CHAPTER XIII.

FIRST NEBRASKA CONFERENCE.

MEMBERS--STATISTICS--" CROWNED ONES"--MARTYR SPIRIT STILL IN THE CHURCH--NEBRASKA CITY DISTRICT IN 1861--A FEARFUL RIDE IN THE COLD--POP-GUN ELDER--S. P. MAJORS--BELLEVUE CONFERENCE--BISHOP SIMPSON--CROSSING THE PLATTE IN A SKIFF-LAURA BEATTY--AN AWFUL TRAGEDY--A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE.

HE first session of the Nebraska Annual Conference was held in Nebraska City, beginning April 4, 1861. Bishop Thomas A. Morris presided.
     The following persons were members: Isaac Burns, H. Burch, H. T. Davis, J. T. Cannon, Wm. M. Smith, J. W. Taylor, Martin Prichard, T. Munhall, Philo Gorton, Jerome Spillman, Z. B. Turman, and J. L. Fort. L. W. Smith and David Hart were admitted into full connection, making in all fourteen members.
     The following are the statistics:

      We have seen that little Conference of fourteen members grow into three Annual Conferences,

thirteen districts, three hundred and fifty-four appointments, and thirty-one thousand two hundred and twelve members. "The little handful has become a thousand, and the small one a strong nation." Of the fourteen charter members of the Nebraska Conference, four have "ceased to work and live."
     Of the "crowned ones" of that noble, heroic, and God-honored band, the first was Isaac Burns. Brother Burns was a simple-minded, conscientious, sweet-spirited, deeply pious man. A very common remark of his was, "It is a nice thing to be a Christian." One always felt benefited spiritually by being in his company. He had an easy way of giving to every one a spiritual uplift. Not long before he died, while on his way to Conference he preached a sermon in Nebraska City which made a most profound impression on all who heard it. His text was taken from the 73d Psalm and 24th verse: "Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." He began by saying: "Whatever the sermon may be, one thing is certain, I have the prettiest text in the Bible." It was a sermon full of the marrow of the gospel, as all his sermons were. The fragrance of that one sermon has come down through the years, and its rich aroma still lingers in the hearts of some who heard it.

     Martin Prichard was the second who received an honorable discharge from the Master. On the 24th of March, 1877, he heard the welcome words, "It is enough, come up higher." Among those who took a most active part in laying the foundations of our Zion in the eastern part of Nebraska, was Brother Prichard. In Cass, Otoe, Nemaha, Richardson, and Pawnee Counties, as pastor, and as presiding elder of the Lincoln and Nebraska City Districts, he did a work for God and the Church, the grand results of which will only be known in the great day of eternity.
     Next to follow was David Hart. He was an Englishman by birth, a Methodist through and through, consecrated wholly to God; and his death, as his life had been, was a triumph. On the 14th of January, 1878, in Colorado, where he had gone for his health, the chariot came from the skies to meet him, and he passed triumphantly home.
     The fourth of this true and tried band was J. T. Cannon. July 24, 1883, Brother Cannon, from his home in Cass County, went up to join his comrades in the skies. He was a Methodist preacher, of the olden type, zealous, devoted and true. Many and many a time I was hospitably entertained by him and his noble wife, at their home on their farm in Cass County. Their house was the home of the Methodist itinerant.

     The gap made by the death of these was filled by others who proved themselves just as true as their predecessors. "The workmen die, but the work goes on." Many of these have fallen, and they in turn have been succeeded by others.
     Aside from the charter members of the Conference, others, who joined later, have also been "crowned." The following are their names: J. J. Roberts, Thomas Alexander, D. J. Ward, T. A. Hull, A. J. Combs, W. B. Slaughter, C. W. Giddings, A. L. Goss, A. G. White, H. W. Warner, Samuel Wood, W. D. Gage, W. E. Davis, T. S. Goss, S. P. Vandoozer, William Peck, and Thomas B. Lemon. Mr. Wesley said: "Our people die well." The above long list from the roll of the Nebraska Conference was not an exception. These brave men fell, all covered with glory. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like theirs." They fell, "as the plumed warrior on the field of battle, with the ensigns of victory waving all around him." Noble dead! Peace to their ashes.

