VOLUME 4 — BOOK VI — CHAPTER IX
METHODISM IN THE WEST, CONTINUED: 1804 — 1820

Progress in Illinois — Jesse Walker — His Pioneer Adventures — McKendree and Walker in the Wilderness — Walker's Camp-meeting — His Success — He enters Missouri — Oglesby and Travis there — Missouri Conference Organized — Walker's Sufferings — He Introduces Methodism into St. Louis — His Determined Struggles there — He goes to the Indian Tribes — Labors at Chicago — His Death and Character — Samuel Parker, "the Cicero of the West" — James Axley's extraordinary Character and Labors — He Attacks Slavery and Whisky — Peter Cartwright's Early Life — Remarkable Scene at a Quarterly Meeting — His extensive Services — David Young — John Collins — Judge McLean's Conversion and Character

We have seen the extension of the itinerant ministry to the Illinois territory, by Benjamin Young, in 1804, and his extreme sufferings there. He had been preceded, however, by less known laborers. The "real pioneer of the Church," says our best living Illinois authority, "was Capt. Joseph Ogle, who went thither in 1785. The first Methodist preacher was Joseph Lillard, who, in 1703, formed a class in St. Clair County, and appointed Captain Ogle leader. The next Methodist preacher was John Clarke, who originally traveled in South Carolina from 1791 to 1796, when he withdrew on account of slavery. He was the first man that preached the gospel west of the Mississippi, in 1798. Hosea Riggs was the first Methodist preacher that settled in Illinois, and he revived and reorganized the class at Captain Ogle's, formed by Lillard, which had dropped its regular meetings. From 1798 there seems to have been no regular preacher in Illinois till 1804; then Benjamin Young was sent as a missionary. In the fall of 1805 he re turned sixty-seven members, and Joseph Oglesby was appointed to succeed him on the Illinois Circuit." [1]

A notable character appeared on the scene in 1806, a man whose name is identified for years with the westward progress of Methodism. Jesse Walker was a native of North Carolina, [2] but early emigrated to Tennessee. He became a member of the Western Conference in 1802, and traveled circuits in Tennessee and Kentucky for about four years, before his indomitable spirit led him forth to pioneer the Church through Illinois and Missouri. His ministry in these first years was preparatory for the great work of his ensuing life; few men in Kentucky or Tennessee equaled him in labor or hardships. One of his contemporaries says: "He was a character perfectly unique; he had no duplicate. He was to the Church what Daniel Boone was to the early settler, always first, always ahead of everybody else, preceding all others long enough to be the pilot of the new-comer. He is found first in Davidson County, Tenn. He lived within about three miles of the then village of Nashville, and was at that time a man of family, poor, and, to a considerable extent, without education. He was admitted on trial in 1802, and appointed to the Red River Circuit. But the Minutes, in his case, are no guide, from the fact that he was sent by the bishops and presiding elders in every direction where new work was to be cut out. His natural vigor was almost superhuman. He did not seem to require food and rest as other men; no day's journey was long enough to tire him; no fare too poor for him to live on; to him, in traveling, roads and paths were useless things — he 'blazed' out his own course; no way was too bad for him — if his horse could not carry him he led him, and when his horse could not follow, he would leave him, and take it on foot; and if night and a cabin did not come together, he would pass the night alone in the wilderness, which with him was no uncommon occurrence. Looking up the frontier settler was his chief delight; and he found his way through hill and brake as by instinct — he was never lost; and, as Bishop McKendree once said of him, in addressing an annual Conference, he never complained. As the Church moved West and North it seemed to bear Walker before it. Every time you could hear from him he was still farther on; and when the settlements of the white man seemed to take shape and form, he was next heard of among the Indian tribes of the Northwest." [3]

