanwhile I sat 
 there with a distinct criminal feeling, with not one of my 
 outer garments in respectable order except my newly 
 blacked shoes, and as the great pulpit was banked in 
 evergreens my shoes could not testify in my favor, unless 
 I stood on my head, and I almost felt that I would gladly 
 assume that attitude if I could thereby obscure the rest 
 of myself. 
 
 The congressman made a speech and somebody sang a 
 solo and then my second introduction undertook to com- 
 mence, but unluckily the congressman had mislaid the 
 programme, and not having been previously informed 
 even of my advent into these mortal scenes, totally forgot 
 my name and stammered and blundered and searched his 
 pockets and did almost everything except to introduce 
 me. That was the time of my life. A thousand times 
 my obscurity had hampered and humiliated me, but that 
 night I found it pleasant to be the victim in the wreck of 
 the schedule. 
 
 Finally, however, they got me up. I told them that 
 after one man had given me a handsome introduction and 
 had then been forced to take it all back and after another 
 man who had undertaken to introduce me, being ap- 
 pointed so to do, had practically left me unintroduced, 
 and as my manuscript and my best clothes were at the 
 hotel and as I also felt unworthy of any introduction 
 
304 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 under the circumstances, I would make a few remarks 
 pledging myself that if there were any gentlemen present 
 who might feel called upon during the evening to intro- 
 duce me I would cheerfnlly yield the floor for that 
 purpose. 
 
 As to what T said further it is not needful to say here 
 except to express the opinion that the comedy of errors, 
 if not my speech, about as adequately entertained and 
 refreshed the people as if everything had gone off with 
 the most exact propriety. 
 
 It was my unhappy fortune to be called into many grim 
 and gruesome experiences. I know not how many times 
 I had to go to the courts in the interests of my stranded 
 fellows who desired me as a witness, an intercessor, or a 
 religious adviser. 
 
 Daring my life in Eichmond a very interesting and 
 promising young lawyer was given the death sentence for 
 the murder of a young woman. The affair created an 
 excitement which spread over the entire country and 
 fairly convulsed Virginia. The evidence was entirely 
 circumstantial and the public was cut into two very 
 distinct and discordant parties. The execution did not 
 occur for nearly two years after the murder and I was 
 the spiritual counsellor of the young man. The cor- 
 respondence which came to me for the young man, or 
 through the young man to me, or directly to me concern- 
 ing the young man, would have made a text-book for the 
 study of human nature. Upon me fell the suspicions 
 and, in no small degree, the aspersions of both parties, 
 one side asserting that I knew the young man was guilty, 
 and the other freely quoting me as a champion of his 
 innocence. As a fact, from the time I became identified 
 with the case, I never expressed an opinion on either 
 side. Illustrative of the way I was handled by the public 
 
RATHER TOO PERSONAL 305 
 
 I give an odd incident. I was holdiDg a series of meet- 
 ings in the northern Piedmont of Virginia. We had 
 double service with a dinner coming between and spread 
 under the great oaks of the parks surrounding the church 
 building. One day after I had partaken of my lunch I 
 thought I would stroll a bit to shape my thoughts for the 
 afternoon meeting, and so I set out on a little stroll up 
 the wooded roadway. Quite soon I found that I was 
 followed by some one and decided to slacken my steps 
 and let him pass ; but he strode up to my side and 
 stopped, or rather fell in with my gait. I knew him but 
 slightly and uttered a word of greeting which brought no 
 reply. Presently turning aggressively upon me he said 
 with almost vindictive energy : 
 
 '' I feel, sir, that I must tell you that I have hated you 
 for five years. ' ' 
 
 With that he stopped. I confess that for a moment I 
 was bewildered and for a while I held my tongue ; but he 
 held his, and there we were plodding along the public 
 road side by side. 
 
 ^' It may be well for me to tell you," I said, turning to 
 him with unruffled composure, ''that I know several 
 other gentlemen who are doing exactly the same thing, 
 and I think it's probable that if you look around you 
 could find enough persons who feel as you do about me to 
 make up quite a respectable club.'^ 
 
 He was slow to reply, but he finally asked me if I de- 
 sired to know why it was that he had such confirmed 
 hostility towards me. 
 
 ''That depends upon circumstances," I said firmly. 
 " If your hatred has been caused by any real or imaginary 
 injury committed on you by myself I will be greatly 
 obliged if you will tell me ; otherwise I do not care to 
 know." 
 
 Once more we had a prolonged silence which he broke 
 
306 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 at last. '' I hate you," lie said, '^ because when you were 
 the religious adviser of Thomas J. Cluverius you did uot 
 come out and declare your belief in his innocence," he 
 said in tones positively fierce. 
 
 '^ Well, sir," said I, ^' in point of fact, I did not know 
 whether he was innocent or guilty. He said that he was 
 innocent ; the jury, the Supreme Coui't and the governor 
 declared him guilty. It was not my duty to decide the mat- 
 ter. And if I had been of the decided opinion that he was 
 innocent I should not have said so. My relations with 
 him and with the community enjoined silence, and if you 
 hate me because of that fact, then you will have to continue 
 to hate me," and I asked to be excused. It was fully 
 ten years after that, that in quite another section of the 
 country, and most unexijectedly, that man and I met face 
 to face. He seemed almost transported to see me ; shook 
 my hand with vehement cordiality and we passed a few 
 friendly words and parted without touching the odd and 
 awkward interview we had had a decade before. 
 
 A friend has asked me how I got to be humorous. The 
 question hits me in a new spot and savors of the prepos- 
 terous. There does not seem to be any humor in me ; it 
 has no place in my natural endowments nor my equip- 
 ments so far as I can understand. If there is anything in 
 me that has to do with humor, it can hardly be inherent 
 and at best is nothing more than a very limited capacity 
 to discover the humors of outside situations. There is no 
 enginery within me for manufacturing humor, and if it is 
 at all proper to mention humor and me the same day, it 
 must be because I may have a scant and unlocated gift for 
 discovering those conjunctions in human affairs which 
 titilate the people and call forth their laughter. This I 
 say not at all as an expert, but as a man who does not 
 live in sight of the humorous side of mundane affairs. By 
 
RATHER TOO PERSONAL 307 
 
 nature I am revereutial, sympathetic and very serious, 
 and if hedged off from this comical world and from odd 
 and blundering folk I do not know that I should ever 
 smile again. Indeed I usually feel ashamed of myself 
 and quiver with chagrin after I have whipped a crowd 
 into laughter and rollicking fun. 
 
 I might be allowed to say another thing. I utterly 
 abhor fun for fun's sake, except in dealing with children. 
 To please them, to give them jolly surprises, to hear their 
 ringing laughter, I have always been ready to sing a 
 song, act a charade, play a prank or even crack a joke, 
 but I fall out with myself utterly when I have been be- 
 trayed into exhibiting myself in a bui'lesquing or ludi- 
 crous way for grown up people. When I do intentionally 
 make people laugh, it is always with a serious purpose. 
 If I have a collection to take and my crowd is restive, un- 
 responsive or in any way hard to handle, I may purposely 
 bring on a laugh. Not, however, by a stock story or any 
 old expedient laid away for such purposes, but by some 
 playful commentary on the immediate situation. 
 
 Not long ago I was taking a collection and nothing 
 was doing when a gaunt and vacant looking youngster 
 pulled out of his seat near the pulpit, tramped his way 
 down the aisle and bolted out at the door. I stopped 
 while he was going and simply remarked that I was al- 
 ways glad when third and second-class people went out 
 when I was talking, that while it put them at a disad- 
 vantage, it showed that they were of a sort that I could 
 not entertain. It brought a little ripple of laughter and 
 I then asked that if any second-class people felt that they 
 were out of place and wished to leave they could go 
 at any time they pleased and that I would halt the ex- 
 ercises while they were going out. There was j ust enough 
 outbreaking laughter to give the restless element of the 
 congregation to understand that if they started out the 
 
308 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 speaking would stop and the laughter begin. There was 
 no further trouble, and my remarks, which were made for 
 a purpose, were sensiblj^ strengthened in their effect by 
 the laughter of the audience. 
 
XX 
 
 THE PET OF THE EVENING 
 
 IT comes too near my heart to speak to an uncertain 
 public concerning my domestic life. It may be al- 
 lowable to speak of a God-given home and of one of 
 the most loyal and harmonious households. In some way 
 I managed to build an ample home for my family in 
 Eichmond, and ^^608 W. Grace Street" was, during the 
 growing years of my family, the gathering place where 
 parents and children knew the bliss, the freedom, the 
 blessings of a Christian household. Very soon, however, 
 my children began to scatter ; the ministry carried off my 
 only son, marriage claimed one of my daughters, teach- 
 ing and travel and special studies began to draw away 
 the rest. Those who were away for the most of the year 
 lived on the thought of coming home for vacation and 
 those who were still left at home longed for recreation and 
 quiet during the summer. It looked as if we could not 
 be together during the winter nor in summer. 
 
 This led to the decision to build a summer home, and 
 the place selected for that purpose was among the foot- 
 hills of the Blue Eidge Mountains, in a quiet, straggling 
 little village known, so far as it was known at all, as Fork 
 Union. There upon the brow of a noble hill, we put up a 
 modest mansion with apartments for each member of the 
 family with a view to its occupancy during the summer 
 months. We called it Careby Hall, being moved to 
 select that name by reason of the fact that a genealogical 
 enthusiast of the Hatcher stock spent many months in 
 
 309 
 
310 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 England in tracing the history of our ancestry. He sent 
 me the result of his investigations, showing me that the 
 place to which our forebears were traced bore the name of 
 Careby. Much of the richest revenues of earthly pleasure 
 which have come to me have met me in our country 
 home where our summer reunions and our Christmas 
 merrymakings with the children and the grandchildren 
 have taken i)lace for over a dozen years. The gates of 
 Careby Hall were opened only at these special seasons for 
 several years, but later on our domestic lights went out at 
 608 W. Grace Street and Careby Hall became the family 
 homestead. Its gates have stood open night and day, 
 kindred and friends have come and gone, its balmy rest 
 has ever spread its couch for me when I have gone home 
 from the travel, strain and toil of my old age activities. 
 
 Soon after erecting this home at Fork Union, there grew 
 into my heart a desire to be of some substantial service 
 to the community. The people were agricultural for the 
 most part, intelligent above the ordinary, and full of kind- 
 ness for the new neighbor, and it seemed only fitting that 
 some little return for their abounding hospitality should 
 be made. After some meditation my choice settled upon 
 the thought of a school which would afford the neighbor- 
 hood far better educational facilities than it had ever 
 had. 
 
 The start of it was too modest and timid to expect the 
 movement to be made more than an enterprise of the 
 community. The mention of the proposition set the 
 neighborhood afire. The wildest and most enthusiastic 
 approval broke out in every direction, and the little 
 school started in a rented house with one solitary teacher, 
 — a worthy bachelor of Eichmond College, and with less 
 than twenty scholars. 
 
 The growth of the school from the start has been out of 
 all proportion to its resources. The neighborhood could 
 
THE PET OF THE EVENING 311 
 
 not farnisli maDy students, but the young people began 
 with the second year to come in with ever-increasing 
 numbers, until for the present session (1908-1909) the en- 
 rollment has been about two hundred. The faculty, con- 
 sisting of one at first, has grown to about one dozen in num- 
 ber, and besides ample and comfortable boarding arrange- 
 ments, the trustees have erected a building capable of 
 housing the faculty, the administrative officers, the gun 
 room, the library and the literary society, and also of ac- 
 commodating a large number of students. The trustees 
 are now erecting a large building, including an armory, 
 a public hall, a skating rink, and ample room for con- 
 ducting the work of the academy. 
 