"Servants of God, well done!
     Your glorious warfare's past;
The battle's fought, the race is won,
     And ye are crowned at last."

     Of the ten remaining charter members of the Nebraska Conference, two have fallen away; eight remain to till the Master's vineyard. Of these
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eight, only two are "effective,"--Hyram Burch and the writer. Brother Burch is strong and vigorous. His name is familiar throughout the State. He has been an untiring worker for God. Modest and retiring in disposition, he has never pushed himself to the front. When the final day of reckoning comes, and every man shall stand upon his own merits, Brother Burch will occupy a higher position, and on his brow, methinks, will rest a brighter crown, than those of some who have occupied more prominent positions in the Church militant.
     The other six, J. L. Fort, J. W. Taylor, L. W. Smith, Z. B. Turman, W. M. Smith, and P. Gorton, are on the superannuated list, and work as they are able. Their heads are silvered with the frosts of many winters, but the fire of youth burns in their hearts. They have, like the venerable patriarch Abraham, reached "a good, old age, full of years," and will" soon be "gathered to their people."
     Three were admitted on trial at the first Nebraska Conference, and four, who had been received on trial by the Kansas and Nebraska Conference the year previous, were advanced to the second class, making in all seven. Among the seven probationers of that memorable little conference was Rev. T. B. Lemon. Dr. Lemon's name is familiar in almost every household of the

State. For twenty-five years he was one of the leaders of the hosts of our Zion on the frontier. Every position that he was called to fill by the church, whether as pastor, presiding elder, superintendent of missions, or agent of a great university, was filled with credit to himself and honor to the Church. On Wednesday, February 19, 1890, at the ripe age of seventy-one, at his home in Omaha, he was called from the Church militant to the Church triumphant in heaven. His praise is in all the Churches.
     Of those seven probationers, three only remain: J. W. Alling, now of the Rock River Conference; Wm. A. Amsbury is presiding eider in the West Nebraska Conference, and is doing a grand work in laying deep and broad the foundations of our Church; and Dr. J. B. Maxfield is presiding elder in the North Nebraska Conference, and is establishing our Church in that part of the State.
     We need not go back to the earlier history of the Church to find heroes and heroines. They are in the Church to-day. The days of self-sacrifice for the Master's cause have not passed. The martyr-spirit is still in the Church.
     From the day when Christ said to my happy soul, "Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven," I have been very deeply interested in the cause of missions. I read, years ago, with delight, of

Cox, and Judson, and Morrison, and, later, of Coan at Hawaii, and Taylor in India and Africa; and as I read of their noble deeds and daring, there came to my heart a thrill of inspiration. Often since then have I been inspired anew as I have read of the missionaries who have bid adieu to friends, loved ones, and their native land, and have gone to foreign shores to proclaim the gospel to the heathen, and spend the balance of their lives in a land of strangers. All honor to these brave men and women! A rich reward awaits them in the skies. But a nobler band of heroes and heroines never graced this planet than the men and women who are laying the foundations of our Church on the frontier in the West. Many of them have lived, and are to-day living, on a mere pittance--hardly enough to keep soul and body together. My heart has bled a thousand times for these noble men and their heaven-honored families. No brighter gems will flash from the coronets of the redeemed than will blaze forever from the crowns of many who have spent their lives on the frontier, laying the foundations of the Church. All hail, blessed workmen of the Master!
     The following statistics tell their own story: In 1881 the average amount received from each preacher in the Nebraska Conference was $228. The largest salary received was $495, and the

smallest $28. Think of a pastor and his wife living a whole year on a salary of $28! In 1887 there were seven preachers in Nebraska who received an average of only $44.80 each for the year's work. On this small stipend these brave men stood at the post of duty; counting not their lives dear unto themselves for the Master's cause. Talk about moral heroes! You do not have to go to the annals of the past, nor to heathen shores to find them. They are here right among us, in the bounds of our own Conferences. These persons are making a record for eternity of which they will be proud when the world is on fire.
     At the first Nebraska Conference held in Nebraska City, beginning April 4, 1861, I was appointed presiding elder of the Nebraska City District. My district comprised all the territory south of the Platte River. In this territory is now the Nebraska Conference, and part of the West Nebraska Conference.
     The following is a list of the appointments:

     This was before the days of railroads in Nebraska, and I traveled the district with my own conveyance, which consisted of a bronco pony and a light buggy. I did not allow the weather to interfere with my work. My motto was, "Never miss an appointment." I went, rain or shine, cold or hot. Many and many a time I was drenched through and through with the rain, and many times almost frozen to death. In the winter of 1862, I left home for a two weeks' tour, went to Falls City, and held quarterly meeting, and from thence went to Table Rock, and held another. After services Sabbath evening, I said to my good host and hostess, Brother and Sister Griffin "I should like very much to leave

for home early to-morrow morning." I had fifty miles to travel, and it was necessary for me to get an early start. They were up bright and early, and had breakfast before daybreak. At dawn of day I was ready to leave for home. The weather was bitter cold; the sun rose bright and clear, and there were two sun-dogs as bright almost as the sun himself. My course was northeast. Soon after starting, a. heavy wind arose and blew a stiff gale the whole, livelong day. This wind I had to face. I was dressed warmly; I had on three coats, an undercoat, a heavy overcoat, and over this an oil-cloth coat to keep the wind from penetrating the other clothing. I had not gone many miles before I was chilled through and through. A person may be ever so warmly clothed on these prairies, so that the wind can not possibly penetrate the clothing, yet in breathing the cold air he soon becomes chilled, and if he did not exercise he would freeze to death. After leaving Table Rock I had a stretch of some thirty-five miles to go over a bleak prairie without a single house. When I became chilled I got out of the buggy and walked, or rather ran, until warmed up; then I rode and ran alternately the whole day. Many times during the day I greatly feared I should not be able to make my home, and must succumb to the cold. About four o'clock in the afternoon I came to a little

frame house on Spring Creek, some fifteen miles from home. Here I stopped, thinking I would remain over night if I could obtain accommodations, for I felt it was extremely hazardous to proceed further. The little shanty was not plastered. Nothing but thin clapboards protected the inmates from the fierce December winds. Around, a cook-stove a mother with half a dozen children stood shivering with the cold, trying in vain to keep warm. My teeth chattered, and I shook with the cold more violently, it seemed, than any one ever did with the old-fashioned ague. Really it seemed colder in that house than on the open prairie. I said to myself: "I can't stay here. This is worse than out-doors." I went out, got into my buggy, drove on, and at eight o'clock, almost frozen and completely exhausted, reached home. I felt the effects of that fearful day's ride for many years.
     I was only twenty-eight years old when appointed presiding elder of the Nebraska City District, and, of course, looked quite youthful. Accustomed to associate with the eldership gray hairs and corpulency, neither of which I possessed, my first round on the district struck the people with great surprise, and caused many quaint comments. The first quarterly meeting was held in Nemaha City, on the Brownville Circuit. When I entered the school-house

with Brother Burch, the pastor, at two o'clock, Saturday afternoon, and took my seat at the desk, a sister whispered to a friend and said: "It is too bad the presiding elder did not come himself. He has sent a mere boy to take his place." Similar remarks were made by many during the first quarter about the boy presiding elder.
     On my way to this quarterly meeting I stopped over night at Peru. Here for the first time I met the Honorable S. P. Majors, and was kindly entertained at his home; and ever afterward was welcomed by him and his devoted wife to their hospitalities. After introducing me to his wife, his little son came into the room, and Brother Majors introduced him, saying: "Johnny, this is Brother Davis, our elder." Soon after, Brother Majors went out to do his evening chores; Johnny followed, and as they walked together to the barn, he said: "Pa, did you say that was the elder?"
     "Yes," was the reply.
     "Is that the kind of elder they make popguns out of?" said Johnny.
     The joke was too good for Brother Majors to keep to himself. No man enjoyed a joke better than he. After supper was over, and we were all in the sitting-room together, he told us what Johnny had said. Johnny ran out of the room,
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ashamed and mortified, while the rest of us laughed heartily. Ever afterwards when I met Brother Majors in company, he hardly ever failed to relate the incident, and Brother Majors and his friends had many a hearty laugh at the expense of poor Johnny and myself.
     Some time afterwards, on our way from the Brownville Conference, in company with Bishop Ames and a number of preachers, we all dined at Brother Majors's. In the presence of Johnny and myself, as usual, Brother Majors told the story of the "popgun elder," and the good bishop laughed until it seemed his great fat sides must certainly be sore. Johnny grew up to manhood, and on January 21, 1882, I united him in marriage to Miss Nettie J. Mutz, a most estimable Christian young lady, whom I had known from childhood.
     At Johnny's home, in the northern part of the State, July 13, 1886, Brother Majors passed peacefully away to his home in the skies. His remains were brought to Peru for interment, and on the twenty-ninth day of April, 1886, I preached his funeral sermon to a large congregation of relatives and friends, from Genesis xxv, 8. He occupied prominent positions of trust, both in the State and the Church. He presided over the State Convention which framed the first constitution of Nebraska, and was a lay