His appointment to Illinois in 1806 was a mission to the whole territory. The region between Kentucky and the interior of this new field was yet a wilderness, and difficult to travel. McKendree, the presiding elder, set out, therefore, with his pioneer itinerant, to assist him on the way. They journeyed on horseback, sleeping in the woods on their saddle blankets, and cooking their meals under trees. "It was a time," says an authority who knew them both, "of much rain, the channels were full to overflowing, and no less than seven times their horses swam the rapid streams with their riders and baggage; but the travelers, by carrying their saddle bags on their shoulders, kept their Bibles and part of their clothes above the water. This was truly a perilous business. At night they had opportunity not only of drying their wet clothes and taking rest, but of prayer and Christian converse. In due time they reached their destination safely. McKendree remained a few weeks, visited the principal neighborhoods, aided in forming a plan of appointments for the mission, and the new settlers received them with much favor." [4]

Walker, alone in the territory, moved over it courageously, till the winter compelled him to suspend his circuit, plan, and commence operating from house to house, or rather from cabin to cabin, passing none without calling and delivering the gospel message. He was guided by the indications of Providence, and took shelter for the night wherever he could obtain it, so as to resume his labor early the next day, and he continued this course of toil till about the close of the winter. The result was a general revival with the opening spring, when the people were able to reassemble, and he to resume his regular plan. Shortly after this a young preacher was sent to his relief, and, being thus reinforced, he determined to include in the plan of the summer's campaign a camp-meeting, which was the more proper, because the people had no convenient place for worship but the forest. The site selected was near a beautiful spring of pure water. All friends of the enterprise were invited to meet upon the spot, on a certain day, with axes, saws, augers, and hammers for the work of preparation. The ground was cleared, and dedicated by prayer as a place of public worship. Walker took the lead of the preparatory work, and tents, seats, and pulpit were all arranged before the congregation assembled. It was the first experiment of the kind in that country; but it worked well. After the public services commenced there was no dispute among preacher or people as to the choice of pulpit orators. The senior preached, and the junior exhorted; then the junior preached, and the senior exhorted; and so on through the meeting of several days and nights, the intervals between sermon being occupied with prayer and praise. The meeting did not close till, as Walker expressed it, 'the last stick of timber was used up,' meaning, till the last sinner left on the ground was converted. The impulse which the work received from that camp-meeting was such that it extended through most of the settlements embraced in the mission, which was constantly enlarging its borders as the people moved into the territory. Walker visited one neighborhood near the Illinois river, containing some sixty or seventy souls. They all came to hear him; and; having preached three successive days, he read the General Rules, and proposed that as many of them as desired to unite to serve God, according to the Bible, should come forward and make it known. The most prominent man among them rose to his feet, and said, 'Sir, I trust we will all unite here with you to serve God;' then walked forward, and all the rest followed. As the result of his first year's experiment in Illinois, two hundred and eighteen Church members were reported in the printed Minutes." [5]

His next field was Missouri, and he continued to travel thenceforward, alternately in each territory, down to 1812, when, as presiding elder, he took command of all the Methodist interests of both; both appertaining to the Tennessee Conference. He had charge of districts in one or the other till 1819, when he was appointed Conference missionary, that he might range about "breaking up new ground," a work for which he was singularly fitted, and in which he persisted for years.

Before Walker's arrival, however, Methodism had penetrated Missouri. Joseph Oglesby, who was appointed to Illinois in 1804, writes that in June of 1805 he "reconnoitered the Missouri country to the extremity of the settlements, and had the pleasure of seeing Daniel Boone, the mighty hunter. He preached frequently, which was novel to the people, as he was the first Methodist that had ever preached in that territory." [6]