 To me this school has been a gracious burden and a 
 taxing benediction. It has brought me into contact with 
 hundreds of the choicest young people whose lives it has 
 been my happy portion to touch. Ministerial students 
 have come in great numbers : the sons of ministers have 
 been educated at small expense, and ever so many youths 
 have worked their way in different industrial lines which 
 have been open to them in the neighborhood. Students 
 have come from every section of our republic and from 
 many foreign countries, and year by year we have wit- 
 nessed the conversion of many young people who have 
 found the Saviour under the good religious influences of 
 the academy. 
 
 Not very long after the academy started, the Department 
 of War at Washington, after due investigation, decided 
 to give the school a military equipment and to detail an 
 officer as Instructor in Military Science and Tactics. The 
 new feature has worked admirably, and the discipline, 
 efficiency and varied benefits of the military system have 
 given the school rare prestige and a far-reaching reputa- 
 tion. That the school has drawn upon every resource of 
 my life I can truthfully say, making its exactions exceed- 
 
312 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 ingly heavy at times. It has been the pet of my latter 
 days, and of all the facts of its life the most comforting 
 and delightful is that it has never yielded me one dollar 
 of income or suj)port. It has not all it needs, and is not 
 all that it ought to be, nor can I tell what its future will 
 be, but I shall leave the world thankful for the good 
 that it has done, and for the honor which has been mine 
 in working with the good people of the commui^ity in the 
 establishment of the Fork Union Military Academy. 
 
XXI 
 
 THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 
 
 AT the western base of the Peaks of Otter in Bed- 
 ford County, Virginia, lies a picturesque little 
 valley. Sixty years ago it held a primitive, un- 
 travelled population. Its homes consisted almost entirely 
 of log houses with rarely more than three or four rooms. 
 Not a church had been built within its boundary, and 
 next to nothing had been done for the education of the 
 children. Scant note was taken of the Sabbath except as 
 it was spent in sport, rude festivity and outright dissipa- 
 tion. It was the prime time for hunting, prize shooting 
 and social visiting. The name of God was rarely heard 
 except in levity or blasphemy. 
 
 At that time there was growing up in the neighborhood 
 an eccentric and reckless lad, known to all, the old and 
 young, as Jeff Cottrell. He was one of nature's notable 
 freaks, — a character from his cradle. He shot up like a 
 bean pole, early attaining an uncommon altitude, crooked 
 and ill-shapen in many ways, shrivelled of face, tawny in 
 complexion, with arms and hands almost unnaturally 
 long, with hair dead, thin, straight and industriously 
 neglected. He walked with a swinging, irregular gait 
 which humped him along at surprising speed. His height 
 was six feet, with uncounted inches added thereunto. 
 While he did not hate work he was a huntsman by nature, 
 with gaming as a fascination, an easy way with every- 
 body, and neither avoided nor loved good men. 
 
 The religious element seemed to have been omitted at 
 his making, and was to him a topic for jest. He could 
 
 313 
 
314 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 not read, and did not wish to read. His nature was an 
 absorbent, and he picked up and wonderfully retained 
 things as he went along, and in some odd way he could 
 utilize what he knew. 
 
 Jeff held a unique place in the neighborhood, there 
 being no more of his sort, and his dare-devil air in the 
 opinion of the multitude marked him for the worst doom. 
 He knew all the roads and by-paths, could see at night as 
 well as in the day, and feared nothing on the earth. The 
 blast of his horn, the crack of his gun, the cry of his 
 dogs, was a part of his reputation, and the sight of his 
 face, so inwrought with mischief, and the ring of his 
 laugh, made it pleasant to the people to have him pass 
 their gates. Even those who deemed him a useless and 
 adventurous sportsman laughed at his hunting jokes and 
 wished him well, but possibly not one person in all the 
 valley once dreamed that a religious thought could ever 
 vex his brain or bring him to sobriety. There were a 
 few godly people in that mountain vale. They built 
 themselves a hewn log chapel, organized a weak little 
 church and went to housekeeping in the name of the Lord. 
 In the course of time they secured as their spiritual leader, 
 a missionary of exceedingly light gifts and scant culture. 
 For the bulk of his life, this modest gentleman had been a 
 clerk in a country store and had devoted his life to 
 weights and balances, yardsticks and scissors, and when 
 it was reported that he was about to desert the commer- 
 cial world for the ministry, the Philistines shed scores of 
 flippant jokes at his expense, and when it was announced 
 that "the Hollow ^^ had vselected this brother as its pas- 
 tor, the Pharisaic tribes of the lowlands said that Thomas 
 S. Sanderson would do for the denizens of that benighted 
 region. 
 
 But be it said that this ill-trained missionary was not 
 to be despised. He had a zeal ever aflame, and while his 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 315 
 
 sermous were without form they were not void. They 
 were filled with the big concrete truths of the Gospel, 
 and in spite of some grating intonations he told the 
 gospel story with good effect. While at the mountain 
 chapel he decided to hold a revival, and as I was in my 
 third vacation as a college student and as the dear little 
 evangelist was at his wit's ends for help, he asked me to 
 take a part in his meeting. The revival was an event 
 for the neighborhood. The simple folk poured out of 
 the coves and hollows of the mountain and packed the 
 little house to suffocation. The meeting shook almost 
 every house in the neighborhood and the conversions 
 were many. 
 
 One night the service suffered a curious and a most 
 exciting shock. I was in the pulpit hammering away 
 with my sermon in my crude and awkward fashion, when 
 an interruption occurred which played shipwreck with 
 my sermon and with the meeting. Through a little win- 
 dow, near the pulpit, there slowly entered a human 
 head, thrust forward by a neck appallingly long, covered 
 with tangled hair, and lit with two mischievous eyes. 
 Indeed, he intruded so far that his face was plainly visible 
 and easily recognized by the audience. It chanced that he 
 was out on one of his nocturnal rambles, and in passing 
 near the church he discovered the lights and without one 
 thought as to the order and propriety of his action, he 
 marched up and inserted himself so far as possible 
 through the window, partly to see and partly in sheer 
 mischief. 
 
 It was a scene not to be forgotten. Women were 
 startled. The boys broke into ill-suppressed laughter and 
 the tremulous collegian in the pulpit was hopelessly 
 upset. In a very little while the head was withdrawn 
 and the excitement gradually subsided. Not, however, 
 until something had happened which was destined to 
 
316 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 play an immortal part in the history of that gawky and 
 untutored mountaineer. Into his soul a gospel arrow 
 had entered with unerring aim and a new light arose 
 upon the soul of Jeff Cottrell that was never to die out. 
 At first the young man was utterly confounded. He 
 came to the meetings, but strolled over the churchyard, 
 indulged in loud and defiant talk, breathed maledictions 
 upon the church, sometimes starting homeward with 
 blasphemous vows that he would come no more, and yet 
 always coming again, until he grew into a menace to the 
 revival. Happily he was not rebuked nor repressed, and 
 meanwhile his convictions deepened every hour, until 
 he slipped into the chapel one night unobserved, and 
 secreted himself near the door. \Yhen the call for in- 
 quirers was made, to the bewilderment of pastor and 
 church, Jeff, the unshapen, the fun-making, the irre- 
 pressible Jeff came forward with great feeling to the 
 front bench. I can never forget his weird form, his jan- 
 gling stride and his awkward and sorrowful look. The 
 crowd fairly gasped with amazement and yet it was 
 quickly seen that the frivolous and jovial spirit had 
 gone out of him and a new passion had mastered him. 
 In a sense his comiug out brought trouble. His igno- 
 rance of the Gospel was fearful ; he could give no account 
 of himself and he was despondent and even surly in his 
 mood. Instruction failed on him, and the evangelist and 
 I did our utmost for him and yet the darkness of his 
 mind seemed unpierced by one ray of light. For my 
 part I despaired of him and told Sanderson that I com- 
 mitted Jeff to his tender mercies. I was near to the point 
 of feeling that he had not sense enough to be converted. 
 The only hopeful thing about him was his perseverance. 
 He was always there. He accepted every invitation. He 
 listened with pathetic intensity to all that was said and 
 yet he could not find the way. 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 317 
 
 On the last night of the meeting it was announced that 
 service would be held next morning to receive those who 
 desired to unite with the church. When the invitation 
 was extended, foremost among the applicants was Jeff 
 with an almost seraphic gentleness and peace about his 
 face. He had not made any open profession and his 
 coming was a surprise. The pastor appeared anxious. 
 Jeff was an unsolved problem to him and he dreaded to 
 tackle him, but after a whispered interview with me, in 
 which he found scant comfort, he finally approached 
 Jeff. He was a prim and particular man, and carefully 
 putting the tips of his right hand fingers on the tips of 
 those of his left he sidled up to the candidate uneasily 
 and said in a sharp and excited tone : ''Mr. Cottrell, do 
 you believe that God, for Christ's sake, has freely for- 
 given all of your sins ? " 
 
 Jeff looked up in a sudden and startling way, and, 
 twisting his skeleton frame into imj)ossible shapes, or 
 rather out of all shape, and setting his piercing eyes 
 upon the face of the evangelist, said in his quick and 
 energetic way : "Don' kno' ; ca' tell ; wish I did kno' ; 
 I got a heap of sins and I wish they was all forgiven, but 
 when you ask me, ' Has God don' it?' I couldn't tell you 
 ter save my life." 
 
 Alas for the discomfited evangelist. He fell back in 
 sore disorder and seemed almost ready to quit the field. 
 But he came again. "Mr. Cottrell," he resumed, with 
 his finger-tips remarshalled for the new attack, "do you 
 feel that you have been converted from sin unto God?" 
 
 Open and honest was Jeff and set on telling the truth, 
 but grievously confused, and so he said, "Never heard 
 about that ; don' kno' what 'tis ; don' mean no harm, 
 but don' kno' 'bout being converted to God." 
 
 To me there was boundless pathos in Jeff's words. 
 They knocked Brother Sanderson out of his reckonings 
 
318 ALOKG THE TEAIL 
 
 and he could say no more. It was liis way to ask every 
 candidate the same questions, and when he found that 
 they would not work in Jeff's case he had nothing else to 
 fall back on. The situation was oppressive and things 
 were at a standstill. Coming to my feet I walked up to 
 Jeff and in an offhand way said : *' Jeff, tell us what you 
 came up here for ? " 
 
 An unworldly light flashed instantly over his thin and 
 tawny face, and with a simplicity that was eloquence 
 itself he said : ^' I hear you say las' night that folks what 
 want to jine this church mus' come up here on this bench 
 and I thought I'd come, 'cans' I wants ter jine." 
 
 A sight of him at that moment was something to re- 
 member. The power to say something that he was sure 
 of, gave him steadiness and courage and so I caught him 
 with another question : ^' Why do you wish to join this 
 church?" 
 
 The reason was within him and all of his confusion and 
 hesitation dropped away as he took up and told the 
 story. 
 
 ''Las' night," he said, rather slowly at first, ''when 
 the meetin' brook up I started home 'roun' the moun- 
 tain ,• nuver saw it so dark in my life ; I mighty nigh felt 
 scared ; but you kno' I ain't afraid ; I dun hunt 'roun^ 
 dese mountains many nights when 'twas dark as pitch 
 and by myse'f, but I never got rattled tel las' night. I 
 see folks ahead of me with a light wood torch and I 
 hollered to 'em and set out runnin' to ketch 'em. As I 
 was dashin' along de hillside I hooked my foot and down 
 I went and de fust thing I kno' I start roUin' down de 
 hill. I rolled and rolled till I tho't dat I was sinkin' 
 down under de wrath of an angry God. I felt dat He 
 had let me loose and I was 'bout to roll down into de 
 darkness of de pit. 'O Lord,' I cried, 'I am lost, I 
 am lost : save me, save me.' I kno'd den dat none but 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 319 
 
 God c^ud save me and I fluug myse'f on Him. De fust 
 thing I kno' I stopped rollin' and thar I was kinder ca'm 
 and felt that God^s arm was under me and I was not 'fraid. 
 While I lay thar I saw sumthin' flash. I don' reck'n it 
 was nothin' ; it look like it was a real flash and befo' I 
 knew it it read, ^ By this yer kno'/ and I said, 'Kno' 
 what? I wish I did kno', for it look like I don' kno' 
 nothin',' an' den it kinder flashed out and I lay dar jes' 
 as cool and nice and felt the arm was under me still. 
 
