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CHAPTER VIII
FRONTIER
WORK IN THE
MINISTRY--CALL TO
THE
MINISTRY--MY
FIRST
APPOINTMENT--REMOVED
TO RED
CLOUD--MY
FIRST TRIP
TO RED
CLOUD--ORGANIZATION
OF THE FIRST
CLASS ON THE
RED CLOUD
CIRCUIT--
MOVING TO
RED
CLOUD-CAMP UNDER
A BUSH, AND
PULL GRASS FOR
A
BED--EXPERIENCE ON
THE CHARGE.
FROM boyhood to mature
age I felt a Divine call to the ministry. Try as I would to get
rid of that impression, it never left me. "Woe is me if I preach
not the gospel!" ever sounded in my ears, night and day. When I
tried to shake off the responsibility, I felt that to yield was to
be saved, to refuse was to be lost. So, after years of delay, I
yielded, and entered the work some time in the winter of 1857.
When I was seventeen years of age the Methodist Episcopal Church
gave me an exhorter's license. In that capacity some work was done
for the Church, but, failing to enter the open doors which were
continually inviting me, very little was accomplished for the
Master.
In the year 1867, at the age of
twenty-seven,
182
in a little town by the name of Blue Springs, which is located
on the Blue River, in what was then Beatrice Circuit, Nebraska
City District, Nebraska Conference, I was granted a local
preacher's license. After this I did considerable preaching in
different localities, traveling on foot six and seven miles
through the dust, and under a scorching sun, to my appointments.
Yet that failed to relieve my mind, for I still felt that all my
time should be given to the ministry.
In the spring of 1871 my case was submitted
to the Quarterly Conference, and I was recommended to the Annual
Conference for admission on trial. At the session of the Nebraska
Annual Conference my name was placed among those admitted on
trial, and I was sent to the Fairbury Circuit. Having now entered
the regular work, I must have clothes, books, and a horse, and the
only way I could contrive to get them was to sell my land. All the
land I owned was sold for five hundred dollars, and spent in
preparing for the work of the ministry. After purchasing a horse
and some of the necessary books, I moved upon my charge, leaving
my child with her grandmother. Finding a boarding-place in the
home
of Brother M. Hurlbert, I went to work with considerable zeal
and hopefulness. On coming to this work I was a stranger in a
strange country, and had much trouble in finding my appointments
as well as the membership. Starting early one Sunday morning to
one of my preaching places several miles away, the wrong road was
taken, which led me far out of the way, and I was late in reaching
the place. The congregation assembled, and anxiously awaited the
coming of the new preacher until past the hour for services.
Thinking that I would not be there, they started for home, most of
them on the same road. When within about a mile of the schoolhouse
where I was to preach, I met the congregation going home. Halting
them, and making myself known, I told them that if they would stop
by the roadside we would have services. Fortunately we met where a
number of hewed logs had been drawn together for the purpose of
erecting a house. Requesting my strange audience to be seated on
the logs, I preached the gospel to them by the roadside. At the
close of the service the congregation took the road home, and I
went on to my next appointment.
At this time Fairbury Circuit consisted of
Fairbury, Steel City, Rock Creek, Rose Creek, and Hurlbert
appointments. Providing myself with a pair of old-fashioned
saddlebags, I traveled this large circuit on horseback. At one
point on the charge I was not well received, which caused me great
sorrow of heart. The brethren at this place had requested the
presiding elder to send them a married man, and I was now single.
Besides, I was a boy in the work, and but recently from the farm.
The three combined faults were very hard for some of them to
endure even for one year.
Notwithstanding the opposition which I met at
some of the points, success crowned my feeble efforts as long as I
remained on the charge. Time to me, now, was very precious. My
Conference studies were to be brought up, and studies in the
common branches of the English language were continued. I could
carry on my reading and study only in leisure hours at home, or
while riding from house to house in pastoral work and from one
appointment to another. There being no church building of any kind
on the entire charge at that time, our meetings were
held in sod-houses, dug-outs, and small frame schoolhouses,
where a goodly number of the settlers gathered to hear the gospel
and worship the Lord.
I soon learned that to succeed as a Methodist
preacher in a new country I must have "get, grit, and grace," and
that I must fear neither debt, dust, nor the devil, and the homes
of the poor and destitute must be visited. The refined and
cultured, too, must be won for Christ and the Church. This work
demanded courage and determination, and was especially hard for
one unused to facing the public, as I was at that time.
I worked on the charge in this way until some
time in the summer at my second quarterly meeting, when the
brother who had been appointed pastor on the Republican Valley
Circuit, including all of the Republican Valley in the State of
Nebraska, came to me, and said, "I have been out on my work, and
there is nothing there; and, besides, I do n't like to go where I
have to use this," at the same time drawing a revolver from his
pocket, and showing it to me. He came to our quarterly-meeting to
see if the presiding elder would not give him another work.
After
listening to his pitiful story, the presiding elder concluded
to relieve him of his charge, and give him a part of mine,
especially that part where they wanted a married man. To this I
gladly consented, and for a short time we worked the Fairbury
Circuit together.
Soon after the above-named quarterly-meeting,
Brother Maxfield, our presiding elder, wrote me that there were
Methodists at Red Cloud, in the Republican Valley, and he wanted a
minister to look after them, adding, "There is no use sending
Brother C., whom the Conference had assigned to that work. I want
some one who has sand in his craw."
After duly considering the matter, I wrote
him that I would volunteer to go. It was not long before an answer
came to my letter, relieving me of the Fairbury Charge, and
informing me that the presiding elder would be pleased to have me
go to Red Cloud, see what was going on there, and, if possible,
form a circuit throughout the valley. By this time I had provided
myself with an old buggy, and was pretty well fixed for traveling.