delegate from the Nebraska Conference to the General Conference of 1872. He honored every position he was called to occupy. His wise and safe counsels in the State, the Church, and the family still live. The fragrance of his life is with us to-day, and its rich aroma will remain through all time.
     When I took the district, in 1861, the population was sparse and the people poor. They had come from the Eastern and Middle States to the West to procure for themselves homes. There were only three or four places on the district where the people had coffee, tea, or sugar. As a substitute for coffee they used burnt corn, rye, or wheat, and many used what was called "Coffee Essence"--a compound of various ingredients. The principal article for sweetening was "sorghum molasses." Many of these kind-hearted people, who at that time had hardly enough to keep soul and body together, have to-day, large farms, elegant homes, and are among the wealthiest citizens of the State. They have passed from poverty to affluence, and the distance from the one to the other has seemed very short.
     The Conference of 1862 was held at Bellevue. Bishop Simpson presided. He and his wife came by stage from St. Joe, Mo., and in consequence of the high water and the ice in the Platte River were delayed a day. They crossed the

turbid, swift-flowing Platte in a skiff, and, the river being full of ice, the passage was a most dangerous one. One man, with a pole in hand, kept the rushing ice from capsizing the boat, while another rowed; and after a most perilous passage, they reached the northern bank of the stream. Stepping on shore, the party breathed easy after a half-hour's painful suspense. Then on a hayrack the bishop and his good wife rode to Bellevue, a distance of some five miles, reaching the Conference in time for the opening services Friday morning.
     In 1864 the General Conference met in Philadelphia. During the session Bishop Simpson gave the Conference a reception at his own home. I had the privilege and honor of attending that reception. In conversation with Mrs. Simpson on the occasion, she said: "Our trip from St. Joe, Missouri, to Bellevue is one of the most interesting chapters in our lives."
     The bishop was just recovering from his long illness, and was quite feeble in body. We greatly feared he would not be able to preach for us on Sabbath. Saturday afternoon I said to him: "Bishop, we expect you to preach for us to-morrow morning." He gave us a significant look, and smilingly said: " Yes, I will give you a little Presbyterian sermon." As we listened to his

thrilling sermons next day, we said: "If that is a little Presbyterian, sermon, what must a big one be?" His graphic description of the "seven stars and the seven golden candlesticks" was wonderful. And then, as he said in his peroration, "Christ is still walking in the midst of the Churches, holding in his right hand the seven stars," the people were thrilled as with an electric shock, and shouted all over the house, "Glory! Glory!" The memory of that precious hour lingers with the writer to-day.
     The bishop was entertained by Rev. Wm. Hamilton, pastor of the Presbyterian Church. Brother Hamilton was sent out in an early day by the Presbyterian Board of Missions as missionary to the Indians, and in 1855 he organized the first Presbyterian Church in Bellevue. He was greatly delighted with the bishop and the proceedings of the Conference. He had never attended a Methodist Conference before in his life, and seemed much surprised and pleased, and said to me at the close of the Conference: "Do you always have such precious seasons at your Conferences?" My reply was: "Our Conferences are always good, and often seasons of refreshing from the presence of the Lord."
     In 1862, I had the great privilege of witnessing another most triumphant departure from

earth. I stood for a little while in the antechamber of the skies. The poet has truthfully said:
     "The chamber where the good man meets his fate
     Is prized above the common walks of life,
     Quite on the verge of heaven."