 '' Pres'ntly I see it flash agin. 'Twan't any light, yer 
 understan' ; only in my mind, but it looked plain as 
 day, 'passed from death unto life.' I say, 'Wat dat 
 mean ? ' and I feel somehow dat God had snatched me 
 from death an' hell and done giv me life. I never felt so 
 quiet an' so happy in my life j I knew His arms mus' be 
 under me. 
 
 " After while, it flash out agin and in my mind I saw 
 it plain as de mornin' sun, — 'cause yer luv de bruthrin. 
 I said, 'Who is ther bruthrin?' for I kno' nuthin' 'bout 
 de bruthrin, but it shined so before my mind I say it 
 mus' mean dem folks down at de meetings, for nuv'r was 
 sich folks like dem. I hear 'em pray fur me ; I hear dar 
 heb'nly songs and dey mus' be de bruthrin. Jus' den 
 the flash gits out and fur de fust time I gits to luvin' you 
 same as my bruther. Den I lay thar and my heart look 
 lik' it will break op'n with luv, an' I kno'd sho' dat de 
 evurlastin' arms of God was clean 'roun' me. De flash 
 got away, but I was somehow feelin' as if heav'n warn't 
 very fur ofl". 
 
 "Den it look like de diffrunt pieces of de flash cum 
 tergethur. I nevur heard 'bout it before, so fur as I kin 
 remembur, an' I didn't kno' whar it come from, but dar 
 it was right befor' me, dat you might kno' ' dat you dun 
 pass from death unto life ' 'cans' you luv de bruthrin. It 
 all looks mighty new and odd ter me, and I can't tell what 
 
320 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 God lias dan 'bout my sius uor my soul, but Fm dead 
 ceriiu 'bout loviu' de brutbrin. Maybe I aiu' fit fer de 
 church an' I feel I ain't, and ef yer think I won' do I 
 shan't make any fuss 'bout it; only it looks kinder like 
 home ter me here, a kinder fam'ly, an' I'd be de proudes' 
 in de wor'l ter be one of yer." 
 
 By this time Jeff was fairly transfigured. He had be- 
 come wondrously di^amatic in his story, had straightened 
 up and was gesticulating until he was talking almost as 
 much with his hands and eyes, his smiles and tears as he 
 was with his lips. A spell of unworldly power was on 
 the people and before them they beheld a new child of 
 God. 
 
 "When he came to a final pause, neither the pastor nor 
 the people seemed quite sure of their footing. Jeff had 
 not answered the regular questions and had launched out 
 on new fields. Ought they to take a man who didn't 
 know whether his sins were forgiven or that his soul 
 had been converted ? Even though their hearts burned 
 within them they hung in doubt and no one seemed dis- 
 posed to take the lead. 
 
 '' Jeff," said I to him, ^' do you feel towards this peo- 
 ple as you did not feel before ? ' ' 
 
 His eyes swept the crowd and he broke into a rip- 
 pling, contagious, soulful laugh as his eyes swam in 
 tears. At last his lips found speech and he said simply, 
 "Love 'em? Too much ter tell!" He could get no 
 further. I stepped back to the little pulpit and facing 
 the company I said, "Brethren, the old Jeff is gone and 
 we shall see his face no more. This is the new Jeff, the 
 brand snatched from the burning ; the man who has 
 passed from death unto life ; the man with a new heart ; 
 the lover of the brethren. Do not be afraid of him. If 
 he loves you he'll never hurt you nor your church. I 
 move that you receive him for baptism." 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 321 
 
 When the vote was taken Jeff was filled with such 
 grateful surprise that he sprang to his feet and in a mo- 
 ment his mountain brethren thronged around him and 
 gave him a welcome, the news of which the angels must 
 have carried to heaven. 
 
 With that service my work in that meeting ceased and 
 in a day or two I quit the neighborhood, and it was 
 nearly twenty years before I visited that mountain vale 
 again. The Civil War had come with its wreck and 
 desolation, and my recollection of Jeff Cottrell had been 
 written over many a time with the pen of iron. The 
 little church in the valley had prospered. It had erected 
 a new house of worship, and in the exuberance of its joy 
 it had invited the Strawberry Association to hold its 
 annual session with them. It was laid upon me as the 
 representative of Christian education to attend that meet- 
 ing. I entered the valley on the afternoon before the 
 Association was to meet and was delighted to mark the 
 signs of improvement in roads, in buildings and in farms. 
 These working people were the first to prosper after the 
 war, since they had no shattered fortunes to lament and 
 their own rough, powerful arms as their capital. As 
 on the next morning I ascended to the green plateau on 
 which the old log church had stood, I beheld a modest 
 and beautiful framed house, with its snow-white walls 
 and its green blinds, and it was lovely indeed to my ej^es 
 as it stood embowered in its park of chestnut and oak. I 
 hailed the changes with joy unutterable. 
 
 Twenty years had played havoc with forms and faces 
 and as I gazed on the groups of people chatting here and 
 there I felt myself a stranger. Only a few seemed to 
 know me and one or two of them timidly advanced and 
 shook my hand. Strolling across the ground I was ac- 
 costed by an elderly man with a limp in his gait who 
 greeted me with a pathetic touch of hospitality. 
 
322 ALONG THE THAIL 
 
 *'Good-morniDg, brother," he said most cordially. 
 * ' We are all glad to see you, and Tvould you not like to 
 have a glass of our cool mountain water 1" I turned and 
 saw that he had a pitcher in one hand and a goblet in the 
 other and in some half- conscious way I felt the spell of 
 his earnest, but unrecognized tone of voice. My mind 
 must have been absorbed by other things, for I did not 
 give the man a full and searching look. I thanked him 
 briefly, telling him that I thought it w^as noble in him to 
 treat a stranger in that way, but remarking that I had come 
 by the spring and had quenched my thirst at the fountain. 
 
 '' Oh, don't thank me, brother," he said in a tone of self- 
 depreciation. '^It is nothing at all; I want no praise ; 
 they told me the bruthren, just loads of 'em, was coming 
 and that we mus' all do what we could for them. You see 
 I live too fur ter get any of 'em home with me, and I ain't 
 fix'd up fur 'em anyway, but I felt I mus' do somethin'. 
 So I went down ter Liberty last week and got me this 
 pitcher and goblet. I know' d ther bruthren would come a 
 long ways and git hot and thirsty and mighn't kno' whar 
 the spring was, an' I thought I'd keep my pitcher full of 
 our mountain water,— we got de bes' water in the wor'l 
 up here— an' I would give ev'rybody a drink." 
 
 There was something in that nameless and gentle per- 
 sonality which gripped me. In some way I felt the thrill 
 of it and yet some mightier impulse bore me towards the 
 church, and so I turned away from the man and started 
 towards the church. 
 
 " Bruther," he said rather decidedly, '' you know what 
 ther Marster said 'bout ther cup of cold water and I 
 thought He'd like fer me ter do it." 
 
 His words sped to my heart and drew me back. As I 
 looked upon him, bent in form, with his scattered grayish 
 hair and a look of wondrous kindliness in his eyes, I 
 felt that I had seen him before. 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 323 
 
 ""Who are you?" I asked, recognizing him in the 
 moment of my asking. For several pregnant seconds he 
 gazed at me until suddenly his face flushed crimson and 
 his lips quivered helplessly. Bending down and setting 
 his pitcher and goblet on the ground, he exclaimed, " Oh, 
 my father in heaven, can it be ? Is it you sure enough 1 " 
 He absolutely wrung his hands in the ardor of his joy. 
 
 " And this is Jeff," I said, and our hands were locked 
 in a mighty grasp. He mixed his laughter and his tears 
 but had no words. I broke the silence by simply remark- 
 ing, '^I suppose you still love the brethren, Jeff." 
 
 He burst into a peal of happy laughter and said, '' I un- 
 derstand you're talkin' 'bout dat night up thar in de moun- 
 tains when I fell and rolled down de mountain, ain'tyerl 
 I thought you'd er forgot that night long befo' this. 
 Yes, I still love 'em ; love 'em more an' more and I feel 
 when I do good to them I'm doing hit fer my Marster and 
 ef I do yer reckon He will forget me? " 
 
 ''No, Jeff," I said with a full heart, ''fear not; He will 
 never forget you." Throughout that meeting the stoop- 
 ing brother with the limp could be seen swinging with 
 irregular step over the church grounds, pitcher and goblet 
 in hand, offering the cup of cold water to old and young, 
 rich and poor. It was a task that did not weary. 
 
 During the meeting I asked many questions concerning 
 Jeff. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said one, " of course Jeff is still a member of 
 our church. It would kill him dead if we should put 
 him out ; and besides he is the best we have. He does 
 the loving for all the church. It is impossible to be mad 
 where Jeff is and Jeff is always on hand. He misses 
 nothing at the church and he honestly believes that we 
 have the best church on the earth and the best people 
 in it." 
 
 One brother seemed a trifle embarrassed in talking 
 
324 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 to me about Jeff. He said that Jeff was improvident and 
 would die poor if he had a million a year. But he was 
 quick to tell me not to think that Jeff was idle or hated 
 work or spent money foolishly. He admitted that he 
 worked hard and was kind to his family, but he seemed 
 to think it was to Jeff's reproach that he never had any 
 money. He said that some of the brethren were quite out 
 with Jeff for his reckless and unthinking habit of giving 
 away practically everything he had, and that the deacons 
 had talked with him about it time and again. The charge 
 against Jeff constituted a new ground for church discipline, 
 and I wished secretly that he might be arraigned before 
 his church as a spiritual spendthrift, but I believe the 
 case never got quite so far. 
 
 That was my last meeting with Jeff. Twenty years 
 had done great things for him. His face was ennobled. 
 His manner had shed its crudities ; his waggery had been 
 refined into wit ; his voice was no longer shrill and cut- 
 ting ; his language revealed the effects of better com- 
 panionships ; his knowledge of the Bible was deep and 
 helpful and his life was radiant with the light of salva- 
 tion. He never attained to leadership among his brethren 
 except that in all the finer qualities of Christian character 
 he was an example to all. He was happily free from 
 every trace of ambition. He felt unfit for every office 
 and wanted none. The strength of his life was in its 
 transparency, its trueness, its happy harmony with God. 
 It looked as if his business on the earth was to show the 
 intrinsic value and power of a life, which while incapable 
 of high achievement, was four-square towards God and 
 man. Everybody believed in Jeff except those who did 
 not believe in God, and not a few came to believe in God 
 because they believed so thoroughly in Jeff. 
 
 Nearly twenty more years took their silent flight, and 
 during all that while I heard little or nothing concerning 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 325 
 
 my now aged friend, Jeff Cottrell. About ten years ago I 
 met a lady, a member of the mountain church, and I 
 quickly inquired after my saintly old brother. 
 