Persuading a young class leader A. L. Goss, deceased, who was
afterward
admitted into Nebraska Conference on trial to accompany me to
the new field of labor, with horse, buggy, and camp equippage, we
turned our faces toward Red Cloud. If failing to find a house
where we could stay when overtaken by night, we camped by the
roadside in the open air. I well remember camping one evening on a
beautiful spot by the roadside, and of thinking what a nice night
we should spend in such a comfortable place. We had been in bed
but a short time when more than a thousand callers came, and with
a thousand voices sang their evening song, all claiming blood
relationship, which we soon realized to be true, for before they
left us we knew that they were blood of our blood. If there is
anything more annoying than the pesky mosquito when one is tired
and sleepy, it must be either fleas or bedbugs. We fought our
assailants until almost morning, when they retreated with their
spoil, and left us in full possession of dreamland.
In the evening of the next day we reached
Guide Rock, a little town in the Republican Valley, a few miles
below Red Cloud, where we put up with a Mr. G., who was one of the
leading
men of the place. When informed who we were and of our
business, he seemed wonderfully surprised. I thought then, and
still think, that he suspected we were rogues of some kind. Early
the next day we reached Red Cloud, and the first man we met at
this little town was ex-Governor Garber, who seemed pleased to
know of our mission. Following his directions, we found a
Methodist family some four or five miles from town. On visiting
this family (F. E. Penny), and making ourselves known, we were
received with joy and gladness. Here we spent the night, and
learned of five Methodists in the community. Saturday, the
following morning, we left an appointment at Brother Penny's house
for Sunday morning service, and went on up the valley in search of
other Methodist people. After traveling about five miles, we
encountered a family who were encamped and taking dinner by the
roadside. We called upon them, made ourselves known, learned they
were Methodists, took dinner with them, and prayed and had a
rejoicing time. Near where his tent stood, this good Methodist,
Brother Knight, afterward built a house, in which I preached often
for about eight-
een months. Here, too, we had Sunday-school, singing-school,
and a Methodist hotel. Here was formed a little class, with
Brother and Sister Knight at the head, who became leaders of all
Church work in the community.
After our enjoyable dinner and a profitable
season of prayer and praise in Brother Knight's tent, as before
mentioned, we returned to Brother Penny's, near Red Cloud, where
we had left the appointment for Sunday morning.
On Sunday morning I preached in Brother
Penny's house, and formed a class of five; namely, F. E. Penny,
Hattie Penny, John Penny, James Romine, and Elizabeth Romine. This
was the first sermon preached in that section of country by a
traveling minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the
first class formed at Red Cloud or anywhere on what is now the
Hastings District. The class was formed some time in the latter
part of the summer of 1871.
On the following Monday morning, after little
more than a week's absence, I started on my return trip, to remove
my few effects to the new field of labor. I reached Fairbury,
dusty, hungry, and tired, but well pleased with my trip.
After a few days' rest and preparation, my
valuables were packed in a one-horse buggy, and I bid adieu to the
people of Fairbury, and started back to the Red Cloud country.
Traveling up Rose Creek, and crossing the ridge between the Little
Blue and Republican Rivers, I found only one house after leaving
the head-waters of Rose Creek, until reaching the Republican
Valley, where I obtained lodging for the night with a family
living in a dug-out. There was only one room in the house, which
was used for sitting room, kitchen, and bedroom. The husband was
gone from home, leaving the mother alone with her little children;
and yet I was made welcome and comfortable for the night. There
were two beds in the room, with the foot-boards snug against each
other. On one of these I slept, while the mother and her children
occupied the other. Such is itinerating in a new country. Here
were no hotels, but nearly every house afforded entertainment for
the traveler. The next morning was a soul-cheering one, and with
joy I went on my way up the Republican Valley. During the day a
number of houses were passed. I think about noon I passed a place
where peo-
ple were living. Traveling on until late in the afternoon, my
horse began to show signs of weariness, and I looked about for a
place of shelter; but seeing none, I continued my journey until
late in the evening, when I decided to camp for the night. I
stopped by a bush about four feet high, and, unhooking the horse
from the buggy, I tethered him by the roadside. After making my
horse as comfortable as possible, I began to prepare a place for
myself. I set to work pulling grass, and piled it under the bush
for a bed. After gathering a sufficient amount for this purpose, I
stretched an umbrella over the bush, and retired to bed and to
sleep. On the prairie, in the grass, and under a bush, my slumber
was wholesome. The morning dawned bright and clear; but found me,
as did the night, without food to stay the cravings of hunger. As
the sun rose, I began my journey toward the west, earnestly
looking for a house where my hunger might be satisfied. After
going about ten miles, I found one, and of course was not turned
away hungry, for such was seldom the manner of the early settlers.
The reader may be sure that that was a relished meal. It was
good,
wholesome food, highly flavored with about twenty hours of
fasting.
Leaving my hospitable entertainers, I passed
on to Guide Rock, and found lodging for the night. The following
day I reached the house of Brother Penny, where I made my
home.
Now came the tug of war with real frontier
work in the ministry. For the first few months my time was
principally spent in looking over the country for Christian people
and for houses to preach in. Soon after reaching Red Cloud an
appointment was made at Brother Penny's, about four miles
southwest of town, and at Brother Knight's, some five miles from
Red Cloud up the valley, and another one about eight miles
southeast of town.
At the Penny appointment preaching was in
Brother Penny's house, which was a log building, with a roof made
of "shakes" split from the native oak-trees on his own place. Here
I had a good preaching point during my entire pastorate on the
charge. At Red Cloud I procured a vacant log building, which I
occupied for a short time, then preached in Mr. Garber's storeroom
for a while; after this I moved into a dug-
13
out in the south part of town, which shall be noticed further
on. At the Knight appointment I preached in Brother Knight's
house, and, if I remember correctly, it was covered with poles and
dirt, and had a floor of native soil. Here, as previously noticed,
we sang, prayed, preached, ate, and slept, all in the same room,
and had a glorious, good time. At the appointment southeast of Red
Cloud we had preaching and Sunday school in a dug-out in the bank
of a creek, where we worshiped the Lord in the winter season, and
in the summer we worshiped under the branches of two large
oak-trees. Under these native trees I preached, held
Sunday-school, and we made the woods and hills ring with our songs
of praise and plain gospel sermons. I often wonder if the echo of
my voice is not still heard in that new country. The many happy
hours I spent among those warm-hearted early settlers in dug-outs
and sod-houses, will never be forgotten. They will be held in
sweet remembrance as long as I live.