     On Saturday afternoon I went out to hold quarterly meeting at Union, an appointment on the Mount Pleasant Circuit. I reached Brother Beatty's, where the meeting was to be held, at two o'clock. Before entering the house a friend said to me: "Laura Beatty is lying very low with fever, and wishes to see you as soon as possible." She was at her sister's, about two miles away. I said to my friend: "I will go and see her as soon as the afternoon services are over." The services ended, I hurried over to where she was, and on entering the room felt, it seemed, as Jacob did at Bethel when he said: "Surely the Lord is in this place." A few weeks before death she had a remarkable dream. She dreamed that her sainted mother came to her, led her out into the grove near by, and talked with her for some time; and as the heavenly visitant was about to. leave, said, "Laura, you will come to me soon," then disappeared. Laura told her dream to friends, and remarked: "I shall live but a little while." She was just blooming into womanhood when stricken down with that

fatal disease, typhoid fever. I entered the room. On her face rested a sweet, heavenly smile. The room was pervaded with a most hallowed atmosphere. The fragrance of the skies had been wafted to that humble prairie home; it was good to be there. She made every one in the room promise to meet her in heaven; then she sent for neighbors and friends, that she might talk with them touching their soul's salvation. She spoke of the beauties and glories of heaven, glimpses of which she had seen. Just before her happy spirit took its upward and eternal flight, she exclaimed in an ecstasy of joy: "The angels are coming; do n't you see them? O how beautiful! There is mother with them! And there is Jesus, my Savior" And shortly after, her enraptured spirit joined that heavenly throng. How these wonderful scenes speak in language that can not be misunderstood, of heaven, the eternal "home of the soul!"
     In the winter of 1862, I held quarterly meeting at the house of Brother Goolsby, on "The Muddy," a small stream some five miles north of Falls City. On Sunday morning a snow-storm set in. It snowed all day and all night, and on Monday morning the snow was drifted in piles from two to twenty feet deep. The roads were completely blockaded, rendering travel impossible, and I was compelled to remain for several days.

     While here I preached every night to two families. Brother Goolsby made me a "jumper," and then, twisting hemp into ropes, he made me a rope harness. On Friday morning I ventured to start to my quarterly meeting, which was to be held at Pawnee City. My pony with the hemp harness was hitched to the quaint sleigh. I got in and started, and after two days of hard travel through heavy drifts of snow and the cold, piercing wind, filled with frost, I reached my appointment late Saturday night. After conducting the quarterly meeting I traveled over the bleak prairie to Nebraska City, my home. Though the weather was fearfully cold and stormy, every engagement was met, and I have reason to believe that the meetings were seasons of great profit to all.
     After serving four years on the district, I was appointed, in 1865, to the Nebraska City Station. Here we remained three years, as long as the rule of the Church allowed. These years were passed pleasantly, and we trust profitably to the Church. During my first year as pastor of this station, a most unpleasant affair took place. One of the most atrocious and cold-blooded crimes in the annals of the State was committed about five miles southwest of the city. William Hamilton, a boy eleven years old, was herding cattle for his father, some two miles from home. Failing to return as

usual in the evening, diligent search was made, and his body was found in the edge of a pool of water, in a stooping posture, his feet buried in the mud. He had been shot three times,--in the corner of his right eye, once in the ear, and again under the arm. A coroner's jury decided that he came to his death by pistol-balls supposed to have been fired by a man named Cash. After committing the horrible deed, Cash (or Deiricks, as his proper name was) rode into the city and sold the cattle, claiming that he had a large herd. He received a small sum down, the balance was to be received on delivery of the cattle next day. Becoming alarmed, he immediately left the city, crossing the Missouri River into Iowa. The news of the awful tragedy reached the city, and the most intense excitement prevailed. About one hundred men started in pursuit of the murderer. He was captured the next morning at Plum Hollow, Iowa, and on the 16th of August brought back to the city. At ten o'clock, an immense crowd of citizens assembled in the public park, just in front of the parsonage. Addresses were made by several prominent citizens. A president and secretary were appointed, a jury of the oldest and best citizens impaneled, and counsel for the prisoner employed. A just trial was given the prisoner. Seven witnesses were examined, and at two o'clock in the afternoon the case was submitted