The first intimation that the Minutes give of an appointment to Missouri is in 1806, when Walker entered Illinois. John Travis, then a youth, recently admitted to the Western Conference, was dispatched immediately to the Missouri wilds, when the whole country had but about sixteen thousand inhabitants. His circuit pertained to the Cumberland District, which comprised West Tennessee, parts of Kentucky, Indiana, and Arkansas, and all Illinois and Missouri. The young pioneer returned a hundred white and six African members at the next Conference, at which two Missouri circuits were recorded, "Maramack and Missouri," and Walker and Edmund Wilcox sent to them. Slow but steady progress was made till the field was mature enough to be constituted a Conference in 1816, without a boundary on the West, "but including the last Methodist cabin, toward the setting sun," and taking in all Missouri and Illinois and the western part of Indiana. [7] Its first session was held in Shiloh Meeting-house, St. Clair County, Ill., about ten miles from St. Louis, September 23. McKendree presided, and John C. Harbison acted as secretary. Its original members were but seven, but, before the adjournment, candidates were admitted, enlarging the little corps to twenty-two. Seven of its appointments were in Missouri, four in Indiana, four in Illinois, and one in Arkansas, at Flat Springs, sixty-four miles southwest of Little Rock. The Conference included three thousand and forty-one members, only eight hundred and forty-one of whom were in Missouri Arkansas had one hundred and eight, Illinois nine hundred and sixty-eight, Indiana, one thousand one hundred and twenty-four.

Walker was a great sufferer as well as a great laborer in these fields.' "I think it was in the fall of 1819," says Peter Cartwright, "that our beloved old Brother Walker, who had traveled all his life, or nearly so, came over to our Tennessee Conference, which sat in Nashville, to see us; but O how weather-beaten and war-worn was he! — almost, if not altogether, without decent apparel to appear among us. We soon made a collection, and had him a decent suit of clothes to put on; and never shall I forget the blushing modesty and thankfulness with which he accepted that suit, and never did I and others have a stronger verification of our Lord's words, 'That it is more blessed to give than to receive.' " [8]