The house where I boarded was about as good
as the country afforded at that time, and yet it was a very
uncomfortable place in cold,
stormy weather. Many times I have sat poring over my books
while the snow sifted through the roof upon them, and I was
compelled to throw something over my shoulders and sit in a
stooping posture in order to keep my books from being soiled.
Though the house was open to the cold, we could keep comfortably
warm, for we were blessed with plenty of wood and a large
fireplace. I say plenty of wood: there was plenty close by, but
much of the time I carried it from the grove on my own shoulders.
In cold weather, Brother Penny was usually on the road teaming,
and left me to replenish the wood-pile without a team.
Another burden was imposed upon me. A good
brother who lived a mile from my boarding place was compelled to
leave home and find work, that he might provide bread for his
family. While he was away, there came a heavy fall of snow. The
weather grew exceedingly cold, and the fuel he had provided for
his family was entirely consumed. As there was no other man near,
it fell to my lot to replenish this brother's wood-pile also, and
keep his family from freezing. He had drawn up a lot of ash-poles
for
fencing, which I converted into stove-wood, and, on his return,
he found his fencing had been burned to ashes.
There is a vast difference between acting the
part of a city pastor and preaching on a large circuit in the
frontier work. While the city pastor is sitting in his cozy study
at home, the frontier preacher is perusing his books in a cold
room, with the family of children about him, or traveling through
the deep snow to meet his appointments, or to relieve the sick and
destitute. Yet there is a glory in laying the foundation of our
beloved Zion in a new country that many of our Eastern preachers
know nothing of. I have no disposition to envy the comparatively
easy lot of our Eastern brethren; but I do sympathize with them in
their loss of the glory there is in laying the foundation of our
Church in new fields, upon which others may build.
In all my travels on that large circuit at
Red Cloud through the snow and cold, piercing winds of winter, I
neither had an under-garment nor an overcoat. Being born a
backwoodsman, I did not mind such things as one would who
had been used to the comforts of life. On this charge I had
some difficulty in finding houses to preach in; for when first
going to the place there were no schoolhouses in all the country;
so I preached in private houses, hoping for the time when my
congregation could have even a sod schoolhouse to worship in. Even
in the town of Red Cloud I was compelled to resort to a little
dug-out on the outskirts of the village, where we held a series of
meetings which resulted in great good for the Master's cause. Let
the pastors of the present-day beautiful churches in Red Cloud
rejoice that they are so comfortably situated, and remember that
the first pastor and his little flock in that now flourishing town
preached, sang, and prayed in a small dug-out in the ground.
On first coming to this country, I found
Indians, buffaloes, deer, antelopes, turkeys, thousands of
prairie-dogs, and a few white men with their families. What a
change has taken place in that country in so short a time! Then it
was new, wild, and desolate; now it is a well-settled, rich, and
fertile country, with schoolhouses and churches; and fine
residences have taken the
place of the dug-out, the sod-house, and the log cabin. The
first winter I spent there, I killed twelve wild turkeys, two of
which were shot from the window of my room. Besides these, Brother
Penny killed some seven or eight. So you see the wild turkey took
the place of the yellowlegged chicken. Then, occasionally, some
one chanced to kill a deer or a buffalo, which went far toward
supplying the table with meat the entire year.
During the winter we held a revival-meeting
in our dug-out church, eight miles southeast of Red Cloud. Though
worshiping (sic) under ground, there were many souls saved and
made happy in the Lord, and there was a glorious awakening among
the people of God. Truly the Lord is not confined to the large
assemblies, the city-full, or the fine churches, but meets and
blesses his people in the dug-out, the sod-house, and the
log-cabin. 0 what a wonderful God is our God, who heareth the
prayers of his people at all times and in all places!
In the spring of 1872 I finished my first
year's work in the Conference and on the Red Cloud Circuit, and
went to Conference to report my
charge. Traveling from Red Cloud to the seat of Conference, a
distance of a hundred and fifty miles or more, through mud, rain,
and cold, I reported as follows: Full members, 23; probationers,
6; received on salary from the circuit, $32; from the Missionary
Society, $150--making $182 for the year. The bishop returned me to
the Red Cloud Circuit, where I spent another year of toil and
hardship, worrying through the year about as I did the previous
one. During the warm season I had a good and enjoyable time in
traveling up and down the valley and across the prairie with my
horse and buggy; but in the snow and severe winds of winter, being
poorly clothed, I suffered intensely from the cold. During this
year a class was formed at Guide Rock, which was made a regular
preaching-point, though there were but few Methodists at the place
or within reach of it. I now had five preaching-points on the
charge, which gave me abundance of work.
In the summer of 1872 we held a camp-meeting
southwest of Red Cloud, on what was called Penny Creek. Here we
had a successful meeting, and received some fifteen into the
Church on probation, and the presiding elder, J. B. Maxfield,
baptized a number of converts in the Republican River--the first
Methodists baptized in that river in Nebraska.
During the week of our camp-meeting a heavy
rainstorm visited the camp, saturating the ground to such a degree
that it was unfit for use; so the presiding elder and I, with a
few of the brethren, went on a buffalo-hunt. We hunted all day
without seeing any game, and came home tired and hungry, as
hunters usually do. But the elder and the brethren went out the
second time, with better results. After hunting a few hours in the
morning, they came upon their game, wounded a large male buffalo,
and chased him for several miles. He ran until he could or would
go no farther, and then seemed determined to defend himself.
Halting not far from where two young men were in camp, he
unmistakably showed signs of fight. On seeing that he would go no
farther, one of the young men, taking his gun, walked out toward
him. As he was approaching the beast, one of our men called to him
not to go too close, or he might be hurt. Paying no atten-
tion to the warning, he went on, swearing that he would kill
the animal. When within a few rods of the enraged beast, he
presented his gun for firing; but the buffalo made a lunge for
him, caught and crushed him to the ground, and threw him five or
six feet into the air. As he came to the ground, the buffalo
prepared for another attack, when one of our men shot the beast
through the heart, killing him instantly. The young man was taken
to his camp. Our men dressed the buffalo, and returned to the
campground with enough beef to supply every person there for more
than a week. It was reported that the young man attacked by the
buffalo died the day after being wounded. How carelessly and
foolishly some men will rush into the jaws of death!