 A look of surprise marked her face. ' ' Hadn' t you 
 heard ? ' ^ she inquired with emotion. ' ' Why, he died two 
 years ago, and I wonder that the fact had not come to 
 you.'^ 
 
 I confess that the death of my beloved Jeff filled me 
 with pensive sorrow. I accounted him a unique character, 
 a trophy of redeeming grace, and one who had played a 
 rare and memorable part in the drama of life. Far 
 stronger than my grief at his going was my anxiety to 
 hear how he went. It is peculiarly interesting to me to 
 see how people die. There is such vital relationship be- 
 tween life and death that they serve to explain and illus- 
 trate each other. Those who knew Jeff Cottrell would 
 naturally enough look for something characteristic and 
 notable in his way of dying. 
 
 *' What of his last days?'' I asked the lady. '< Oh," 
 she said, *^you know that Mr. Cottrell was in a class by 
 himself. We had no other exactly like him. He was 
 our saint and nobody could contest his right to canoniza- 
 tion. There was a quality in his religion so mellow, 
 flexible, trustful and tolerant that no one could find a 
 pretext for thinking ill of him. We did not think of him 
 as great, but as true, without guile, never seeking his 
 own, and a stranger to envy. His life had no angles, no 
 cross purposes and no enmities to gratify." This testi- 
 monial was invigorating. There had been no breakdown 
 ou the road. His life grew in brightness to the perfect 
 day, and he had gone up to heaven in a chariot of victory. 
 Some time after this conversation I was travelling from 
 Roanoke to Lynchburg and a lady ventured to accost 
 me, saying that she had a matter that was profoundly 
 interesting to her concerning which she wished to 
 
326 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 speak with me. It proved to be that the lady in ques- 
 tion was the daughter of Mr. Cottrell. She said with 
 directness that there were things that she desired to give 
 concerning her father's death, and as we could not be to- 
 gether long she made haste to tell her story. His end came 
 by the wear out of the machinery, rather than by disease. 
 In his last days it was growingly difficult for him to get 
 to his church. But his love of worship was predominant. 
 It towered over every interest and fought a mighty battle 
 with the infirmities of his last days. He could not bear 
 to lose a service. Churchgoing with him was fellowship 
 with God and with the people. Even when he reached 
 his church breathless and had no strength to hear or pray 
 or sing, he found it the best thing of earth to appear in 
 Zion. There was worship even in his devout going. 
 There were only two points in his last days which seemed 
 in any measure to cause him disturbance. 
 
 One ground of his dissatisfaction was that his family and 
 the leading brethren of the church had felt that he had not 
 handled his worldly affairs with intelligence and good judg- 
 ment. They did not chide him for the lack of energy or a 
 proper desire to make money, but they thought that he 
 lacked discrimination and thrift in the use of his money. 
 It was sometimes charged that he gave away too much. 
 Now he did not care for this charge, except that he felt that 
 he was not understood. It stung him to feel that he was 
 suspected of not estimating the value of money and of not 
 exercising due deliberation in getting rid of it. He was 
 not willing to be considered a fool about money. It was 
 not a case of mortified pride but a rather stalwart con- 
 viction that he had been misjudged and he was not will- 
 ing to die without a proper vindication. He determined 
 to bring the matter to an issue. Inviting the pastor and 
 some of his brethren of the church to come to his house 
 on a given day, and bringing the members of the family 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 327 
 
 together at the same time, he made what I suppose was 
 beyond all denial the most impressive and convincing 
 statement of his life. He thanked the brethren that they 
 had come and gave thanks to God that he was strong 
 enough to tell them what was in his heart. He said that 
 it was a matter which he felt had never been understood, 
 and while they had all been lovely to him in many ways 
 he could not be happy until he had uncovered his heart 
 and told them all that he felt. He said that soon after en- 
 tering into the kingdom of God he found himself greatly 
 crippled by his inability to read and by his ignorance 
 of the Bible. He told how that soon after his conversion 
 one passage of Scripture,— just a fragment, in fact, became 
 lodged in his mind, and from that time became the lamp 
 of his life. That passage was,—" Seek ye first the king- 
 dom of God and His righteousness," and that he got from 
 it the idea that to seek the kingdom was to ask that Jesus 
 Christ should sit upon the throne of his being and 
 reign without a rival, and that in order that he might se- 
 cure the reign of Christ within himself he must put his 
 religion first, — always first in point of time and always 
 first in point of preference, — that Jesus and His claims 
 must always be put first. He said that the word ' ' first ' ^ 
 answered all questions with him, that it stood over him and 
 settled what he had to do with all that he had. It be- 
 came a rule with him, and in time a habit. It led him 
 to do things that he had never thought of doing, to give 
 up things that he loved to do. He came to put his 
 business, his preferences and his family in the second 
 place. It caught him hardest, at first, in the matter of 
 money, of which he never had very much. When he went 
 to the meetings, and when he was told about the things 
 of the Lord which urgently needed money, he felt instinc- 
 tively that those necessities ranked the comforts and con- 
 veniences of himself and his family. He said that often 
 
323 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 lie went to chuixh with no tliouglit of giving, but tliat 
 the appeal set the claims of his Master so high that he 
 could not hesitate. He felt that at times he crossed 
 the desires of his family, but that duty seemed so plain 
 he dared not disregard the call. He admitted that 
 sometimes when his brethren upbraided him for giving 
 away so much he felt that he must beyond question be 
 wrong about it, and that ofttimes he made vows that the 
 next time he would refuse to give or else give less. It 
 stung him to feel that his brethren and his family regarded 
 him as a fool, and he would persuade himself that the 
 matter was finally decided that he would never be whee- 
 dled into giving so much again, but that just as soon as he 
 came under the operation of the command to put the 
 kingdom of Jesus Christ first, away would go his money 
 and he found that he gave it in riotous delight. 
 
 He assured them that he had not brought them there to 
 condemn them nor to justify himself, but simply to tell 
 them one thing. He said that when that Scripture about 
 putting Christ first, entered his mind he thought that it 
 was all there was in the passage. It was amply enough for 
 him since it defined the law of the kingdom as to the rank 
 and rating of things. But he told them that some time 
 ago that passage was read in his hearing, and to his utter 
 surprise he found that there was a promise attached to 
 the command, to the effect that if we did put the kingdom 
 over the common things of life, then all of these common 
 things would be added to us. The doctrine of it all was 
 that if we would put God's cause first, that God would be 
 responsible for our having all the common things of life. 
 ''For years," he said, '' I did not know that he had put 
 that clause in the covenant of grace.'' He knew the 
 promises well as to the other world, but that little promise 
 about bread and clothes had escaped him. He added that 
 he did not care to hold the Lord strictly to these words, 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 329 
 
 but He lias held Himself to tliem. He appealed to his 
 family to know if they had ever lacked for anything, add- 
 iug that they had not had finery nor jewels nor carriages, 
 but these they did not need. But they could not say that 
 any good thing had been withheld from them. It had 
 been said by some that he would die at last of starvation 
 would have to be taken care of in his old age. He 
 called this up and said in substance : 
 
 ''Well, I am near my end. The prophets have gone 
 astray. I call you to know that almost every man within 
 ten miles of here has come over these rough roads to see 
 me, often loaded with nice things for me, and many of them 
 have come up to my bed, pulled out their pocketbooks and 
 held them up before me and said, ' Mr. Cottrell, this pock- 
 etbook is yours, and if you need anything call on me.' 
 I believe if I should give out the word that I needed 
 money it would come in in hundreds. But what breaks my 
 heart is the goodness of the women. My family willtell you 
 to-day that not a day passes but what the ladies from the 
 big houses, the ladies who ride in the carriages, whom I 
 am not fit to visit, have crowded this house with flowers, 
 fruits, nice things for sick people to eat, far more than I 
 needed or could use. They have come without asking 
 and they come all the time. The Lord has made all 
 the men my brothers and all the great ladies my sisters, 
 and they seem proud to serve me who am less than 
 nothing. I tell you this to show you that God is faithful. 
 He keeps His little promises as well as His big ones. He 
 cares for our bodies as well as our souls. The more we 
 forget ourselves the more He remembers us. I shall pass 
 over the line soon, my brethren, and see Him face to face. 
 I hope He will not speak of the little things I have done 
 for Him and I am dead sure that while He may find fault 
 with me about many things He will never complain that 
 I gave too much. ' ' I was told that when Jeff ended his little 
 
330 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 sermon it was Pentecost over again. Jeff was exhausted 
 and his heart thumped till you could hear it all over the 
 house, but the very air seemed to be freighted with the 
 fragrance and fruit of the Celestial Canaan. Jeff was not 
 only justified but glorified. 
 
 Jeff's daughter related another fact, so weird and fear- 
 some and yet withal so instructive that it ought not to be 
 omitted. During his long sickness Jeff found himself 
 curiously racked by one view of death. He said that as 
 he faced the future there was not a cloud between him 
 and death. His fellowship with his Saviour excluded every 
 doubt and fear, and his soul rested in the fullest assurance 
 of being in his Father's keeping. 
 
 The same, he said, was true as he looked beyond death. 
 The hills were bright beyond the grave. No misgiving 
 racked him concerniug his final salvation. As he put it, 
 ''All is bright up to death, but still brighter beyond 
 death." 
 
 But death itself cast a shadow. It had a meaning too 
 serious for him. Its novelty, its incidents and its myster- 
 ies as they appeared in the outlook depressed him. He 
 was afraid it would catch him off his guard and that he 
 would not behave well. Over and over again he spoke 
 of it to his household until it became something real, 
 tangible, almost visible. He would say, ''It will be all 
 right till I get there, and all right afterwards. But the 
 dying ; the thing itself makes me uneasy. I don't know 
 what I'll do when I get there. It looks as if there is a 
 wall or a partition, and that it is hard, and getting through 
 it is what disturbs me. It looks about as thick to me as the 
 length of my finger. It may melt when I get there ; may 
 yield when I touch it ; or it may stand and be hard to 
 get through. This bothers my mind." "With not a few, 
 we imagine, of the children of faith Jeff touches the last 
 conflict of the soul in view of death. After everything 
 
THE INCOMPARABLE JEFF 331 
 
 else has been conquered Death holds the field. Crippled 
 and baffled he may be, but the sight of his sceptre is dis- 
 turbing. The fear of falling may be gone and the hope 
 of heaven may be cloudless, but death itself, — the matter 
 of dying, — still breeds anxiety. Even so peaceful and 
 unworldly a spirit as Jeff, the matchless trophy of Grace, 
 lay waiting for death and yet dreading the meeting. 
 
 But the final struggle had to come. It came suddenly. 
 The machinery of his heart had rusted. It ran with jerks 
 and jumps ; it registered its movements in thumps ; the 
 harbingers of the dread event multiplied day by day and 
 a holy seriousness filled the chamber of the sufferer. 
 
 Suddenly there was an outcry of pain, a shudder, one 
 quiver of the limbs, quick successive shocks of the heart 
 and a fast quitting of the breath. The messenger was at 
 hand and Jeff knew it all. He raised his speechless 
 signals and his household were around him. The thought 
 of the past abided, — he touched the partition and found 
 it as seen in the distance. In the faces of his loved ones 
 he saw concern as if they longed to know as to whether 
 it was resistful and hard to get through, — that separating 
 veil of which he^had talked so much. Vitality lingered 
 in his hands and stretching out the forefinger of his right 
 hand and placing at its root the forefinger of his left he 
 slowly moved it along up, silently signalling back that he 
 was passing safely through ; and when tip touched tip tri- 
 umphant light mantled his worn face for an instant, his 
 hand shot up for a moment and dropped upon his breast, 
 and death was conquered. He was through the veil and 
 his enfranchised soul was on its flight to the Eternal City. 
 
 Already the meek and toiling missionary had gone his 
 way. He and his convert were together again after the 
 battle was over. The evangelist had found his trophy 
 and put it at the feet of his King. 
 