Though Jesse Walker was not the first Methodist itinerant in Missouri, he ranks as the principal founder of the denomination there. No obstruction could withstand his assaults. As pioneer, circuit preacher, presiding elder, he drove all opposition before him, and inspirited his co-laborers with his own energy, so that Methodism effectively superseded the original Roman Catholic predominance in that country. In 1820 he resolved to plant its standard in St. Louis, the Romish metropolis, where the itinerants had "never found rest for the soles of their feet." "He commenced laying the train," says his friend Morris, "at Conference, appointed a time to open the campaign and begin the siege, and engaged two young preachers of undoubted courage, such as he believed would stand by him 'to the bitter end,' to meet him at a given time and place, and to aid him in the difficult enterprise. Punctual to their engagement, they all met, and proceeded to the city together. When they reached it the territorial legislature was in session there, and every public place appeared to be full. The missionaries preferred private lodgings, but could obtain none. Some people laughed at them, and others cursed them to their face. Thus embarrassed at every point, they rode into the public square, and held a consultation on their horses. The prospect was gloomy enough, and every avenue seemed closed against them. The young preachers expressed strong doubts as to their being in the path of duty. Their leader tried to encourage them, but in vain. They thought that if the Lord had any work for them there to do, there would surely be some way to get to it. They thought it best immediately to return to the place from which they had come; and, though their elder brother entreated them not to leave him, they deliberately shook off the dust of their feet for a testimony against the wicked city, and, taking leave of Walker, rode off, and left him sitting on his horse. Perhaps that hour brought with it more of the feeling of despondency to Jesse Walker than he ever experienced in any other hour of his eventful life; and, stung with disappointment, he said in his haste, 'I will go to the state of Mississippi, and hunt up the lost sheep of the house of Israel;' and immediately turned his horse in that direction, and with a sorrowful heart rode off alone. Having proceeded about eighteen miles he came to a halt, and entered into a soliloquy on this wise: 'Was I ever defeated before in this blessed work? Never. Did any one ever trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, and get confounded? No; and, by the grace of God, I will go back and take St. Louis.' Then, reversing his course, without seeking either rest or refreshment for man or beast, he immediately retraced his steps to the city, and, with some difficulty, obtained lodgings in an indifferent inn, where he paid at the highest rate for everything. Next morning he commenced a survey of the city and its inhabitants. He met with some members of the territorial legislature, who knew him, and said, 'Why, Father Walker, what has brought you here?' his answer was, 'I have come to take St. Louis.' They thought it a hopeless undertaking, and, to convince him that it was so, remarked that the inhabitants were mostly Catholics and infidels, very dissipated and wicked, and that there was no probability that a Methodist preacher could obtain any access to them, and seriously advised him to abandon the enterprise and return to his family, then residing in Illinois. But to all such expressions Walker returned one answer: 'I have come, in the name of Christ, to take St. Louis, and, by the grace of God, I will do it.' His first public experiment was in a temporary place of worship occupied by a handful of Baptists. There were, however, but few present. Nothing special occurred, and he obtained leave to preach again. During the second effort there were strong indications of religious excitement, and the Baptists actually closed their doors against him. He next found a large but unfinished dwelling-house, and succeeded in renting it, as it was, for ten dollars a month. Passing by the public square he saw some old benches stacked away at the end of the courthouse, which had been recently refitted with new ones. These he obtained from the commissioner, had them put on a dray, and removed to his hired house, borrowed tools, and repaired with his own hands such as were broken, and fitted up his largest room for a place of worship. After completing his arrangements he commenced preaching regularly twice on the Sabbath, and occasionally in the evenings between the Sabbaths. At the same time he gave notice that if there were any poor parents who wished their children taught to spell and read he would teach them five days in a week without fee or reward, and if there were any who wished their servants to learn he would teach them on the same terms in the evenings. In order to be always on the spot, and to render his expenses as light as possible, he took up his abode in his own hired house. The chapel room was soon filled with hearers, and the school with children. In the mean time he went to visit his family, and returned with a horseload of provisions and bedding, determined to remain there and push the work till something was accomplished. Very soon a work of grace commenced. About this time an event occurred that seemed at first to be against the success of his mission, but which eventuated in its favor. The hired house changed hands, and he was notified to vacate it in a short time. Immediately he conceived a plan for building a small frame chapel, and, without knowing where the funds were to come from he put the work under contract. A citizen, owning land across the Mississippi, gave him leave to take the lumber from his forest as a donation. Soon the chapel was raised and covered. The vestrymen of a small Episcopal church, then without a minister, made him a present of their old Bible and cushion. They also gave him their pews, which he accepted on condition of their being free; and, having unscrewed the shutters, and laid them by, he lost no time in transferring the open pews to his new chapel. New friends came to his relief in meeting his contracts. The chapel was finished, and opened for public worship, and was well filled. The revival received a fresh impulse, and, as the result of the first year's experiment, he reported to Conference a snug little chapel erected and paid for, a flourishing school, and seventy Church members in St. Louis. Of course he was regularly appointed the next year to that mission station, but without any missionary appropriation, and he considered it an honorable appointment. Thus 'Father Walker,' as every one about 'the city called him, succeeded in taking St. Louis, which, as he expressed it, 'had been the very stronghold of devilism.' Some idea of the changes which had been there effected for the better, may be inferred from the fact that the Missouri Conference held its session in that city October 24, 1822, when William Beauchamp was appointed successor of the indefatigable Walker. St. Louis, now a large and flourishing city, is well supplied with churches and a churchgoing people."

Having effectually broken the way open for Methodism in Missouri, during sixteen years, Walker, eager for pioneer adventures, went, in 1823, to the Indian tribes up the Mississippi, where he labored till 1830, when the hero of so many fields was esteemed the man for other new work, and was appointed to the extreme North, to Chicago Mission, "where he succeeded," says Peter Cartwright, "in planting Methodism in that then infant city. In 1881 he was sent to the Des Plaines Mission, and organized many small societies in the young and rising country." In 1832 there was a Chicago District formed, mostly of missionary ground. Walker was superintendent of this district, and missionary to Chicago town; and although he was stricken in years, and well-nigh worn out, having spent a comparatively long life on the frontiers, yet the veteran had the respect and admiration of the whole community, and in 1838 was continued in the City Missionary Station. This year closed his active itinerant life. "He had," says Cartwright, "done effective service as a traveling preacher for more than thirty years, and had lived poor, and suffered much; had won thousands of souls over to Christ, and firmly planted Methodism for thousands of miles on our frontier border. In 1834 he asked for and obtained a superannuated relation, in which he lived till the fifth of October, 1835, and then left the world in holy triumph. He was the first minister who, by the authority of the Methodist Church, gave me my first permit to exhort. We have fought side by side for many years, we have suffered hunger and want together, we have often wept and prayed and preached together; I hope we shall sing and shout together in heaven." [9]

