NEGenWeb Project
Resource Center
On-Line Library
CHAPTER XI
SETTLING
AT
OAKDALE--ROUTED
FROM BED AT A
BROTHER'S
HOUSE--PREACHED
AT O'NEILL
CITY, HOLT
COUNTY--A TRIP UP
THE ELKHORN WITH
BROTHER
WOLF--TURNED
OUT INTO THE
RIVER--TUMOR
REMOVED FROM
MRS.
WELLS'S
BREAST--MOVE
TO ALBION,
BOONE COUNTY,
AND EXPERIENCE
THERE.
AT Oakdale we were not
entire strangers, as in other places where we had been. Attending
a camp-meeting at this place the previous year, we had made the
acquaintance of some of the brethren on the charge, and now,
finding a good-sized parsonage well located, we settled down,
feeling quite at home. The people gathered around us, and made us
feel that we were welcome among them. After settling in our new
home, I went out in search of the members on the charge. Hearing
of a good brother several miles from town, I started for his home,
expecting to spend the night with him. It being farther than I had
supposed, it was late in the evening when I reached the place. The
night was very dark, and the good brother was not at
265
home. The woman seemed glad to see me, but at the same time
appeared ill at ease--I knew not why. Within a few hours after I
had retired for the night, however, the cause of her uneasiness
was revealed. Perhaps half of the night had gone when the family
was called up, and the children were dressed to be sent away. At
first I thought they were rising for the morning work, and lay
still. Soon I heard them whispering, and all at once the cause of
this hurry and bustle flashed on my mind, and I arose and got out
of that cabin at short-meter rate. I was hurried to a near
neighbor's, and there allowed to sleep the rest of the night. In
the morning I learned that there was one more in the family where
I had been routed from bed. Unto them a child was born.
Before reaching home, I met with Brother
Bennette, a most earnest man and a local preacher of excellent
reputation, who proved to be of great service on the charge and a
warm friend of the preacher and his family. How pleasant to meet
such godly men, to whom you can go for counsel and help in times
of need! The Lord bless such local preachers!
At this time Oakdale Circuit embraced
Oakdale, Neligh, Bennette Schoolhouse, and the Rouse Schoolhouse.
This is as I found the circuit, but before I left it was
considerably enlarged. During the winter we had some
revival-meetings, and souls were converted and brought into the
Church. Though Oakdale is farther west, it is an older charge than
the Norfolk or Madison Charge. The parsonage was built some three
years before we came, and the Church was well organized and in
good running order. Here, as at many other places, most of the
Methodists were homesteaders, and were poor in this world's goods,
so there was but little wealth within the Church. As the people
were poor, we could not expect a rich harvest of good things while
among them and depending upon them for the necessaries of life.
During the entire Conference year we received not more than thirty
dollars in cash from the whole charge, and yet we lived tolerably
well. Our salary was principally paid in flour, corn, hay, meat,
drygoods, and groceries; then what need had we for money? We are
not finding fault with the brethren; for they themselves had
but
little or no money. Usually, on these new fields, we received
about fifty dollars missionary money. But for this missionary
appropriation which the frontier preachers received, many of them
would have gone hungry or abandoned their work. Few realize the
good they are doing when giving to the missionary cause. By these
missionary appropriations thousands of new fields are opened which
would otherwise be uncultivated. All the charges that are able to
do it should give liberally to the missionary funds; for they were
themselves once aided by missionary money, and so enabled to
support a minister The giving money to support preaching in your
own community is not a benevolent act; for you receive full value
for every dollar expended in this way. Giving to support preaching
among others, where we never expect to be benefited thereby, may
be called true benevolence; but we never give to a good cause
without being benefited ourselves in some way; for "it is more
blessed to give than to receive." Though a man does n't attend
church himself, he ought to give toward its support; for he is
indebted to it for what it does for him financially.