Our camp-meeting closed with the good results
already mentioned, and every one went home greatly benefited by
having attended. The presiding elder, J. B. Maxfield, and a family
by the name of Hurlbert came to this campmeeting from Fairbury,
nearly eighty miles distant, in a covered wagon. Thus the reader
can see something of the presiding elder's work and
what he passed through in the early days of Methodism in this
new country. Brother Maxfield's district extended from somewhere
east of Beatrice as far west as the Nebraska line, a distance of
more than three hundred miles, though he was not required to go so
far west; for as yet much of the country was unsettled.
On the Red Cloud Circuit, in my second year,
the people were in very straitened circumstances, so that it was
impossible to feed and clothe themselves comfortably. To add to
their misfortunes, the grasshoppers came upon them by the
millions, and destroyed their crops, and they were compelled to
bring corn and flour to feed themselves and their teams
seventy-five or a hundred miles on wagons; for as yet there were
no railroads in this country. I well remember making more than one
trip of the kind to get feed for my ponies. Early in the spring of
1872 a good brother and I went with two teams after corn for our
horses. When we left home, there was a great deal of snow on the
ground, the weather was cold, and the ground frozen hard. After
loading up our corn and starting for home, the weather grew
warm,
melting the snow, and filling the ravines and creeks with
running water. There being no bridges, it was necessary to cross
the streams by fording. One day, after wading through water and
slush-snow until we were wet from head to foot, we came to a creek
that was swollen so full that we dared not drive our teams into
it. Here we were, the shades of night fast approaching, and no
prospects of crossing the stream. Our only chance seemed to be to
wait for the stream to fall; for with our loads it was impossible
to go around it in either direction. At length, casting our eyes
far up the stream, we saw a house, with signs of life. While I
remained with the teams, my companion went in search of lodging
for the night. In a short time he returned, accompanied by another
man, who helped us move our loads to his house, and kept us until
morning. When our teams were cared for, our host furnished each of
us with a suit of dry clothes, and spared no pains to make us
comfortable. So long as I retain my mind, I shall hold that dear
family in sweet remembrance. Though I have forgotten their names,
I shall not forget their kindness. They were
Danes, and lived in a large dug-out in the bank of the creek
which had intercepted our journey. Though living in the ground, I
never saw a more orderly and neatly-kept house than theirs.
Everything was as neat and tidy as human hands could make it, and
they seemed to enjoy life as well as if they had lived in the most
splendid palace. The following night we were at home, with corn
enough to feed our horses for several weeks.
Think of the wonderful development of this
country! Only a few years ago the Methodist minister of that place
traveled a hundred miles to obtain horse-feed, and now, from the
same locality, thousands of bushels of grain are shipped over the
railroads to the Eastern markets.
When the welcome warm days of spring arrived,
they brought relief to many families who were suffering on account
of the cold weather, and they brought great relief to me as well.
With warm weather, the buffalo returned to our locality, bringing
to us our summer's buffalo-meat. One day, while preparing my
quarterly report to the Quarterly Conference, which
was to convene that day in my room, buffaloes were seen
crossing the valley toward Brother Burtice's house, which was not
far from Red Cloud, and where I was then making my home. Seeing
there were young calves with them, and neighboring men after them
with horses, I determined to engage in the wild chase once more.
Hastily bridling my spirited horse, I gave a tremendous leap,
intending to light on his back, but went clear over the horse to
the ground on the other side. If the reader could see me now, he
would think it strange that I could mount a horse at all; but
people will change, as well as places. The second attempt to mount
proved more successful, and I rode after the frightened buffaloes,
intending to head them off and turn them from their course, when
they disappeared behind a hill. Urging on my horse still faster,
hoping to overtake and turn them, suddenly I met them coming
toward me at full speed. When my horse saw the frightened animals,
he stopped, sent me over his head in the direction of the
buffaloes, then wheeled about, and ran home. Finding myself on the
ground, I thought I was badly hurt, but soon found my
feet, and, with bridle in hand, I hurried home, with no serious
injury from the fall and no further desire for chasing buffaloes.
This is the only accident that ever happened to me in chasing the
buffalo, and it was the last chase I ever engaged in.
During the year I received but little money;
consequently my wardrobe was in great need of replenishing. The
last white shirt was gone, and my colored ones were giving out. I
had no money to purchase the needed clothing, and felt sure that
none of the brethren were better off. It was near time for the
meeting of Conference, and I knew not which way to turn. But
notwithstanding my embarrassing circumstances, the work was
continued as though I had all the necessaries of life, both in
meeting my appointments and making pastoral calls. On calling, one
afternoon, at a brother's house, I drove into the yard, and found
one of his neighbors talking with him. As I entered the yard, the
neighbor went into the house, and asked the lady who I was, and,
when told, sneaked off home, as we supposed, to hide. He soon
returned, however, and stepping up to me,
handed me a five-dollar bill, saying: "Here, take this; you
need it worse than I do. You will make better use of it than I
can. Besides, I have plenty more." It seemed that he was the only
man in all that country who, had any money, and the Lord touched
his heart and moved him to give me the much-needed funds. With
these five dollars and a three-dollar order on the store from one
of the brethren, my wardrobe was so far replenished that I could
go to Conference with some self-respect.
I must not leave without giving the reader a
pen picture of a heart-rending sight that met my eyes while on
this charge. At that time there were no bridges spanning the
river, and the only way to cross with a team was by fording. One
day, while on my way from home to town, I drove down into the edge
of the water, and saw, in the middle of the stream, a
forlorn-looking woman in a covered wagon, without a team. I called
and asked if she wished to be taken to the shore. She answered:
"The wagon is fast in the sand. My husband has gone to town for
help to take it out, and I can't leave; for I have my dead baby
here with me." It
was a sad sight, that mother, alone with her dead baby in the
middle of the river! As soon as the citizens learned of her
condition, they came and helped her out, and sent the family on
their journey. I have often thought of that sorrowful scene, and
wondered what became of those people, but never heard from them
again. While they were traveling west, their child had died, and
they were taking it to their journey's end to bury it.