XXII 
 
 GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 
 
 Giving the Church Bible Away 
 
 I AM of a denomination which has no ritual, and as a 
 consequence usages sometimes acquire almost the 
 authority of a law in matters of comparative insignif- 
 icance, and things are sometimes done that are unfitting 
 and possibly at times ridiculous. 
 
 I was called to take part, in company with a number 
 of other ministers, in the ordination of a young man, Mr. 
 John B. Williams, to the Christian ministry. It is a 
 worthy custom with us to make one feature of an ordina- 
 tion the presentation of a copy of the Scriptures to the 
 candidate, and very often this proves an impressive and 
 instructive part of the ordaining service, as it indicates 
 our faith in the supreme authority of the Scriptures. 
 
 Of course the proper thing in such exercises is for the 
 Bible, used on the occasion, to be an actual present to the 
 candidate, made preferably by the church or sometimes 
 made by the presbytery, or occasionally furnished in some 
 other way. 
 
 On this occasion there was no Bible in sight to be given 
 to the preacher, and a minister, of very florid rhetoric and 
 a decidedly self-conscious manner, was chosen to take the 
 part of the Bible presentation. He had the candidate 
 stand facing him, and mounting the rostrum he made quite 
 an ornate and taking speech. When he reached the point 
 where the giving of the Bible would naturally come in, 
 he seized the ponderous pulpit copy of the Bible, weigh- 
 
 332 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 333 
 
 ing possibly fifteen or twenty pounds, in liis hands and 
 stepping to the edge of the platform said : 
 
 ''And now, my brother, it affords me the very highest 
 pleasure to present to you this copy of God's Word,'' and 
 was in the act of transferring the book into the hands of 
 the young man. 
 
 " Whose Bible is that T' I asked in a tone of astonished 
 inquiry. 
 
 ''Why this," said the speaker, "I suppose, belongs to 
 this church." 
 
 He was evidently flurried by the interruption. 
 
 "Has the church authorized you to give away this 
 Bible ? " I asked in a very serious tone. 
 
 " Well,— no," replied the perturbed orator on the plat- 
 form. " Nothing has been said to me on the subject." 
 
 " Then," I said, " you are giving away what does not 
 belong to you." 
 
 "You see, doctor," he said, "I am not really giving 
 the book away ; it is a sort of form we go through." 
 
 " Then am I to understand that you are merely pre- 
 tending to give this Bible away when at the same time 
 you are not giving it to the candidate ? Is this a proper 
 affair to be enacted on an occasion so serious as this?" 
 
 By this time the brother bore all the marks of abject 
 wretchedness. He turned with an air of desperate con- 
 fusion and said, " If you really object to what I am doing 
 I'll put the book back and omit this part of the cere- 
 mony." 
 
 Things were brought to a critical pass. The discom- 
 fited orator was evidently at the end of his row and the 
 people shared in the embarrassment. It is not contended 
 here that this was the wisest manner in which the almost 
 burlesque presentation of the Bible should be dealt with. 
 
 Be it said, however, that so many of our ministers had 
 fallen into this unbecoming habit on ordination occasions 
 
334 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 that it really seemed necessary to start a revolution even 
 though it amounted to a shock. It so chanced that the 
 young man who was being set apart to the ministry had 
 attended my church in Eichmond while taking his college 
 course. He was a charming singer and had rendered 
 valuable service in our choir and also in my Boys' Meet- 
 ing by his skill and leadership as a vocalist. It became 
 known that I was going to his ordination and my church 
 as a token of grateful recognition put in my hands a hand- 
 some copy of the Scriptures to be given to him on that oc- 
 casion. I had also trained a boy who was in the crowd 
 at a given signal to step forward and hand this Bible 
 to the sorely perplexed brother who had been wrecked in 
 his oratorical flight. As the chairman of the meeting I 
 also occupied the platform, and just as the boy passed the 
 Bible into his hands I arose aod after paying a little trib- 
 ute to the young man and explaining the way in which 
 the Bible had come I recxuested the brother to present it 
 to the candidate with the good wishes and congratulations 
 of my people in Richmond. It is due to the brother to 
 say that he speedily recovered his equanimity and en- 
 thusiasm, and presented the Bible in a way evidently satis- 
 factory to himself and to the fully restored good humor 
 and interest of the audience. 
 
 But the story of that attempted giving away of the 
 church Bible took wiugs and has been flying far and wide 
 since that time, and it may be safely said that it will be 
 many a long summer day before another case is told of 
 an attempt on the part of a preacher to give away a 
 church Bible to a newly ordained Baptist preacher. 
 
 During the great Moody meetings in Richmond, a fine 
 but quite eccentric old minister was called on to pray. 
 He had a voice that uttered itself in mild explosions with 
 intervals of the inaudible, and was noted far and wide 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 335 
 
 for his patience and fidelity in filling liis prayers with 
 the minutest detail connected with everything he said. 
 On the occasion mentioned he prayed at great length for 
 those who, on that particular night, had stood for prayer. 
 And then he went back and prayed thus, ' ' We desire, O 
 Father of mercies, to pray also for the conversion of the 
 thirty-two persons who stood up to-night, if our memory 
 is not at fault as to the number, and also for the 
 twenty-six who stood up last night, if our memory serves 
 us right, though it may be, dear Father, that some of 
 those who stood up to-night may have also stood up last 
 night, not being fully satisfied in their minds as to their 
 spiritual condition. In a word. Master, look into all these 
 cases and deal with them according to their peculiar 
 necessities.'^ 
 
 In the early part of my public life I became acquainted 
 with a maiden lady whose story ought never to be for- 
 gotten. She was celebrated far more for intelligence than 
 for beauty and had a far finer faculty for general useful- 
 ness than she had for winning a husband. Years crept 
 in on her and she frankly admitted that the matrimonial 
 outlook was disappointing, but with unruffled serenity 
 she declared that personally she preferred not to marry ; 
 her point was that she preferred not to be tied down to 
 the service of one ordinary and exacting man and she 
 insisted that she never would marry unless Providence 
 resorted to compulsory measures ; in fact, she went to the 
 extent of saying that if she became forty without a hus- 
 band, she would accept it as a pleasing token of heaven 
 that she was exempt from marital duty and was left free 
 to devote herself to such forms of benevolences and 
 religious work as came her way. 
 
 Sure enough, forty came and came before she got any 
 news from the man of fate. She celebrated the event 
 
336 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 with happy demonstrations and declared that hers was 
 the happiest fate that heaven could have decreed for her. 
 She went it that way until she was in her later fifties, 
 and then in a very sudden way she heard a voice that 
 went straight to that centre of her being which had been 
 long walled off from all intrusion. 
 
 A modest, stiff-jointed, white-haired deacon of the 
 church was called to bury his wife. There was mourning 
 in the land, and the deacon himself was declared to be 
 heart-broken and evidently he was — for a period of some 
 six or eight months or more. 
 
 One Monday morning he drove over to the home of 
 another deacon, who was a brother of the unmarriage- 
 able and elderly Miss Sally. It chanced that her brother 
 was out on the farm and it fell to her lot to welcome the 
 bereaved, whose hat still carried the symbol of mourning. 
 She gave him a great welcome, descanted generously on 
 the noble qualities of his departed spouse, expressed sym- 
 pathy, that could not be adequately expressed, with the 
 deacon, and administered religious consolation with an 
 extravagant hand. The deacon was but faintly responsive, 
 though gratefully accepting the kind things said of his 
 wife and said also of his af&iction. He was a man of few 
 words, anyway, and in a combat with the conversational 
 abilities of Miss Sally, he stood only half a chance, but 
 even hair-lipped and tongue-tied widowers usually make 
 themselves heard sooner or later, and it was not long 
 before he led Miss Sally to understand that about the 
 only balm that could heal his wounded spirit would be 
 her free and undivided affection. 
 
 She was duly shocked but not fatally. She expressed 
 surprise in several dialects, spoke of her determination, 
 made long ago, not to marry, and finally rounded up 
 with the assertion that she could not even consider the 
 proposition until she had consulted with her brother 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 337 
 
 James, and uutil she could have time for considering the 
 matter from quite a number of standpoints. 
 
 As for time, the deacon intimated that time was a 
 scarce article with him, and waiting a lonesome business, 
 and he also inquired as to the whereabouts of her brother 
 James. He was informed that her brother was in the 
 corn-field, below the garden, and Miss Sally obligingly- 
 consented to have him sent for. She slipped out and 
 summoned a colored boy and ordered him to go after his 
 Mars' James, and to tell him that he was wanted at the 
 house at once. The boy was also ordered to "go quick. '^ 
 I knew the said brother James quite well. An odd, 
 simple-hearted, unsystematic and excitable man he was, 
 but honest as the daylight, and he had long ago laid his 
 will at the feet of the female department of his household. 
 He steamed into the yard in a few minutes, almost dead 
 with palpitation of the heart, supposing that the house 
 was on fire or somebody was dead. Miss Sally drew him 
 aside, told the new secret and asked his counsel. For 
 once brother James bore himself resplendently. He de- 
 clared that her wish was his law, and expressed the opin- 
 ion that she was old enough to decide for herself. She 
 returned to the parlor where the deacon, with his snowy 
 locks and enchanted soul, awaited her with anxiety. 
 
 *' Well," she said, "I have had an interview with my 
 brother James, and he looks upon the proposition as one 
 that is honorable to our family and complimentary to me, 
 and readily gives his full consent that you and I shall 
 cast our lots together." 
 
 Two weeks afterwards a staid little group, including a 
 preacher, gathered in the country parlor, and Miss Sally's 
 life purpose to be an old maid floated away, and she 
 bloomed out in modest bridal array as a deaconess. 
 
 Concerning Miss Sally there is a story which will be 
 very slow to die. She was a woman so unworldly in her 
 
338 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 spirit and so abstemious in her tastes, that she allowed 
 herself very rare contact with aught that savored of 
 worldliness. Now and then there would grow up in her 
 a yearning for things visible, sensational and exciting, 
 but her feelings were always walled off from anything 
 that suggested the least moral impropriety. For a long 
 time she stood aloof from the agricultural fair which met 
 every autumn in Richmond. The occasion took on too 
 much sport, noise and gaming for her. As from time to 
 time she heard of the fine horses, cattle, fowls, swine, 
 machinery, ladies' work and other things which seemed 
 to her as innocent as the very trees which stood in the 
 yard of the old Bethlehem Church, she had an acute 
 hankering after a visit to the fair, and finally it was de- 
 cided that she should go. She had rich and admiring 
 friends in the city and notified a gentleman, who was 
 always called Josiah, that she would be down on a certain 
 morning and would expect him to be her escort for the day. 
 A finer gentleman than Josiah Ryland never set foot 
 on Virginia soil. He determined to lay himself out for 
 the pleasure of serving Miss Sally, as she was called after 
 marriage, just as she was before, and he wrote her a note, 
 rich in welcome and in love. They took the train down 
 in the city and steamed up to the great enclosure in which 
 the vast show was in full blast. He bought tickets, bade 
 her to pull on his arm under all the strains and pressures 
 of the day and they walked in. She went wild over the 
 poultry exhibit ; she fairly had heart disease when she 
 saw the huge, sluggish porkers and was almost ready to 
 embrace some of the beautiful cows and calves which she 
 found in their stalls. Presently, Josiah suggested to her 
 that there would be more interest to her in some of the 
 other departments, and that they had better go on their 
 way. As they went along, they crossed a very beautiful 
 track and Miss Sally stopped to admire it. 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 339 
 
 *'You have mighty pretty roads over here, Josiah," 
 she said. ^' You certainly beat us on roads j we got noth- 
 ing of this sort in Chesterfield. '^ 
 
 ''This is not a road, Miss Sally," Josiah replied in a 
 tone of gentle chiding. 
 