While he is receiving financial benefit, his
children are being made better by having safeguards thrown around
them, guarding them from moral destruction. Where the gospel is
preached, all are benefited, When one of our missionaries first
went to his field of labor, a native merchant gave him a hundred
dollars. The missionary had been there several months, but saw
nothing of his benefactor in any of his congregations. Meeting him
on the street one day, he said to him: "How is this? When I first
came here, you gave me a hundred dollars to preach for you, and
you have not been to hear me at all." The native said: "That is
all right. I do n't care to hear you; but while you missionaries
are here preaching, my property is safer, and to me it is worth a
hundred dollars a year to have you here." The heathen soon learn
that the gospel is a savings bank wherever preached.
Oakdale was a large circuit on our first
coming here, but we soon added to it, making a very large one,
many miles around.
During the summer I learned that there were
Methodist people up the Elkhorn River as far west as O'Neill City,
about forty miles
from Oakdale. By request of the presiding elder, J. B.
Maxfield, I went there and found a few Methodist families. Every
four weeks I visited and preached to them in one of their private
houses. As I could not give them Sunday services, they would come
together on Thursday evening, and I met and preached to them in a
sod-house, or a dug-out. In this way preaching at O'Neill was
continued during the warm season; but I found it too much of a
task in cold weather. Sometimes I would go up there a day or two
before the appointed time for preaching, and spend the time in
calling on the people or in fishing, becoming a fisher of fish as
well as a fisher of men. I remember once taking the spear and
going down to the river in search of fish. A short distance from
the house I saw one lying close to the shore. It was a large, fine
pickerel, and I became quite anxious to secure it for dinner.
Carefully throwing the spear, I struck it, but it was a very large
one, and as I did not strike it in the right place to hold it, the
fish flounced, broke loose, and swam away. Seeing my game so
deliberately leaving me, I plunged into the river after
it. After following the wounded fish a half mile or more,
wading most of the way waist-deep in water, the chase was
abandoned, and I returned to the house, fishless. Another time,
while on a trip to this place, I stopped on the river bank to feed
the horses and eat a cold lunch, when I saw some nice bass playing
in the water close by. My fish hook was soon put in order and
thrown in, with a hope, to capture them. In a very few minutes I
landed five of them on the shore, and was on the road toward
home.
By request of the presiding elder, Brother J.
R. Wolfe and I made a trip to O'Neill City, and north of there to
Paddock, on the Niobrara River. On our way we would stop
occasionally, call the people together, and preach to them. After
preaching to the people at O'Neill City, we went on to Paddock,
where we found a family of Christian people, and made an evening
appointment for services in their house. At the appointed hour a
few of the citizens came in, and I preached to them from these
words, "I counsel thee to buy of me gold tried in the fire." If I
remember correctly, the citizens told us this was the first sermon
preached in that
community and the first religious meeting of any kind in the
place. After making due inquiry about the country and the
religious element in the neighborhood, we turned our faces toward
home, inquiring for Methodist people as we found opportunity. On
our way home, we had an amusing adventure in crossing the Elkhorn
River. There having been a great deal of rainfall, the river was
overflowing its banks and running around the bridge. We crossed
the bridge at the little town of Neligh all right; but there was a
swift current on the other side, between the bridge and the dry
land; not so deep, however, but that we thought there would be no
trouble in driving through with our team. We were just fairly
getting into the current when down went one of the front wheels
into a hole, throwing us over the wheel into the water, with, our
hats, coats, and all our baggage. Picking myself up, I saw our
hats moving away with the swift current, and, if not overtaken,
they would soon be beyond our reach. So I gave chase, running
through the water up to my waist, while Brother Wolfe was fishing
the other things out of the river. The day was so warm that we
had been riding with our boots off, and they, too, were in the
water. Another thing which added interest to the scene, we were
both baldheaded. There we were, waist-deep in the water,
barefooted and bareheaded, our hats floating away and I running
after them,--all of which made the scene laughable to any one who
might be looking on. The hats were finally overtaken and brought
back, the other things were rescued, and we were soon home in dry
clothes, laughing over our adventure.
During the year we had some success, and made
encouraging advancement along the border-line. But there was a
great drawback to the work in the shape of a county-seat fight.
Some of our members lived in Neligh and some in Oakdale, two towns
that were rivals for the county-seat. This county-seat fight grew
to such a fever-heat that it not only caused trouble in the
Church, but came near separating husband and wife, who took
different sides in the strife. How foolish neighbors are to let
such trifling things take away their friendship and mar the peace
of the entire community! But how much more sinful and foolish for
brethren in the
18
Church to be divided over them! But such is life here
below.