During this Conference year I made an
appointment on White Rock, in Kansas, and preached there a few
times. One evening, on returning home from the appointment, night
overtook me before I was half way across the dividing ridge
between the streams, and I had to find my way in the dark. As
there were no roads, I could only find my way by the stars and by
following the ridges, which I knew pointed toward the river where
I made my home. As I was moving through the night on this
fifteen-mile trip home, I routed a number of buffaloes from their
sleeping-places, and they leaped down the hills with a crash as
they disappeared in the darkness.
Among other things to pester and annoy us in
this new country, the Indians gave us no little trouble. Though
they were not hostile, their continual begging tired the patience
of the settlers. A number of Indian warriors came to Brother
Penny's house in his absence, and demanded of Sister Penny
something to eat, and if I had not been there, in all probability
they would have compelled her to feed them. I am sick and tired of
Indians and Indian stories, but am not altogether done with them
yet.
Another year's work is completed, and I go to
Conference to make my second year's report. But before leaving let
me give my experience with a doctor and his wife. Ministers are
often called to visit the sick and pray with the dying. Some time
during my pastorate on this circuit one of our doctors was taken
seriously ill, and thought he was going to die. As he was not a
Christian, like many others at such a time he was very anxious
that the preacher should come and pray for him, so I was called.
Reaching his house quite late in the afternoon, conversation was
continued until nearly dark, when it was suggested that we have
prayers. He said he was
14
glad I had come, and wanted me to pray for him. As the wife was
not expected to die just at this time, she wanted no praying in
the house. Though she said nothing, I could see that she was not
at all in a praying mood. Kneeling by the bedside of the sick man,
however, I offered a hearty prayer in his behalf. While I was thus
praying for the husband, the wife went about the house attending
to her work, and making everything she came in contact with move
with a bang. Paying no more attention to her than she did to me,
the prayer was finished, and the doctor and I began talking of the
salvation of his soul. He promised me and the Lord that, if he
recovered, he would work for the glory of God the rest of his
days. The prayers were answered, the man got well, but, like
thousands of others, lied to the Lord, and went back to serving
the devil.
In visiting the sick and making pastoral
calls from house to house in a new country, a minister meets with
heart-rending scenes as well as amusing incidents. In my pastoral
calls, I have often visited families who were fearfully destitute
of both food and clothing. One day, while about
to call for the first time on a family, not far from the house
I noticed a woman near the roadside sitting in the grass. Driving
on to the house, I was well received by the husband, but the wife
was not present. My coming appeared to cause considerable
confusion, and I saw one of the family slip out with an old dress.
Soon after, the woman I had seen sitting in the grass came in,
wearing the garment I had noticed. The poor woman was saving her
only and well-worn dress to wear when some one should call; but
this time she was caught away from the house without clothing
enough to hide her nakedness. 0, how my heart aches for such
destitute people!
Before leaving this place entirely, let me
call the reader's attention to a few places which I visited as a
preacher outside of my regular work. In the summer of 1872 I went
to the Little Blue River, and held meetings there. I remember
preaching in a little schoolhouse a few miles West of where the
little town of Oak now stands. I suppose it was the first sermon
ever preached in that community. A minister was a novelty in that
country.
During the same summer I preached in a
grove by the side of the wagon-road at what was then Oak Grove
Ranch. The people seemed to be glad of the privilege of hearing
the gospel, and really appreciated the services, though they were
conducted out of doors. Here, along the Little Blue Valley, I
preached in private houses, schoolhouses, and in the groves. I
afterward traveled as pastor over that same ground for a number of
years. Now, besides schoolhouses, they have churches and
towns.
In the spring of 1873, leaving my charge, I
made a trip to the Big Sandy Creek, in Clay County. While on that
trip I held services in "Uncle John Graham's" house, which is
somewhere near the town of Edgar. From that place I went over to a
branch of the Big Sandy, in the Paschal, Thurber, and Stacy
neighborhood. Here a local preacher, F. E. Penny, was engaged in a
revival-meeting in a dug-out schoolhouse, which afterward gave way
to a nice little frame schoolhouse, called "The Star Schoolhouse."
In this dug-out, on the third day of November, 1872, F. E. Penny
organized the first Methodist class in Clay County; and in this
same dug-out I first met Miss Mary Stacy, who is now my
wife. Our life together thus far has been a constant pull, but
we have pulled together; and now our journey is almost ended, and
our life-work nearly done. This dug-out schoolhouse was located
one mile south and about three-fourths of a mile west of the town
of Ong, our present home and parish. Some of the charter members
of that first class are now members in Ong. In fact, this class at
Ong is the "Star" class, formerly mentioned, and hence the oldest
Methodist class in Clay County. In that same dugout schoolhouse
Mrs. Wells (Stacy) taught the district school for three months.
She reports having a good time, when there was neither rain nor
snakes. In rainy weather the water leaked through the roof, and
the earthen floor became so muddy that it was necessary to lay
down boards in the house to keep the children out of the mud. One
day the scholars saw a rain-cloud coming, and, thinking it might
hail, they took the teacher's pony into the schoolhouse to shelter
it from the hailstorm. The roof was neither rain-proof nor
snake-proof. One day, while a class of little children were
standing in a line reciting their lesson, a snake came down
through the roof over
their heads, causing them to disband in double-quick time.
After the class had scattered, the snake dropped down on the floor
near where they had been standing. It had hardly reached the floor
when about a half dozen boys went after it with missiles of death.
With a broken back and a "bruised head," Mr. Snake was expelled
from the school.
OFF
TO CONFERENCE
AGAIN--THE
GREAT APRIL
SNOWSTORM--APPOINTMENT
TO THE LYONS
CIRCUIT--MY
TRIP TO THE
CHARGE--MY
SECOND
MARRIAGE--WORK ON
THE CHARGE.