 " I know better," said Miss Sally, in a tone almost in- 
 dignant. "I don't claim to know as much as you town 
 peojDle know, but I have got sense enough to know a road 
 when I see it ; and if this is not a road, I would like to 
 know what it is." 
 
 *' This," said the masterful Josiah, solemn as the king 
 of Persia, on the outside, but having a very circus of 
 amusement on his inside, ' ' is what we call over here a 
 race track." 
 
 *'What, Josiah, a race-track? You don't mean that 
 you have races at this thing, do you ? " 
 
 Josiah, in a truly regretful tone, admitted that they did 
 race horses there, and thereupon Miss Sally demanded 
 with noisy vehemence that she be taken out of the place 
 at once, asking Josiah what he supposed the people of 
 Bethlehem would think of her if they heard that she had 
 been attending horse-races in the city of RichmoDd. She 
 was up for war and for getting out in short order. Josiah 
 took out his watch and noted the time. He told her that 
 it was then not quite eleven, and that the races were 
 scheduled to begin at twelve. He assured her that she 
 could see quite a deal of what was perfectly innocent and 
 then have time for withdrawing before the horses began 
 to run. Miss Sally was a little incredulous and felt that 
 she was in a world which did not suit lier, and it was 
 only after she had extracted most solemn and repeated 
 promises from Josiah that nothing should happen to her, 
 that she consented to go on. They went into the ma- 
 chinery building, the agricultural building, the ladies^ 
 rooms, where needlework, pickles, bread, cake and ever 
 
340 ALONG THE TKAIL 
 
 so many other things greatly delighted the innocent- 
 hearted Miss Sally. Finally they came in sight of an 
 odd structure quite high up in the air. 
 
 ''What is that, I'd like to know?'^ said Miss Sally. 
 "I never saw a thing like that before in my life and I 
 can't see what they want with it.'^ 
 
 That,'' said Josiah, " is the judges' stand. 
 
 "None of your foolin', now, Josiah," she said, with a 
 sharp look ; "you know they don't hold court uj) there in 
 a place like that ; what can judges do up there 1 " 
 
 For once Josiah' s stately dignity broke its holding- 
 back straps and he told Miss Sally, in the midst of much 
 merriment and laughter, that the judges who occupied 
 that lofty perch did no business except to decide which 
 of the horses won the prizes as they ran in the races. 
 
 Miss Sally flamed with righteous wrath. She declared 
 that it was unworthy of men to countenance the cruelty 
 of the race-track, and that all of it ought to be stopped. 
 Josiah told her that her view of the subject was most 
 creditable to her, and if her doctrines could be universally 
 adopted, Virginia would have the greatest government 
 in the world. 
 
 As they moved along, they neared the railing which 
 barred off the race- track from the rest of the grounds, and 
 a number of men were leading some exceedingly beauti- 
 ful horses up and down the track. Miss Sally caught 
 sight of these horses ; she had a soul for horses ; a pretty 
 horse was a poem to her, and she was outspoken in her 
 admiration of the horses and especially of one. She 
 stopped outright and fixed her thoughts on that horse. 
 
 Josiah took out his watch and gave Miss Sally a shake 
 and said, "We had better get out of here, for it is almost 
 time for the races." 
 
 Miss Sally seized his arm and told him in fiery terms 
 that he knew better than to let her be caught in those 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 341 
 
 grounds when any of that wicked racing was going on. 
 Accordingly, Josiah began to pull his saintly charge in 
 the direction of the gate but she stopped. 
 
 ''Josiah," she said, "did you notice that gray horse 
 that they were leading along beyond that fence 1 " 
 
 Josiah admitted that the horse did not command his 
 notice and he also worked in another suggestion that 
 they had better pull for the gate. 
 
 ''Now, look here, Josiah," Miss Sally said, "I would 
 like for you to see that gray horse. I never saw anything 
 finer and I'd like for you to go back with me and look 
 at it," and Josiah, with some outward show of remon- 
 strance, let her lead him back to the fence. There was 
 the horse, and Miss Sally went int© ecstasies. '' Oh, you 
 dear beauty ! " she said. "Look at her, Josiah ; look at 
 her neck, how finely it arches ; look at her ears, how 
 prettily they stand up ; look at her eye with the sense of 
 men in it ; look at her legs, so trim and fine." 
 
 Josiah gave her a rather violent pull and told her that 
 it was of the greatest importance that they should get out 
 within a few minutes or it would go to Bethlehem that 
 she had attended the races. 
 
 "You dare say so," Miss Sally said, scornfully. 
 " Take me out of here ; I'll blame you long as I live if I 
 get mixed up with this horse-racing,'^ and away they 
 went towards the distant gate. 
 
 Just then, however, there was a great roaring shout on 
 the right and Miss Sally unconsciously turned her head 
 that way and asked what it meant. Josiah, with gravity 
 depicted on his face, told her that the horses had started, 
 and her quick eye caught the gray as she swept along 
 in plain view. Miss Sally went wild with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Oh, Josiah! will you look?" she exclaimed ex- 
 citedly. " Just watch the gray. Ain't she going ? don't 
 
342 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 she fly? did you ever see anything like it 1 " Then the 
 horse turned the circle and was out of sight. 
 
 Miss Sally turned upon the wicked Josiah and fairly 
 blasted him with her scornful indignation. ^' Allow me 
 to say, sir, that if you are not willing to take me out of 
 this place, show me the gate ; I have got sense j I can go 
 out of here without you and if you want to stay here and 
 watch these races and bet on them, if you choose, you 
 can do it ; I am a-going out of here." 
 
 Josiah melted with penitence and told her he always 
 was bad and did not believe that he would ever recover. 
 He took all the blame and was making a valiant effort to 
 take Miss Sally to the gate. 
 
 About that time the people began to shout over on the 
 other side of the grounds and their roar was tremendous. 
 
 ^*I never saw such a pack of fools in my life, Josiah," 
 she said ; '* what on earth, is the matter with them ?" 
 
 ^' Why, Miss Sally, the horses are coming back around 
 that way." 
 
 ''Take me out; take me out; take me out!" she 
 shouted, to the amusement of many around her. Un- 
 consciously, however, she turned her eye in the direction 
 that Josiah told her the horses were coming around. 
 She caught sight of the gray as she swept with the speed 
 of light along at the head of the racers. Miss Sally for- 
 got everything on earth, her beloved Bethlehem included. 
 She turned full face, screamed and shouted at the top of 
 her voice, ' ' Go it, Gray ! Look, Joshua ! Go it. Gray ! 
 Did you ever see anything like it? Hurrah for the 
 gray ! Hurrah for the gray ! Go it, Gray ! Josiah, I bet 
 you a dollar that the gray gets there first." The gray 
 did beat. 
 
 It is believed there never was as much holy indigna- 
 tion turned loose on the fair-ground at one time as Miss 
 Sally set free when the thing was over. She gave Josiah 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 343 
 
 a lambasting from which he never recovered. She turned 
 her back on him bodily and said that she did not want 
 him to go out with her. But she wished it understood, 
 when she got back to Bethlehem, she was so offended by 
 the horse-racing that she deserted Josiah and went out 
 by herself. Josiah was imperturbable, the essence of 
 nobility, and as serious as the Supreme Court of the 
 American Republic. He told Miss Sally that it was all 
 right, nobody need know anything about it, he under- 
 stood that this matter of horse-racing was against her 
 conscience and he did not blame her in the least. 
 
 It is not claimed that this story is outwardly consistent, 
 and there is not the faintest suspicion as to the sincerity 
 and devoutness of Miss Sally. Bethlehem never had a 
 more devoted member ; religion never had a truer friend 
 nor public morality a more valiant guardian than Miss 
 Sally. At the same time, some of her forebears had 
 handed down to her a sporting strain, a love of contest, 
 a pride in horses and a joy in having your side beat, that 
 got in its work that day. Miss Sally knew that it was not 
 her, not the best of her, that went wild on the horse-race, 
 and so fully was she convinced of this that she thought it 
 was no part of her and, likely enough, in the Lord's eyes 
 it was no part of her. 
 
 The Man and His Oats 
 
 The ludicrous and the serious, apparently so uncon- 
 genial, often dwell in adjacent tenements, with the sepa- 
 rating partitions so thin that one can sometimes break 
 through and subdue the other. In the story to follow I 
 give a glimpse of one of the oddest, most ascetic, and yet 
 withal the most humorous of men. 
 
 I went out from Richmond to help a very young pastor 
 in a very weak church in revival services. The young 
 man had worked wisely, and the outlook was inspiring. 
 
344 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 He took me to the home of an elderly merchant farmer 
 to spend the night, warning me as we went along that I 
 would find a bundle of eccentricities incarnated in our 
 host for the night. I can testify that the old gentleman 
 lived up to his recommendations that night. His Euglish 
 was badly shattered, but he was quick of mind, brim- 
 ming with humor, sarcastic, defiant and skeptical. As 
 soon as supper was over he opened fire. He slashed the 
 preachers, plucked the churches, and sneered revivals 
 out of countenance. I think I never heard any man make 
 a more clever or damaging assault upon religion as em- 
 bodied in individuals and churches of that day. Much 
 that he said was true, and so intermixed with what was 
 not true, that it was hard to handle him. Indeed I gave 
 him full rein, and expressed approval of many things 
 that he said. He ran riot with invective, and seemed for 
 a while intoxicated with the sense of victory. 
 
 Finally he got down to details, and among other things 
 denounced the modern way of receiving people into the 
 membership of the church. *^ I believe," he said, ''that 
 when persons join the church they ought to be required 
 to stand up before the congregation and begin at the be- 
 ginning and tell step by step the path by which they have 
 come. If they are really converted, as they say they are, 
 they ought to be made to get up and tell their experience." 
 Turning suddenly to me, he asked with great intensity 
 if I did not agree with him. It was about the first op- 
 portunity he had given me to say anything. 
 
 ''Well, now," I said, rather slowly, "I do agree with 
 you that when people who come to join the church can 
 stand on their feet and tell distinctly and impressively the 
 story of their conversion, it is a noble thing to do. Such 
 a testimony refreshes the church, and goes home to the 
 hearts of others. But I must say to you that when I 
 joined the church I was a verdant mountain lad, never 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 345 
 
 had uttered a word in public in my life, had a very dim 
 idea as to what I would be expected to tell, and I really 
 believe if I had tried it, I should have gone all to pieces. 
 Indeed it frightened me to leave my seat, and go forward 
 when I presented myself to the church for membership. 
 Now you have a glib and ready tongue, and I suppose if 
 you were going to join the church it would be easy for you 
 to stand before any assemblage and tell the story of your 
 conversion without the least confusion." He sat silent 
 for a minute and said with quite a change in his tone, * ' I 
 couldn't do it to save my life.'' 
 
 Then I said quietly, ^' You put it a little too strong that 
 time, didn't you?" 
 
 *' Expect I did," he said bluntly. ^* But never mind 
 about that. Let us have prayers and go to bed." His 
 wife reported the next morning that he did not rest well 
 during the night. 
 
 He came out on the porch next morning and announced 
 with dogged emphasis that I need not expect him to go to 
 church that day, and shot back into the house as if 
 stricken with terror. I said nothing at the time. When 
 he reappeared to beg that I would not think hard of him 
 for not going to church, as it was very important that he 
 should look after his oats, which, owing to excessive rains, 
 were in danger of rotting, '^ By all means you must go," 
 I said with cheerful earnestness. Back he rushed again 
 into the house. But quite soon was back again. 
 
 ^'No use of talking," he said, ^'I've been out to see 
 about the oats, and they are in very bad condition. I 
 cannot think of going to church to-day." 
 