While yet on this charge, another affliction
came upon us. Shortly after our first child was born, a small,
hard substance made its appearance in Mrs. Wells's right breast,
and grew to a frightful size. It became evident that it must soon
be removed with the knife, or she would be entirely helpless.
Whether she could endure a surgical operation and live, we knew
not, but at the rate the tumor was growing it was plainly to be
seen that it would undermine her health and destroy her life.
After careful consideration and due preparation, we went to
Norfolk for the purpose of having it removed. And what a dreadful
operation it was! In order to perform the operation she was kept
under the influence of chloroform for three-quarters of an hour,
and much of that time the blood was spurting from her breast at a
fearful rate. Though she seemed in much agony while undergoing the
operation, the doctors said that I suffered more than she did.
Every cut of the knife sent sharp pains throughout my body. In
removing the tumor, most of the breast was taken
with it, leaving a frightful wound. After it was removed, the
doctors found that it weighed three pounds and three-quarters.
They said, if left alone, it would have grown to be of greater
weight than her body, and in this way taken her life. From the
loss of blood and the effects of chloroform, it seemed for awhile
that she could hardly recover. Within twelve or fourteen hours
after the operation, however, she began to convalesce, and from
that time increased in strength. Within about two weeks she was up
and walking about the house, and we rode out to Brother A. M.
Cunningham's, several miles away, where we spent a few days, and
then returned to our charge.
Once more the Conference year closes, and our
pastorate ends at Oakdale. On account of Mrs. Wells's poor health,
we did not go to Conference this year. Before the meeting of
Conference the presiding elder told me that, if I wished, he would
leave us at Oakdale, or, if I preferred, he would send us to
Albion, Boone County, where the people had requested that I should
be sent to them. I told him to do as he thought best, and I would
be pleased, When
returns came from Conference, we saw that we were assigned to
the Albion Circuit. I notice, by the Minutes of the Conference Of
1877, that I reported, that year, one hundred and fifty-nine
dollars on salary and fifty-one members on the entire charge. The
reader will here observe how small the amount the preacher
received for his labor in the early days of Methodism in
Nebraska.
We must not leave without giving a brief
sketch of a rain-and-wind storm while at this place. Brothers of
mine, on their way home from the gold-mines in the Black Hills,
called to spend a few days with us. Rolling their covered wagon
close to the house, two or three of them crawled into it to sleep
during the night. Some time in the night the wind began to blow,
and continued to come harder and harder until it seemed that it
would sweep everything away. Soon the rain and hail fell at a most
frightful rate, beating against the house, knocking out the
windows, and, entering the room, drenched the floor with hail and
water. When the wind began to blow the hardest, the boys in the
wagon abandoned it, and came into the house.
After the storm was over, we were anxious to
see what was damaged. Looking out for the covered wagon, we found
it gone. On searching, and finding it nowhere near the house, we
went down town in the direction of the storm, and there it was,
run up against a blacksmith shop. It had received but little
damage, but in its course had stolen somebody's plow.
Our household goods were again loaded upon a
wagon, and we moved to Albion, then a small town in Boone County,
surrounded with about the best land in the State of Nebraska.
There was no parsonage on the charge, and we could hardly find a
house to live in. We finally rented the upper part of the house of
Wm. Daniels, the county sheriff, until we could build a parsonage.
Here, as elsewhere, we found many warm friends, who spared no
pains to make us feel comfortable and at home. Let me say of
Albion and the surrounding country that, in all our travels, I
never found a more genial and social class of people, where the
rich and the poor mingled together as here, and where there was so
little trouble among the citizens of the entire community.
"Behold, how good
and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in
unity!"
At this time Albion Circuit embraced Albion,
Boone, St. Edwards, Moore Schoolhouse, and the Robinson
Schoolhouse on the Cedar River, and part of the time I had an
appointment north of Albion, making six in all. I think the
circuit was as large as any I have ever traveled. The appointments
were not so far apart as on other charges I had served, but there
were more of them, and the membership was badly scattered over the
country. By riding many miles and preaching three times each
Sunday, I managed to give each appointment preaching every two
weeks. I kept an account of the number of miles traveled this
year, going to and from my appointments, and it was somewhere up
into the thousands; but, as the account is lost, I am not able to
tell just how many thousand.