He died, "in confident hope of a blessed immortality," in 1835. He was five feet seven inches high, of slender but vigorous frame, sallow complexion, light hair, prominent cheeks, small blue eyes, a generous and cheerful expression; and dressed always in drab-colored clothes, of the plainest Quaker fashion, with a light-colored beaver hat, "nearly as large as a ladies' parasol." He had extraordinary aptness to win the confidence and sympathy of "backwoodsmen;" his friendships were most hearty, his courage equal to any test, his piety thorough, his talents as a preacher moderate. His great talent was his great character.

Methodism became mighty in Missouri Conference, numbering nearly twenty-four thousand members before the southern secession of 1844; but that event rent the Church to pieces; the war of the rebellion still further devastated the great field. Peace has restored the denomination, and the Missouri Conference still exists, with reorganized plans of usefulness.

During these years men of genuine greatness of character and talents were continually rising up in the western itinerancy. Samuel Parker, born in New Jersey in 1774, and converted in his fourteenth year, was a man of genius, and was called the Cicero of the western ministry. After laboring four years as a local preacher, he was received into the Western Conference in 1805. For three years he traveled in Kentucky, and in 1808 was sent to Miami Circuit, Ohio, which included Cincinnati. Here his natural eloquence attained its climax. The people thronged from great distances to hear him; his word was irresistible, and "wherever he went," says one of his contemporaries, "wondering and weeping audiences crowded about him." [10] He possessed an exceedingly musical voice, a clear, keen mind, an imagination which, though never extravagant, afforded frequent and brilliant illustrations of his subject, while his ardent piety imparted wonderful tenderness and power to his appeals. Withal, his personal appearance was striking before he became attenuated with disease, he was nearly six feet high, had a remarkably intellectual countenance, with a full forehead, and a black, piercing eye.

In 1809 he became presiding elder on a district which included Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri. "From the White River, in Indiana, to the farthest settler in Missouri," says Finley, "did this herald of the cross proclaim the glad tidings of salvation" through four years, and "so 'mightily grew the word of God, and prevailed,' " that the district had to be divided. Its three hundred and eighty-two members, at his beginning, had increased to more than two thousand when he left it. He continued north and west of the Ohio, with increasing influence and success, till 1815, when he was made presiding elder in Kentucky, where his great eloquence commanded general interest. In 1819 he was appointed to lead the itinerants who were extending the Church in the far southwest, on the memorable Mississippi District. They needed such a man; but his health was broken, and it seemed but an appointment to martyrdom. He was ready for it, nevertheless, and when it was announced, at the close of the Conference, in Cincinnati, " it seemed," says a spectator, "that a wave of sympathy rolled over the whole Conference." His malady (pulmonary consumption) rapidly advanced when he reached his new field. He was never indeed able to perform any labor on the district. He sank down and died in 1819. William Winans, whom he had called out to preach, in Ohio, was now in the south, and attended him in death, and followed him to his grave, in Washington, Miss. "He died," says Winans, "not only peacefully, but triumphantly." "Love inspired his whole being, breathed from his lips, and beamed with heavenly radiance from his countenance."