THE day I left home
for the seat of Conference was warm, calm, and beautiful. The
grass coated the prairie with summer's most lovely green,
presenting a sight that was delightful to behold. The grain showed
life, giving promise of an unusually early harvest. The gardens
indicated early supplies to the toiler. All nature seemed to smile
because of the absence of winter and the early appearance of
summer. While nature thus gloried in its beauty and fragrance, the
people supposed the snows of winter were gone, and that summer had
come to stay. On the thirteenth of April, 1873, while I was on the
road to Conference, the clouds gathered thick and fast, and it
began to rain, and so continued until some time in the night, when
snow approached from the northwest. In the morning of the
fourteenth the snow came quite thickly
215
from that direction and continued to come thicker and faster,
until one of the most terrific snowstorms ever known in that part
of the world swept down in wild fury. The wind blew at a fearful
rate, the snow whirled and fled in every direction, and neither
man nor beast could face it. Horses, cattle, hogs, and sheep by
the hundreds perished in this dreadful storm. A man living near
Red Cloud, while driving toward home, was overtaken by the storm,
and though only three miles away, it was impossible to reach his
destination through the blinding snow. On attempting to drive,
facing the storm, he discovered that his horses were being
smothered by the snow beating into and filling their nostrils, and
every few rods he was forced to stop and relieve them. After a
vigorous effort to reach his family, he gave it up, and stopped at
a neighbor's house close by. The storm continued to rage so
angrily that the wife became alarmed about her husband, thinking
that he must be perishing in the dreadful tempest. In her
excitement she wrapped her babe snugly and warmly in blankets,
took it in her arms, and, as was supposed, went in search of her
husband.
The husband, thinking all was well at home,
remained with his neighbor until the following morning, and when
the storm had somewhat abated, passed on his way home. Reaching
there, he found his wife and child were gone, leaving no signs of
their whereabouts. Believing they might have gone to a neighbor's,
he went to several houses, but discovered no traces of them
anywhere. The neighbors then turned out, and searched the
snow-drifts, and finally found the wife not more than forty rods
from her own dooryard, frozen to death, and her frozen babe snugly
wrapped in its blankets and pressed to her bosom. While out in
search of her husband in the fierce storm, the winds had doubtless
blown her to the ground; she was unable to rise, and soon perished
in the drifting snow.
The storm beat into the houses until, in many
of them, the floors and beds were completely covered with snow,
and in some places the inhabitants nearly perished in their beds.
One man whom I knew in Clay County, had but lately built and moved
into a new house while the roof was yet unfinished. The storm
found him in
this condition, and blew the snow-drifts into his house and
upon his beds so profusely that he and his family were chilled,
and gave themselves up to die. When the storm had spent the
greater part of its strength, with great difficulty a near
neighbor succeeded in reaching them and saving their lives.
A Mr. D., who had recently come from the East
and built a comfortable house for his family, had an amusing
experience during that wonderful storm. His house was so far
completed that it was habitable, but he had no shelter for his
team of oxen. When the storm beat upon them, threatening them with
death, he moved them to the south side of the house to protect
them from the piercing winds from the north. Leaving them there a
short time, he saw that they were likely to freeze to death before
the next morning, if not sheltered in some better way; so he took
them into his house, and kept them there until the next day, when
the fury of the storm had passed.
Many people perished in the storm not far
from their own houses. Others lost the way while attempting to go
to the barn to feed their
stock. Some did not reach their barns for two days, and others
only succeeded in finding them by tying one end of a rope to the
house and the other end to the barn. By following the rope to and
fro they were enabled to care for their stock without getting lost
in the snow. Mr. David Thompson, one of Clay County's earliest
settlers, was compelled to shelter cows, pig, dog, and chickens in
the house with his family, to keep them from perishing. Four head
of cattle, one hog, one dog, all his chickens, and eight persons
occupied the same room. Notwithstanding this storm occurred on
Easter Sunday, the thirteenth of April, it was the most severe and
destructive that the oldest settlers of this country had ever
known.
Many of the people lived in dug-outs that
were completely covered with snow, and the residents were
compelled to dig their way out to keep from suffocating. On the
evening of the third day the storm-cloud broke, and the sun
appeared in the sky. In a few days the snow had disappeared, and
nature put on its most beautiful robe and smiled as before. How
welcome the bright sunshine after a long and severe storm.
So delightfully beautiful will be the home of
the soul after the storm of life is over, and we rest in the quiet
sunshine of God's love!
When the storm had passed away, I resumed my
journey to the seat of Conference. Driving as far as Beatrice,
more than half the distance, I there borrowed money of my mother
to take me the rest of the way on the cars. This year I reported
$132 on salary and a goodly increase of membership on the charge.
The brethren requested the presiding elder to return me to the Red
Cloud Circuit; but he told them that I had seen enough hardship,
and he should remove me, and let some one else try that new field
awhile. At this Conference, held at Plattsmouth, in the spring of
1873, I was admitted into full connection, and on the 20th day of
April, was ordained deacon by Bishop H. G. Andrews. When the
appointments were announced, I was assigned to Lyons Circuit, in
Burt County, near the Missouri River. A long journey was now
before me. I must first return to Red Cloud, my old field of
labor, and go from thence to my newly-appointed field, more than
a
hundred and fifty miles distant, making in all more than four
hundred and fifty miles' travel from the time of starting to
Conference until reaching my new charge, and most of this distance
with my ponies. Returning to Red Cloud, my few effects were loaded
in my light buggy, and I again took the road, plodding through the
mud and rain toward my new home. At this time the Republican River
was high and running rapidly, yet I must cross; so in I went, the
ponies almost swimming. The water was so deep that it came up into
the buggy, and wet some of my books. I afterward learned that one
of the brethren said, "No difference how high the river is,
Brother Wells will cross if he has to take a pony under each arm
and swim over." I crossed, however, without attempting the feat.
This journey of more than one hundred and fifty miles was to me a
long and difficult one. A cold, drizzling rain fell from the
north, keeping me wet much of the time; the roads were rough and
muddy all the way, and the trip was altogether a very unpleasant
one. After a few days of such wading through the mud and traveling
in the
rain, I reached my charge, and found a boarding-place with a
Brother Randall, near the parsonage.