to the jury. The prisoner was lodged in the county jail.
     A few moments afterwards a messenger came to the parsonage and said: "The prisoner desires to see the Methodist preacher." I immediately repaired to the jail, in the basement of the courthouse, and was conducted to the door of the cell. The bolt was turned, the door opened, and I entered. The door was quickly closed and the bolt turned on us. I was left with the prisoner, and remained with him to the last. Mr. Dan Laur, the secretary of the trial, was also in the cell. Soon after entering the cell a citizen beckoned me to the window, and in a whisper said: "The jury have found Cash guilty of murder in the first degree, and recommend that he be hanged; but it will probably not be done before to-morrow." I at once communicated the fact to the poor man. He was very much afflicted, and wept freely. I did all I could to get him to confess the crime, but in vain. He persisted to the last in declaring that the witnesses had not examined thoroughly the holes in the boy's body, if they had he declared, "they would have been convinced they were made by the turtles, and not by bullets from a pistol."
     I prayed with him, and he professed to feel much better. About four o'clock I was called again to the cell-window by a citizen, who said: "The

people are terribly excited, and. are becoming more so every moment. Many want to hang Cash immediately." I told the prisoner of the excited condition of the people on the outside, and said to him: "If you have any requests to make before death, make them at once, for you are liable to be hanged at any moment." A few moments later, Mr. Davenport whispered to me through, the iron grate: "They have determined to hang Cash at six o'clock." I told the prisoner the decision of the people. He then made his will. I prayed with him a number of times, and he said he believed he was prepared to meet God. At precisely six o'clock the cell-door opened, and he was led to the place of execution. As soon as the door opened, he seized me by the arm and held on with a death-grip until we reached the top of the scaffold. It seemed as though his fingers would bury themselves in the flesh of my arm. Never did any one cling to me as that poor man did to the very last. I can almost feel the grip of his hands on my arm now, although more than twenty-five years have passed since that fearful day. Reaching the scaffold, the rope was adjusted to his neck. I offered a prayer, then shook hands with him, bade him good-bye, and descended. The drop fell, and Cash was no more of earth.
     Was he converted and prepared for heaven? I hope he was. I earnestly prayed that he might

be. But not for a thousand worlds would I have my salvation suspended on such a slender thread. I have been utterly disgusted, time and again, with the sensational reports, in the secular press, of the conversions of murderers just before being launched from the gallows into eternity. I do not doubt but that some may have been converted, but I greatly fear their number is very small. I would not for the world sit in judgment (sic) upon any human soul. God alone is the judge, and I know the Judge of all the earth will do right. I greatly fear Cash was not converted, and my fears are grounded on the following facts:
     First. He did not manifest "godly sorrow" for sin. This is absolutely necessary in order to a genuine penitent. A man may sorrow and not repent; he may sorrow because he is found out. That is not "godly sorrow." Deep, heart-felt sorrow for having sinned against God and high heaven, is the first element in genuine repentance. Second. He did not manifest the fruit of a genuine convert. A converted man has the Spirit of God; and "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, and peace." These he did not show. Nor, lastly, did he confess his crime. A friend of mine, living near Ashland, related to me the following some years ago. The circumstance came under his own observation. Several men were buried in a coal-mine in Pennsylvania. All were Christians but

one, and he was a very profane man. The passage-way was entirely closed, and they knew it would be many days before they could be rescued, if rescued at all. All felt prepared to die except the unconverted man, and he requested the others to pray for him. They did so, and he professed to be converted. After eighteen days they were rescued from what they all supposed was to be their living tomb. They were barely alive when taken out. By superior medical skill and kind nursing they recovered. No sooner was the man who had professed conversion in the mine restored fully to health than he was just as profane as he had ever been Was his conversion in the mine genuine?
     The late Rev. J. J. Roberts, of the Nebraska Conference, once said to the writer in substance, in a private conversation, touching death-bed repentances: "I have known a number during my ministry who, when very sick and expecting to die, sought, and professed to obtain, religion. They afterwards recovered, and in every case were, after recovery, just as wicked as ever." Was their repentance sincere and their conversion genuine? It is, to say the least, very questionable. Few, he thought, who live under the light of the gospel were ever converted on a death-bed. He who trusts his salvation to a death-bed repentance, runs a risk that no wise or sane man will run.