James Axley has left traditions of his character and work in the Church from Indiana to Louisiana. A fellow-laborer (himself one of the most genuine products of nature and the West) has said that Axley "was the most perfect child of nature I ever knew." [11] He was born on New River, Va., in 1776, removed, in childhood, to Kentucky, where he became a hunter and thrifty farmer, joined the Methodists in 1802, and in 1805 entered the itinerant ministry. He was tossed about, with singular rapidity, in his appointments, from Tennessee to Ohio, from Ohio to the Holston Mountains, from Holston to Opelousas, in Louisiana, back again to Holston, then to the Wabash District, in Indiana, back again to the Holston District for four years, thence to Green River District in Kentucky, and finally to French Broad District, among the Alleghenies of North Carolina. In 1822 he located, near Madisonville, Tenn., where he died in 1838. Through this vast range of his ministerial travels he was one of the most energetic, most popular, and most useful preachers of the times. His pulpit talents were not above mediocrity, his manners utterly unpolished; but he combined with profound piety and much tender sensibility the shrewdest sense, an astonishing aptness of speech, and an exhaustless humor. The latter, however, was usually so well directed that it seemed wisdom itself; arrayed in smiles. Few, if any, of his contemporaries drew larger audiences, for Axley was irresistible to the western people. A bishop of the Church has given us our fullest record of him. [12] "His person was imposing. He was perhaps five feet eight inches high, not corpulent, but very broad and compactly built, formed for strength; his step was firm, his face was square, complexion dark, eyebrows heavy, appearance rugged, and he dressed in the costume of our fathers, with straight-breasted coat, and broad-brimmed hat projecting over a sedate countenance. His widespread fame as a natural genius without any early education, and especially the numerous incidents I had heard of him as a western pioneer, had excited in me a greater desire for his personal acquaintance than that of any other living man I had ever seen except Jacob Gruber. As I neared him I held out my right hand and received his, when the following salutations were exchanged: 'How are you, Brother Axley?' 'Who are you?' 'My name is Thomas A. Morris.' Then, surveying me from head to foot, he replied, 'Upon my word, I think they were hard pushed for bishop-timber when they got hold of you.' 'That is just what I thought myself; Brother Axley.' 'Why, you look too young for a bishop.' 'As to that, I am old enough to know more and do better.' Turning back with me, we walked to our lodging, being both quartered at the same place. Every hour that I could redeem from Conference and council business was enlivened by his quaint but thrilling narratives of his early travels, labors, and difficulties. He spiced the whole with such apt remarks and consummate good humor that the attention of the company never faltered. Never was I better entertained or more instructed with the conversation of a fellow-sojourner in one week than with his. There were points of singular contrast in his character. His exterior was rough as a block of granite fresh from the quarry, and his manner of reproving disorderly persons at popular meetings over which he presided was said to indicate severity, yet his conscience was so tender, and his moral sensibility so acute, that a mere suggestion from a friend that he had erred in any given case would draw from him prompt acknowledgment, with a shower of tears. In social intercourse he was both kind and attractive. His conversational talent was of a superior order. Without classical learning, or much pretension to book knowledge, he was such a master in practical, everyday affairs, that he could not only delight, but instruct sages and divines. He was proverbial for his opposition to slavery and whisky. After he located he supported his family by the labor of his own hands as a farmer, and was wont to testify, on all proper occasions, that his logs were rolled, his house raised, and his grain cut without whisky; and though he had plentiful crops of corn not the first track of a Negro's foot was ever seen in one of his fields."

Sufficient evidence has heretofore been given to show that he shared fully the opinions of the western ministry on the subjects of temperance and slavery. They saw that whisky was becoming the bane of their rude but grand country, and Axley preached numerous sermons against the distillation of the "fire-waters." They saw slavery also gradually invading the fair domain, and threatening to dishonor labor and demoralize their social life. The strongest men among them arrayed themselves against it. Not a few intelligent laymen emigrated, like McCormick, beyond the Ohio, that they might raise their families away from its menacing evils. "I do not recollect," says Peter Cartwright, "a single Methodist preacher of that day who justified slavery." Many who could not well remove opposed the encroaching barbarism sturdily. Quarterly Conferences acted uncompromisingly against it, and as early as 1808, when all western Methodism was still comprised in the "Old Western Conference," that body enacted stringent anti-slavery laws, which were signed on the journals by Bishops Asbury and McKendree. The latter was at that time a decided abolitionist, as contemporary documents show.