 ^' Let the oats rot," I said, emboldened by his defensive 
 attitude. ** Your soul is worth all the oats in this world, 
 and I cannot leave you here to-day. Get ready and let 
 us start." He hardly waited for my words before he was 
 gone. In a little while his wife, a noble Christian woman, 
 
346 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 who had been watching the battle from the back porch, 
 dashed in through the hall and said with a glad whisper, 
 '' He's going. He says that you seem to be so anxious 
 about it he will have to go." 
 
 The fact is, the Lord's hand was upon him. That day 
 he took a stand for Christ and was a new man. Some 
 time afterwards I asked him how his oats came out and 
 he smilingly said every grain of them rotted. 
 
 I told him I was glad they did, else he might have felt 
 that God worked a miracle to pay him for going to church, 
 adding that the Lord did not pay people to be converted. 
 
 The Aetichoke 
 In my early ministry I attended a great religious as- 
 sembly in Charleston, S. C, the members of which 
 were munificently entertained in the Charleston homes. 
 There was an exceedingly rich banker who applied for 
 several ministerial celebrities, who were to be in attend- 
 ance upon the convention, but unluckily for him, all 
 those famous men had been spoken for and his house 
 was left desolate. It grieved him exceedingly, and he 
 complained quite obstinately about it to Colonel Presley, 
 then a noted lawyer of that city and a gentleman of most 
 attractive social qualities. The colonel told him not to 
 be downhearted but to prepare the very finest dinner that 
 had ever loaded his table and leave to him the task of 
 selecting the guests. The colonel selected a number of the 
 convention gentlemen who were not encumbered with ex- 
 traordinary fame, and who were not in peril of being en- 
 tangled with many engagements. Under this arrange- 
 ment and through the partiality of Judge Presley, I was 
 selected as one of the guests for the dinner. Be it said 
 that the dinner was to begin at 3 : 30, though possibly it 
 may have been delayed somewhat, and at a quarter of 
 eight it had ever so many courses yet to come, and I was 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 347 
 
 constrained to ask to be excused at that time because I 
 had an important engagement for supper. 
 
 The supply of ladies for the dinner was pitiably scant, 
 and of the few, Colonel Presley and myself fell heir to 
 one, though candor compels me to say that Colonel Pres- 
 ley heired about nineteen -twentieths of her. And in their 
 infrequent periods of silence, with gracious benevolence 
 she turned to see how I was prospering under the embar- 
 rassment of my situation. This arrangement did not help 
 me any, and I was glad enough to be left in silence to keep 
 up my guards against such misadventures as might befall 
 me in my limited experience in Charleston festivities. 
 
 Another misfortune of the dinner which struck me was 
 the fact that I sat at the corner of the table where the 
 serving of the courses commenced, so I had no precedent 
 to aid me in tackling such dishes as I had not met with 
 before. At first the lady at my side took enough interest 
 in me to cause her to turn around with the beginning of 
 the course and see that I was started off in a respectable 
 way. In the course of time, or rather in the course of 
 many courses, the good lady was so interested with the 
 party of the second part on the other side, so delighted 
 with her dinner or possibly so tired of her stupid attend- 
 ant on the other side, that she ceased to keep watch 
 over me. 
 
 The butler swung up to me with a vast tray in his 
 hands, and some of the most extraordinary things lay in 
 it that I had never seen. I eyed them and knew at once 
 that I had never seen them. He was superbly dressed, 
 very stately in manner, and I confess that I was a little 
 afraid of him anyhow. He stood there as if he had come 
 to spend the evening, and finally he asked me if I would 
 have one of the ^' artichokes " ? Now in old Virginia in 
 our vegetable garden we raised a thing which we called 
 artichokes which somebody said was a poor and unrecog- 
 
348 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 nized relative of the sweet potato. But the Charlestonian 
 artichoke was quite a different thing. It was as large as 
 a grown man's fist and struck me as a cross between a 
 pineapple and a pine burr. Being all alone in the world 
 and nobody to advise me, I said to the butler with great 
 deference that I would not have an artichoke that day. 
 He gave me a look which expressed several opinions and 
 went on, and everybody took an artichoke but me. Mean- 
 while the butler broke the prolonged engagement between 
 the colonel and the fair lady in question and the latter 
 turned to see how I was doing. I was not doing at all ! 
 I was sitting there the incarnation of idleness and awk- 
 wardness. *'Oh," she said, ''you haven't any arti- 
 choke. John, why didn't you give Doctor Hatcher an 
 artichoke? Bring the tray here at once!" and asked 
 me if I did not like artichokes. I intimated to her that 
 I had taken lessons in artichokes in Virginia in the j^ri- 
 mary class, but that my education had been totally neg- 
 lected as to Charlestonian artichokes, and that under the 
 uncertainties of the case, I had decided not to take any 
 artichokes in my course. She would hot hear to it. John 
 came back with the artichokes and he swung out two 
 plates, one for the artichoke and one for the peelings. 
 With altogether unnecessary emphasis she instructed me 
 how to tackle the mysterious thing and did it in such a 
 way that the eyes of all at the table were turned to me, 
 and I discovered an unmistakable twinkle in them. I 
 turned as red as the artichoke and I wished that either I 
 or the artichoke had never been born. The butler showed 
 decided malice m selecting the biggest one on the tray 
 and landed it on my plate. The lady told me that it was 
 the most delicious thing in the world, but that the de- 
 licious part of it was hidden away on the inside, and that 
 I must pull out each one of the little ears that shot out in 
 scores if not in hundreds all over it, and that some of it 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOR ALONG THE WAY 349 
 
 would be on the end of each one of these little ears and that 
 I must stick each into the butter and salt that lay ready at 
 my hand, and then bite off the end and throw the other part 
 into my other plate. It seemed to me that there were 
 about four or five hundred of these little ears, and I be- 
 gan with an assumed familiarity on the artichokes that I 
 hoped would deceive the very elect, and I pulled out these 
 little things one by one, dabbled them in the melted but- 
 ter and salt, took my bite at them and then put the other 
 end into the extra plate. As soon as I began to work at 
 it my friend remembered that one of the most charming 
 gentlemen in the world was on the other side of her and 
 she dropped me and was happy once more. I do not 
 wish to lie about it, but I express the opinion that I 
 pulled out, buttered, bit off and threw away somewhere 
 between two hundred to two hundred and fifty of those 
 little ear lets. My arm got tired, my jaw got resentful 
 for having to make so many bites with so little results, 
 and all the while my palate was aching for the good part 
 that was on the inside, of which I had been told. 
 
 The kindest of women was a long way from remember- 
 ing that I was in the world, much less that I was in a sea 
 of troubles with the artichoke. Feeling sure that she 
 was not coming back I stopped buttering and stopped 
 biting ; I had filled one plate and surreptitiously secured 
 another and began to pile into that, and finally the hated 
 thing was utterly demolished by the stroke'^of my knife. 
 There seemed to be a sort of solid base on top of which lay 
 a substance, hot, snow-white and innocent-looking. I said 
 to myself, '^ I have reached it at last ; this is the inner es- 
 sence ; this is the thing she told me about ; this is the 
 most delicious thing in the world!'' not the least evi- 
 dence of which I had gotten by the several hundred end 
 bites which I had taken at the buttered and salted roots. 
 I took my knife and whacked off an unnecessarily lai-ge 
 
350 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 portion of the tempting essence, as I supposed it was. I 
 applied the melted butter and mounted the formidable 
 slug full into my mouth. I noticed at once that it had 
 some sharp points in it, and as I turned my molars down 
 on it, my gums suffered several abrasions, but I thought 
 it was a part of the show and belonged to the prelimi- 
 naries, but the more I ground the thing the more it went 
 into me, but that was not the serious aspect of the case 
 at all. The more I brought my teeth down upon it, the 
 more it came back. It had a rebellious swell, and in- 
 stead of my extricating sweetness from it, I gradually 
 turned it into what seemed to be a small haystack, insur- 
 gent, irrepressible, and sticking into the roof of my mouth, 
 into my gums, fastening itself into my teeth and swelling 
 more and more all the time. There I was with my mouth 
 crammed down to the pit of my throat with something 
 that had been swelling from the time it went into my 
 teeth and which swelled more every time my teeth bore 
 down upon it and kept on swelling after I had stopped 
 bearing down upon it. At last there came a scream and 
 the outcry belonged to the lady at my side, and for that 
 moment at least the colonel was left out and I was 
 brought to the centre of the stage. She saw that some- 
 thing had been cut off from the substance that I have 
 described before and she looked aghast. ''Oh, what a 
 mistake, what a mistake you have made,'^ she almost 
 screamed ; ''that part is not eatable at all. That's what 
 they call the choke." Under other circumstances I 
 should have informed her that I had never seen anything 
 in my life that was more appropriately named, but for 
 reasons that I do not give now, I did not make the re- 
 mark. "You must get it out of your mouth and just as 
 soon as possible,'' she said with an emphasis that brought 
 towards me another look from the entire table, every one 
 of whom seemed to be enjoying their artichokes and un- 
 
GLEAMS OF HUMOE ALONG THE WAY 351 
 
 wautonly eujoyiug mine also. I told her, as best I could 
 uuder the circumstances, that I was willing to have the 
 thing out of my mouth and that I had energetically tried 
 to get it out of my mouth by the usual process that I used 
 when I had an eatable thing in my mouth, but that I must 
 frankly say that with all the pressure that I could bring 
 to bear, I had not been able to make it budge. Then it 
 was that my humiliation touched bottom and I had to 
 take the thing out then and there. At least, as much of 
 it as did not stick into my gums or run into the roof of 
 my mouth, or was not bristling all over my tongue or had 
 not gotten too far for recovery. 
 
 I do not think it is necessary to continue this lamen- 
 table story any longer. Several months after that I 
 stepped onto a train in the mountains of Virginia at the 
 hour of midnight and took my seat in the passenger car. 
 It was a cramped and joyless ride, but not long after the 
 train had started I heard a gurgling laugh behind me, 
 and it was very clearly evident that a man was respon- 
 sible for it. It was not my gurgle, however, and I set 
 about to forget it. But it continued, until finally I heard 
 in a subdued, mischievous tone, the terrible word, ^'arti- 
 choke.'' It gave me a wrench, and it was followed by a 
 louder laugh, and then the word was repeated again, and 
 it was ingrained in my soul that the villain who was thus 
 carrying on behind me had me for his victim. I straight- 
 ened up, and with haughty isolation I started back to the 
 water- cooler. There he was, the inevitable and remorse- 
 less Presley. We fell into each other's arms. He told me 
 that he had been in the mountains of Virginia for a few 
 days, but that he had spent his summer on the beach 
 below Charleston, and that he and the banker had their 
 summer homes close to each other. He added that it was 
 always once a day, and if there was much company, 
 twice a day, that they gathered on the veranda and re- 
 
352 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 hearsed the story of the artichoke. He also informed me 
 that the neighbors came in to hear the story, and then 
 went out and brought in other neighbors, and the story 
 was told again. 
 
 Let the story pass, but I have one grievance. He 
 promised to send me a box of artichokes to Virginia, but 
 up to the time that this story is told, I have not seen 
 another artichoke. 
 