Lyons was a large country circuit, with four
appointments and room for as many more. The parsonage was some ten
miles from any town, and there was no Methodist Episcopal church
building on the entire charge. But there were frame schoolhouses
that admitted preaching, which was quite a treat to me, and at one
point we occupied the Presbyterian church part of the time. It was
the first church building of any kind in which I held divine
service since entering the regular ministry.
Though this was a large and unwieldy circuit,
it was far better than working in the extreme frontier
settlements. The country had been settled for several years, and
there was considerable wealth among the farmers, which enabled
them to give a minister a good support. The circuit had been
organized some four or five years, and was quite prosperous. I now
felt my weakness more forcibly than at any time since entering the
ministry. Here I was required to preach to lawyers, doctors,
school teachers, and
preachers, all of whom had better early advantages in the line
of education than myself. This had a tendency to provoke me to a
more diligent study of the common English branches, while at the
same time pursuing my Conference course. But few can realize the
amount of work I had to do on so large a circuit, probably more
than any other young man in the Conference. Besides my Conference
studies, which I felt must be kept up, I was still pursuing some
of the common branches of learning, making double work in the line
of study. On the Lyons Circuit I had what I then thought to be a
good and easy time, though there was a great deal of frontier work
to be done on the charge. Some days I traveled forty miles, and
preached three times during the day, eating nothing from early
morning until ten o'clock at night. Only a person with an iron
constitution can endure such wear and tear as this and last
long.
During one of my rounds on this charge I
preached at an evening appointment in the dark. Our meetings at
this point were held in a country schoolhouse, where the brethren
depended on carrying lamps from home to light the house.
What is everybody's business is nobody's
business; consequently each came to the meeting depending on the
others to provide the necessary light, and darkness was the
result. Having congregated for services, I determined not to
disappoint the people--for I had driven some fifteen miles to
preach to them, and would not be at the place again for two
weeks--so I preached without seeing my audience. Perhaps I would
make a better impression on the minds of my hearers if I should
always preach to them in the dark, especially when my coat is as
seedy--as sometimes happened.
On the charge I found Methodist people of
considerable means and influence, which was a great help to me in
my work. Among these was Uncle David Clark, a wealthy farmer, a
lover of Methodism, and a warm friend of the preacher, in whose
house the itinerant always found a welcome. Brother Yeaton was a
well-to-do farmer, not far from the little town of Lyons, from
which the circuit took its name. He, too, was a stanch Methodist,
and always had a home for the preacher. At Brother Yeaton's house
I had an unpleasant experience
with an Indian, who called for dinner for himself and squaw,
promising fifty cents for the two. Brother Yeaton was not at home,
and the Indian seemed to think he could do as he pleased with
Sister Yeaton in regard to the dinner. After the two had eaten
their fill, they began to gather up the food that remained, and to
put it in their blankets to carry away to their camp. As Sister
Yeaton was somewhat frightened, and knew not what to do, I stopped
them from taking the food, and told them they should pay her for
what they had put in their blankets. This they at first refused to
do, saying that their papooses at the camp were hungry, and must
have something to eat. Seeing they were determined not to pay her
at all, I snatched a tomahawk lying beside the plate of the buck
Indian, and said to him, "I shall keep this until you pay the
woman for what you have eaten and taken from the table;" for they
had put more in their blankets than they had eaten. Having no
desire to part with his highly-prized tomahawk, he reluctantly
paid all I asked, and departed. There is little or no use trying
to reason with Indians of this kind; they will only do that
which
15
is right when compelled. If this Indian had not been interfered
with, he would have taken all the food from the table, and left
without paying the woman a cent.
It would be unjust to pass by without
mentioning Brother and Sister Shaw, who lived near Lyons on this
charge. No one took more pains to make the preacher and his family
feel at home than they. Their home was a resting-place for
ministers of all denominations who might chance to call for a
night's lodging. To me it was a pleasant place. In my lonely hours
I often resorted to this home, and found relief from loneliness
and sorrow.
On leaving, I thought I should never find any
people who would take as much interest in a preacher's welfare as
some of the brethren on this charge. But wherever I went, I found
others just as good and as thoughtful of the minister. Brother and
Sister Randall, with whom I boarded during the first few months on
this charge, were kind, genial, accommodating, and made a pleasant
home for me while with them. Should their eyes chance to fall upon
these lines, they may know that their kindness
has never been forgotten. The Lord bless those who have been
kind to the itinerant and his family!
When I came to this charge, I was still a
widower, far away from all my folks, and even deprived of the
much-desired companionship of my little child, which was still
with her grandmother, near Beatrice. About three months after
first reaching this charge I returned to Fairbury, Jefferson
County, and, according to previous arrangement, married Miss Mary
Stacy, who was born in Ashtabula County, Ohio, and was raised in
Ashtabula and Lake Counties. You may remember I first met her in a
dug-out schoolhouse, in which I preached while helping a local
minister in a series of meetings, and where she afterward taught
school. After our marriage, we took our little daughter home to
live with us. Up to this writing, we have lived together, and thus
far our union has been a happy one. Mrs. Wells has proved worthy
of the respect of the Church, which she has faithfully served, and
has been a great help to me in my work. She has borne to me four
children, and has been a good mother as well as a faithful
wife. Uncomplainingly she has accepted the hardships and
burdens of an itinerant's life. Though pressed with want in food
and clothing, and pinched with cold because of poor houses and
lack of fuel, she has been the last to complain of her hard lot.
There are but few who realize the trials of the itinerant's wife,
especially of those on new and large fields when the supply is
scarcely enough to keep the family from want. Besides all this,
she, like the minister, is unmercifully criticised (sic) and
expected to be perfect in looks and manners. The year we were sent
to the Lyons Charge, the Conference time of meeting was changed
from spring to fall, making the Conference year eighteen months.