Axley joined the Conference at the same time with Parker and Cartwright. To the latter he was of course a congenial mind. "We were always," says Cartwright, "bosom friends till he closed his earthly pilgrimage." Cartwright records "an illustration of Axley's extraordinary faith," which is an equal illustration of the character of the times and the country. They were at a camp-meeting in Tennessee, Axley endeavoring to sustain order among a crew of "rowdies" while Cartwright was preaching. "They actually threatened to lay the cowhide over him," says the latter. "He replied with great calmness and firmness that that was not the place for an encounter, and that, if they were really bent on fighting, they must retire outside the encampment. Immediately he found himself in the midst of a crowd there. Axley remarked that he could not possibly go into the fight until he had prayed, and instantly knelt down. He poured forth his heart in a strain of uncommon fervor; the base fellows themselves were actually disarmed, and such an impression of reverence and solemnity came over them that they at once abandoned their impious design, and behaved themselves with perfect decorum. On the Monday following he preached a sermon, under which several of them were melted into tears. When the awakened came forward for the prayers of the Church there were found among them a number of these persons, and, before the meeting closed, some of them professed to have become new creatures in Christ Jesus."

His opposition to spirituous liquors led him to introduce into the General Conference of 1812 a resolution against their use by Church members. It failed; but he repeated the effort in 1816. Many in the Conference opposed him, making merry with his quaint speeches. "He turned his face to the wall and wept," says Laban Clark, who joined him in the measure. He persisted, however; and at last triumphed. "I remember," says Clark, "particularly on the first occasion of my meeting him, Axley made rather a strange and grotesque appearance. He wore a short cloak, and a round Quaker hat, and, as he rode on horseback, made a figure which could hardly fail to arrest the attention of all the passers by. To the boys who ran after him in the street he turned round and said, 'Go along, aint you ashamed of yourselves?' which only made them 'hurrah' the more boisterously. He was evidently a man of great native power, was social and pleasant, and always left the impression that he was living under the influence of the powers of the world to come."

Peter Cartwright was born in Amherst County, Va., in 1785, the son of a soldier of the Revolution, who hated Negro as well as white slavery. [13] He early settled in Kentucky, where his son was trained amid the wildest scenes of frontier life, but taught to fear God by his Methodist mother. He grew up, therefore, thoroughly seasoned with western hardihood, but saved from many of the vices prevalent around him. In his ninth year he heard the itinerant, Jacob Lurton, preach in his father's cabin, and describes him as "a real son of thunder." "My mother," he adds, "shouted aloud for joy." [14] A small class was formed at about four miles distance, to which his good mother walked every week. At last they built a little church, and called it "Ebenezer." Methodism on the old Cumberland Circuit had thrown its spiritual shelter over the wandering family, and chose their adventurous boy, their only son, for one of its chief western pioneers. In his sixteenth year, after dancing at a wedding, he went home with an awakened conscience. Unable to sleep, he spent much of the night on his knees with his praying mother, and, sometime afterward, was converted at a camp-meeting. He joined the Church, at "Ebenezer," in 1801, when there were less than twenty-five hundred Methodists and about fifteen traveling preachers west of the Alleghenies. Striking anomaly of human life, possible perhaps nowhere else than in this new world, that this young hunter of the frontier should still, while we trace these lines, be abroad an active apostle of his Church, amid mighty states then unborn, but now equal to more than half of Europe, an empire of liberty and Christianity stretching from the Alleghenies to the Pacific.