Our living in the house with the county
sheriff gave us some amusing things to remember and laugh at, one
of which I must relate: A neighbor's girl was accused of insanity,
and was brought to the sheriff's house and kept here until she
could have her trial and be sent
to the asylum. Growing much worse after being brought here, she
became a raving maniac, and was inclined to fight those who came
near her. She was put in a small bedroom by herself, and rested
there quietly. As we were helping to care for her, I said to the
sheriff, "Now wife and I will go to bed, and if you need us for
anything, call, and we will help you." We then went to our room,
and were about getting into bed, when we heard the slamming of a
door, and in an instant the sheriff, followed by his wife, rushed
pellmell up the stairway, calling for a light, and acting as if
they thought the poor, afflicted girl was after them to tear them
in pieces. It seems the sheriff's wife had gone into the girl's
room with a lighted lamp, and as she was turning to leave, the
crazy creature, with all her might, slammed the door shut. The
quick swinging of the door blew out the light. The woman,
supposing that the girl had leaped from her bed, blown out the
light, and shut the door, intending to tear her in pieces, was
wonderfully frightened, and, with the sheriff, ran up the stairs
as for life. Striking a light, we went down again, but could hear
nothing
of the girl. All was quiet in her room. The sheriff told his
wife to open the door and see what she was doing; but the wife
told him it was his business to look after her, and to do it
himself, as he was sheriff. The sheriff was so modest that he
dared not go into the room, lest she should be out of bed in her
nightclothes. Our hired girl volunteered to go into the room, and
found the girl quietly lying in her bed, with no signs of having
been out of it. All this commotion was caused by the girl's
reaching out and slamming to the door.
After living in this house about three
months, we built a parsonage, and moved into it. Here we had good
quarters and a comfortable house for a frontier preacher, but a
poor one for an Eastern man. The lumber for this parsonage was
drawn from Columbus, about forty miles distant. Money was scarce,
and it was difficult to get carpenters to work on the building, so
I turned out and worked on it myself until it was finished, doing
about as much hard work as any other man.
During the spring there were a great many
thunderstorms at Albion and vicinity that did
considerable damage. Soon after moving into our new parsonage,
a storm visited the country, accompanied by a heavy rainfall and
tremendous peals of thunder. After a very sharp clap of thunder
men were seen hurrying by, as if greatly excited. On inquiry, we
learned that the lightning had killed one of our neighbor's girls.
As soon as possible, Mrs. Wells and I made our way through the
water and mud to the house, only to find the girl dead and the
family almost wild with grief. The girl was a stout, rugged young
woman. She had just finished a large washing, and lain down on a
lounge near the wall to rest when she was struck by the lightning
and instantly killed. The family dragged her out of doors into the
mud and water, hoping to bring her to life, but in vain; her soul
had taken its everlasting flight.
As there was yet good Government land to be
had not far away, I concluded it would be a good thing to take a
timber claim, and, while building up the Church, I could secure a
hundred and sixty acres of land. Selecting a good claim, I went on
it, and began improvement by plowing around it with my own team,
and hired
some of the brethren to do the necessary breaking-up. While
camping on the claim, my horses got frightened, broke loose, and
left me one night, a little after dark. A young man who was in
camp with me had two good horses, which we mounted and started in
pursuit of the runaways. As the night was very dark, we thought it
useless to follow them far, and turned back to the camp. just
before reaching our wagons, we saw something coming over the hills
toward us that looked like a wild, vicious animal. When we stopped
to look at it, it would stop; and when we moved, it would move.
Having no weapon with which to defend ourselves, we urged our
horses toward the camp, not wishing to come in contact with a
vicious animal in the dark. On going in search of my ponies the
next morning, I went to the place where we had seen the frightful
animal, and carefully examined the ground for signs of the beast,
only to learn that it was a bush that had been set in the ground
by the surveyor while running out the lines of the land.