XXIII 
 
 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 IT has been my happy fortune to mix with the com- 
 mon people through all the years of my ministerial 
 life. I have gone into their plain homes, ate many 
 a meal which had been prepared with no thought of 
 company, slept in their plain beds, talked far into the 
 night around their fireside, and bowed with them at their 
 altars and sought for heaven's blessing. As a pastor, 
 much of my best ministerial inspiration was caught in 
 the little houses of my people. Sometimes in their 
 plain little parlors, often by the fire in the diniug-room, 
 and times uncounted in the kitchens, where the house- 
 wife was cooking her simple meal, or possibly bending 
 over her wash-tub. In some way, I loved God better 
 when I was down among the poor, and really picked up 
 more in the way of human sympathy, spiritual insight and 
 heavenly thought than I ever got anywhere else. I have 
 felt sorry for ministers who belittled or dreaded the pas- 
 toral visit, but I never sympathized with them. I never 
 got much by visiting the rich, for they did not have 
 much that I coveted, but my mixing with the godly poor 
 always enriched me. They gave me gladness, they gave 
 me love, they gave me glints of happy humor, they gave 
 me sermoDS and they gave me hope. Truly, I would like 
 to write a book of the plain houses, with their content- 
 ments, their romances, their sorrows and their aspira- 
 tions, the memory of which is ever with me and the 
 comfort of it, too. 
 
 353 
 
354: ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 At a certain railroad junction, not far from Eichmond, 
 there was a water station for the Karrow Gauge, as it was 
 called, and the water was pumped by a noisy, wheezing 
 little engine, and that engine was managed by quite an 
 elderly man whom I used to see ofttimes when I passed 
 that way, always in his working clothes and blacked up 
 with the smoke and cinders of the engine-room. We used 
 to chat a little and I found him with a heart full of the 
 love of God, of which he sometimes spoke with a gentle- 
 ness and a glow that lasted me for days afterwards. 
 
 They built a little church a little way off and had some 
 of us out from Eichmond to dedicate it. It fell to my lot 
 to go with this rugged old man home for my dinner. It 
 was a full mile we walked, and he was sorely crippled in 
 some way, and it took us quite a time to make the jour- 
 ney, and on the way he told me a story. 
 
 ^'My boys," he said, ''are bad boys." 
 
 That was his solemn deliverance, and I prepared my- 
 self for a tragic story. 
 
 ' ' Are they bad ? " I asked, with undisguised anxiety. 
 
 He broke into a laugh that had in it the sweetness of a 
 better world than this. 
 
 " If they were bad, as some boys are bad, mother would 
 be a dead woman," he said. 
 
 The way he called that word " mother," evidently ap- 
 plying it to his wife, was a poem within itself. It told 
 right out the greatness of his love, the devotion of the 
 mother to the children, and incidentally let out the fact 
 that their boys were just the boys for them to be proud of. 
 
 "Why did you call them bad?" I asked, in a dog- 
 matic and unsatisfied tone. 
 
 ''Why," he said, "every one of them takes to rail- 
 roading. They wouldn't hurt a hair of my head, and as 
 for mother, they'd die for her, — die any day it was neces- 
 sary J but it looked like they were born with railroads in 
 
THE HOME-COMING 355 
 
 their blood. The toot of an engine made 'em crow when 
 they were babies, and, like ducks to the water, they took 
 to the railroad. 
 
 "It went awful hard with mother, but she made a con- 
 dition that those boys have always stood up to, except the 
 last time, and that was that they did not come home last 
 Christmas. They might come any time and they'd git it 
 good when they got there, and they might stay away and 
 she would have nothing to say, but the law went forth 
 that they were to eat their Christmas dinner with mother. 
 They got on different roads and did different kinds of 
 work. One of 'em was on this road, and he had a blow 
 when he brought his engine by — a blow for mother. You 
 see, the road is not far from the house, and day or night 
 she'd know that blow, and it did her most as much good 
 as if the boy had kissed her. She lived all the year 
 round for the joy of having the boys home for Christmas, 
 that's what mother did. And they would come : they 
 came years and years. Sometimes it would be way into 
 the night of Christmas Eve, and once or twice in the 
 Christmas morning. 
 
 ' ' And you ought to have seen mother on Christmas Day. 
 I told her she overdid it entirely and that Christmas din- 
 ners would see me in the poorhouse yet ; but do you 
 reckon she cared ? She was at it for days and days be- 
 forehand, fixing her spareribs, her sausage, her polk ham, 
 her turkey gobbler, her cakes, her pies of all sorts, her 
 custards, her big apples, her canned peaches ; bless me, 
 'twas enough for a camp-meeting, and all of it for them 
 railroading boys. 
 
 '' I reckon I ought to say that they were worthy of all 
 that they got ; not a drop of whiskey would they touch ; 
 no bad company for them j no puttin' on airs when they 
 come home. Mother said they were just as clean inno- 
 cent as when they used to lay sleeping on her breast. I 
 
356 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 reckon she was partial, — all tlie mothers seem so to me, 
 but I kiuder felt about the same as mother did. lu fact 
 I couldn't wait to see 'em patient as she could, but I 
 reckon she didn't talk about it much as I did and maybe 
 felt it more than I did, for she thought all the world of 
 her three boys. 
 
 " Well, one Christmas things went wrong. The boys 
 didn't tell us certain they were coming ; they didn't think 
 it worth while ; we knew they'd come when they could 
 and there wasn't any time day or night when mother 
 wasn't ready to open the door for them. Christmas Eve 
 came and no boys. Christmas morning came ; no boys. 
 Dinner came and 'twas the biggest of all. Mother looked 
 so serious when she was fixin' it that I had to go out into 
 the back yard two or three times and cry because she 
 looked so pale and uneasy. We hardly touched the din- 
 ner. Trains came along and we'd look down to see, but 
 they didn't come, and the sun went down on Christmas 
 Day and not one of our boys had stepped on our porch 
 or jumped in to hug mother. I don't reckon I ever felt 
 more awful, though I might have stood it if I could have 
 kept my eyes off of mother's face. We sat up late and 
 talked and wondered and felt very miserable, but just 
 before late bedtime one of the boys, our baby boy, 
 mother always calls him ' Baby,^ he got home. It almost 
 made the matters worse with us. It looked like Christ- 
 mas was not only gone but that our family was broken 
 up. We talked right late, but our poor boy had worked 
 two solid nights so as to get home at all, and he got sleepy 
 and mother told him he must go up-stairs and rest. Our 
 chamber was down-stairs ; we always slept down there ; 
 though I don' t think mother slept at all those nights. 
 
 '^ As for me I am a heavy sleeper ; I am so fleshy and 
 knocked up with rheumatism that I'm dead tired when 
 night comes and mother says that she sometimes thinks I 
 
THE HOME-COMING 357 
 
 am dead, having died suddenly in the bed, — so still she 
 says I always lie. 
 
 '^That night the trials of the day and the grief on 
 mother's face knocked me up and for a long time I 
 couldn't sleep a wink ; but way towards day I dozed off, 
 but suddenly I heard a step on the back porch. Mother 
 sprang clean out of the bed and said as she sprang, 
 ' There he is ; that's Ben's step j blessed be God, he has 
 come at last.' 
 
 '' They had it out on the porch. All I had to do was 
 to touch a match and start the blaze, and I did that be- 
 fore I saw Ben, and almost in no time the shavings and 
 dry wood were shooting their blazes up the chimney. 
 We sat and talked quite a while, when suddenly Ben said : 
 
 " * What about the boys, mother ? Have they come ? ^ 
 
 ^' ' Just look at that,' I said. ' Ben, you filled us up so 
 that we positively forgot that we had any other boys.' 
 
 " Then it was that we told him that his little brother 
 was up -stairs, and up he jumped and was about to dash 
 up the steps, but mother said in a sweet way : 
 
 '' ^ Don't wake him, Ben ; baby looked so tired to- 
 night,' and Ben gave it up and we talked some more. 
 
 " ^ Mother,' said Ben, ' what's become of my 'cordion ? ^ 
 
 '' I hadn't told you that Ben was a musician. He al- 
 ways loved his accordion and mother never got tired of 
 listening to him. You better believe that she had that 
 'cordion nicely wrapped up and put away where nothing 
 could harm it. She was up quick enough, I tell you, and 
 soon handed it to Ben. It made my eyes wet to see how 
 glad Ben was to get the old instrument in his hands again. 
 He worked it a little bit and got it fixed and then he 
 struck to playing. Of course mother couldn't stand it ; 
 it brought up so much to her, and while she didn't move 
 I saw the tears shining on her happy old face and I felt 
 just too happy to move or speak. 
 
858 ALONG THE TRAIL 
 
 "Presently Ben began to sing. He was a powerful 
 singer, I tell you he was. He didn't have one of them 
 loud, rough voices, but there was something in his sing- 
 ing that went to your bones. You could feel it going all 
 through you, and folks used to come miles to our house 
 before Ben went away to get him to sing for them, and he 
 was always ready. He didn't put on any foolish airs 
 about it. 
 
 " ''Mid scenes of confusion and creatures' complaints.' 
 That of course was 'Home, Sweet Home.' It was al- 
 ways mother's favorite, and it looked like it come in that 
 night nicer than anything as he went on singing it, and 
 when he got to Home, Sweet Home, I really thought he 
 would break down. I never heard his voice tremble so, 
 and as for mother, she just put her head down on my 
 shoulder and sobbed it out all right. 
 
 ' ' It seemed to wake up something new in Ben, and he 
 pretty soon got into the second verse, and when he struck 
 the chorus I never heard anything like it. I really 
 thought it could be heard all the way to heaven, and I 
 reckon it was. It just topped off anything that I had 
 ever heard. I don't know whether it was because Ben 
 had improved or because he got inspired that night. His 
 voice seemed to fill the whole house, and I almost felt like 
 I could fly, and when he repeated the chorus I heard a 
 noise up-stairs. Little brother, — we never could stop 
 calling him that,— had sprung out of bed, and he took up 
 the tune,— he up-stairs and Ben down-stairs, and they 
 both sang ; but it wasn't long before they were in each 
 other's arms, and there in the late night, us four were 
 happy together, — too happy ever to tell ; if heaven will 
 be that happy when we get there it will be all that I could 
 ask and a thousand times more than I could ever expect. 
 Presently things quieted down some and we talked to- 
 gether until the dim light of the morning dawned on the 
 
THE HOME-COMING 359 
 
 window, and Ben struck up his song again and we all 
 sang it. Mother sang like an angel ; at least I thought 
 so, and the boys just outwent themselves, and would you 
 believe it, while we were all singing and fairly shouting 
 together, all in a twinkle the back door flew wide open 
 and in jumi3ed somebody. It was Tom, our middle boy. 
 He was the last to get there, but he was there. Don't for- 
 get i hat ; he was there. It took him a long time and he 
 was late, but there he was in the gray of that morning, 
 and what do you reckon mother did ? She sprang up on 
 her feet and made a little speech. Just think of mother 
 making a speech ; but she did it just the same, and all 
 right, and this is what she said : 
 
 i i i \Ye got the almanac wrong. "VYe thought it was 
 Christmas yesterday, but we know better now. This is 
 our Christmas. Our best Christmas ; the best Christmas 
 anybody ever had, and just as they had always done be- 
 fore my boys are home for Christmas Day.^ 
 
 *' And, doctor, would you believe it, I, poor, blundering, 
 stupid old me, had to turn round and make 'em a speech 
 too. What did I say? I said, 'Mother, that's the way 
 with our boys ; thej^ always come home. They will go 
 away; we can't help that; we have to separate, but, 
 mother, they always come back, and after a while you and 
 I will move away ourselves, and we'll have another home 
 far better than this, up in our Father's house, and we'll 
 be looking out and wondering when our boys will come. 
 They may be late ; they may not come together, but they 
 will come, and we'll all be home for a Christmas that will 
 never end.' '^ 
 
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938,5 
 
 H283 
 
 :.T»«^a-jiw.- ..jti^^-fv" 
 
 938.5 
 
 H283 
 
 Hatcher 
 
 Along the trail of the friendly 
 
 years 
 
 BRITtLEDOMOt 
 PHOTOCOPY