During those eighteen months we had seasons of rejoicing,
interspersed with seasons of sorrow and disappointment. The long
Conference year gave me more time to prepare for examination in
the Conference Course of Study, and went far toward helping me
through. We lived at the time in an unfinished parsonage, a small
house in the country, and here the Lord blessed our home with a
little boy, which increased our cares as well as our joys.
Before we came to this charge the Seventhday
Adventists had been here and led away some of our members,
injuring the religious element in the community, as they always do
where they get foothold enough to induce people to follow them.
Our members who were led away by their influence, finally fell
into sinful ways, observing neither Saturday nor Sunday; for the
natural tendency of such teaching is to cause people to violate
the laws of God and the country at the same time. When the laws of
a country which do not conflict with the laws of God are openly
violated, the laws of God are also violated; for the laws of God
would have us obey the laws of our country.
Conference is again at hand, and we go to
Omaha to report our charge. It is now the fall of 1874, the long
Conference year is ended, and, with others, I go to the sitting to
attend to pressing duties there. This year my report shows eighty
members in full connection and $400 on salary, making about $266
per calendar year for the support of my family. But being used to
this, I was not at all frightened. For three reasons I expected to
return to Lyons Charge an-
other year. First, because the leading members asked for my
return; second, because the presiding elder told them I should be
returned; and, thirdly, because neither Mrs. Wells nor the babe
was well enough to be removed. Thus we fully expected to spend
another year here; but when the appointments were announced, I was
assigned to Norfolk, Madison County, nearly a hundred miles west.
Though I had given myself wholly into the hands of the appointing
powers of the Conference, to do with me as they thought best, yet
I was grieved; for I felt sure that if the bishop knew of my
circumstances he would not remove me. This is the only time in all
my ministry, thus far, that I felt aggrieved on being removed to a
new charge; but perhaps it was the best for us, after all. Knowing
that we were removed to make room for a preacher who did not wish
to go farther west, or, in other words, who would not go to the
circuit to which I was assigned, I had reason to be grieved, I
think. This man, however, was not a member of our Conference, but
was on trial in some other Conference, and came here to find a
soft job. Fail-
ing to find it, in a short time he left his work and went
home.
Before leaving, I must notice some things of
interest to me, if not to the reader. While here I married my
first couple. We were pretty closely run for money at times, and
our wardrobes would become quite worn before we could replenish
them. At one time our little girl was needing a new pair of shoes,
and we had not the means to purchase them. On Sunday, just at this
crisis, as I was going to my appointment, a gentleman met me on
the way, and requested me to marry a couple in the country not far
from the place of my appointment. The invitation was gladly
accepted, and I was soon at the house where the wedding was to
occur. But what could I do? I neither knew a ceremony nor had a
Discipline with me. However, the difficulty was fortunately
overcome. I found a copy of the Statutes of Nebraska containing a
form which I appropriated, and the wedding passed off all right.
It was a lucky discovery for me; for the bridegroom gave me ten
dollars for my services.
Some of the weddings on this charge failed to
be so profitable. A very richly-dressed young man and woman came
to the parsonage to be married. From their appearance, I thought I
would be rewarded with a liberal fee, which I promised Mrs. Wells
for her own spending money. After the ceremony, the bridegroom
called me into the kitchen, and informed me that he was hard run
for money, and I would have to wait on him a few days, to which I
replied, "All right." I do n't know just how many days he calls a
"few," though it must be what we call many, for I have seen
nothing of the wedding fee yet.
I not only had much amusement in regard to
marriage fees while on this charge, but some really laughable
things in regard to my salary. One of the stewards came to me one
day and said, "If you will show me the way around the charge, and
introduce me to our Church people, I will spend a whole day in
trying to collect your salary." Early in the morning we started on
a collecting tour. The first house at which we called was that of
a poor widow, who gave the steward three dollars, which, no doubt,
was a
great sacrifice. The next call was on a brother who was pretty
well-to-do, and he gave something, but I have forgotten how much.
The next call was at the house of a wealthy farmer, where we put
up for dinner. Here the steward thought he would get a good sum,
as the man seemed very religious and willing to do something to
help the Church. After dinner, and enjoying a social chat, the
steward told the good brother his mission, to which he replied,
"Yes, we must do something for Brother Wells," at the same time
feeling in his pocket for the necessary means. Finding nothing
suitable, he said to his wife, "Look in my pants pocket hanging up
there." After carefully searching his pockets, she said, "There's
nothing less than a twenty-dollar bill here." He then told her to
look in the boy's pockets. She had been gone but a short time when
she called out, "Here is ten cents." He replied, "Well, bring that
along; it's better than nothing, and we will try and do something
more for Brother Wells another time." You may be sure we got more
fun out of the ten cents than a sportsman can get out of a hundred
dollars. To the reader this story
may seem almost incredible; but it is a positive fact, and the
steward would swear to it if called upon to do so. Though this man
was well-to-do in this world's goods, he could hardly read and
write his own name, which partially accounts, no doubt, for the
ten cents he gave toward his preacher's salary. What poor,
ignorant mortals there are, even in our own enlightened land!
On this charge it was difficult to get fuel
to keep ourselves warm in cold weather. Without the means to buy
coal, we burned wood, which I drew from the Missouri River, about
thirteen miles away. Having no team heavy enough to draw wood so
far, I borrowed one of a brother, and drew wood on shares, giving
him half for the use of his team. The fuel thus obtained was
driftwood, found along the banks of the river and on sand-bars.
Some of it was dry and good for fuel, but much of it was wet,
soggy stuff, that would hardly burn at all. Perhaps if I had not
been so independent and had been less modest in asking the
brethren to help me, I might have avoided the extra work in
drawing wood so far; but it has always been my disposition to help
myself rather than call upon others; and, as the
brethren complained of hard times, I did what I could in such
manual labor, and still carried on the circuit and my studies. I
have always been timid about demanding my salary; and, if I could,
would far rather earn my living with my hands than ask the
brethren for a dollar. It is always embarrassing to me to know
that the stewards are going from place to place, soliciting funds
for my support. But this can not be avoided, and therefore must be
borne. It seems to be the only way a minister's salary can be
raised on a new field.
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