The young man, my companion in camp,
accompanied me for several miles in hunting for
my ponies, and then turned back, leaving me to foot it alone.
Following their trail through the grass for about ten miles, I
found them at last at the house of a farmer, who was working one
of them at the plow. Getting possession of the ponies, I was not
long in reaching camp. The next day I drove home, glad to find a
shelter from the rain and cold wind.
Before leaving Albion, I paid the brethren
for doing the necessary work on my claim in order to hold it.
After a short absence, I wrote them to be sure and do the work in
time. They answered that, if they lived, the work would be done.
The time passed, and the work was not done; neither were they
dead; but we lost our one hundred and sixty acres of land all the
same. We lost the money we had paid them, and the claim besides.
Perhaps it was for the best that we should not own this land; at
least, we are satisfied with what we have, and hope those brethren
have long since repented of their neglect, as we have long since
forgiven them the debt.
On this circuit, as on all others we had
served up to this time, there was no church building.
There were no church-buildings on this work
of any denomination. Some of our appointments were in sod-houses,
there being only two frame schoolhouses on the charge while we
were here, one at Albion and one at St. Edwards. The
Congregationalists were on the field, but they had no
church-building. A large majority of the people lived in dug-outs
and sod-houses. In fact, there were few houses of any other kind
in the country outside the little towns. One of our brethren in
the Cedar Valley lived in a sodhouse, a description of which may
be of interest to the reader. The entire building was thirty-six
feet in length and twelve feet wide, with but one room. It
contained two families, two cookstoves, two tables, and five beds.
The walls were about six feet high, the roof was composed of
poles, brush, and dirt, and it had a dirt floor. The two families
cooked, ate, and slept in this one room, and many times the
preacher and his family were there, and well entertained, making
three families, all in one room. Those sod houses were very
comfortable houses to live in, when there was not too much dirt
falling down
upon and into things; and when the rain did not prevent the
fleas from sleeping out of doors.
At this time, on the Albion Charge, fuel was
scarce and the most difficult to get of all the other necessaries
of life. As there was no coal in the country nearer than Columbus,
forty miles away, we depended on wood altogether, and this was
drawn from the Cedar bluffs, some nineteen miles away.
Notwithstanding this, we never had so great an abundance of wood
before, and of so good a quality, as at this place. The brethren
made a "bee," and drew up a great pile of good oak-wood, much of
which warmed us twice. Of course, this wood was given (?) to us on
salary; but it was better than money, for we could not keep warm
with money, and money would hardly hire men to draw wood so far in
cold weather. This to us was a pleasant and, to some extent, a
profitable year, there being a considerable increase of membership
on the charge.
Soon after moving into the new parsonage
mentioned above, Miss Cunningham, a young lady living with us, was
married to a Mr. Smith, of Albion, at which time we had quite a
notice
able experience. Mr. Smith was one of the first settlers in the
county, and, being a blacksmith, was well known throughout the
country. As there was a general invitation for all to come to the
wedding, a multitude attended. In connection with the wedding the
brethren announced a donation party for the pastor, which called
to the parsonage many more than could find sitting-room in the
house. As the upper part of the house was in one room, the wedding
took place there, and it was so overburdened with people that the
floor began to give way, causing many to leave the room which
saved the floor from falling. In this crowded place the ceremony
was performed, though the people were almost breathless because of
the trembling floor. Supper was served by passing the plates from
one to the other while the guests were standing.
The Conference year is ended, and the family
and I start for Beatrice, where the Conference is to meet. Again,
with our ponies, we cross the country, and visit our own folks who
live near Beatrice. While here I took to shaking with the ague,
and failed to reach the seat of Confer-
ence until Sunday, almost the last day of the session.
While at home and shaking with the ague, we
were halting between two ways of turning. Our friends at home
wanted me to locate, and I thought it would be a good thing to
come home at least one year, and improve our land, and so add
something to our support while preaching. I finally took a
supernumerary relation, and was left without an appointment.
This year I reported $300 on salary, and a
hundred and twelve members on the charge.
Now I felt lost without a charge, and hardly
knew what to do with myself on Sunday.
© 2001 for NEGenWeb by Pam Rietsch, Ted &
Carole Miller