In 1802 he was licensed to exhort by Jesse Walker, a congenial spirit. He applied himself to study, conducted public meetings, formed classes, and received "the celebrated James Axley into the Church." The young exhorter actually thus formed the Lexington Circuit in 1803; and the next year Walker was its preacher. At last, in his nineteenth year, urged by his pious mother, but opposed by his father, he went forth as a circuit preacher " under the residing elder." At the Conference of 1804, held at Mount Gerizim, Ky., he was received on probation. Of all the itinerants of that session he is the only survivor. The bare enumeration of his subsequent "appointments" would cover pages. In Tennessee, Kentucky, in almost every portion of the Northwestern Territory, he fought courageously the battles of his Church; not always with the voice, but sometimes, like Finley and others, he had to use his stout fist against the onset of semi-barbarous mobs. A frontier man, he knew the perils and necessities of frontier life; and when his appeals to the conscience of his sometimes half savage hearers could not prevail, and especially when the decorum of public worship, or the safety of his congregations has been periled, he could show himself physically formidable, and make the mob recoil. We need to read the record of such a life as his with somewhat of the moral license of the early frontier spirit. "My voice," he says, "at that day was strong and clear, and I could sing, exhort, pray, and preach almost all the time, day and night." Some of his meetings lasted all night. His circuits were like lines of battle, continually in excitement, if not commotion. Some of his quarterly meetings were not only scenes of spiritual conflict and victory, but of "hand-to-hand fights" with the rabble. One of them, on Scioto Circuit, in 1805, was held in the woods. The mob, led on by two champions, who bore "loaded whips," invaded it. Cartwright called from the stand upon two magistrates in the assembly to arrest the leaders, but they replied that it was impossible. He came forward himself; offering to do it for them, but the assailants struck at him. The greatest tumult ensued; the congregation was in confusion; the whole mob pressed upon him and his friends. He seized one after another of the principal rioters, and threw them to the earth, including a drunken magistrate who had taken sides with them. "Just at this moment," he writes, "the ringleader of the mob and I met. He made three passes at me, intending to knock me down. The last time he struck at me, by the force of his own effort he threw the side of his face toward me. It seemed at that moment I had not power to resist temptation, and I struck a sudden blow in the burr of the ear, and felled him to the earth. The friends of order now rushed by hundreds on the mob, knocking them down in every direction. In a few minutes the place became too strait for the mob, and they wheeled, and fled in every direction; but we secured about thirty prisoners, marched them off to a vacant tent, and put them under guard till Monday morning, when they were tried, and every man was fined to the utmost limits of the law. They fined my old drunken magistrate twenty dollars, and returned him to court, and he was cashiered of his office. On Sunday, when we had vanquished the mob, the whole encampment was filled with mourning; an although there was no attempt to resume preaching till evening, yet, such was our confused state, there was not then a single preacher on the ground willing to preach, from the presiding elder; John Sale, down. Seeing we had fallen on evil times, my spirit was stirred within me. I said to the elder, 'I feel a clear conscience, for under the necessity of the circumstances we have done right, and now I ask you to let me preach.' 'Do,' said the elder, 'for there is no other man on the ground can do it.' The encampment was lighted up, the trumpet blown, I rose in the stand, and required every soul to leave the tents, and come into the congregation. There was a general rush to the stand. I requested the brethren, if ever they prayed in all their lives, to pray now. My voice was strong and clear, and my preaching was more of an exhortation and encouragement than anything else. My text was, 'The gates of hell shall not prevail.' In about thirty minutes the power of God fell on the congregation in such a manner as is seldom seen. The people fell in every direction, right and left, front and rear. It was supposed that not less than three hundred fell like dead men in battle, there was no need of calling mourners, for they were strewed all over the campground. Our meeting lasted all night, and Monday and Monday night; and when we closed on Tuesday, there were two hundred who had professed religion, and about that number joined the Church. Brother Axley and myself pulled together like true yoke-fellows. We were both raised in the backwoods, and well understood frontier life."

Similar scenes were hardly rare on the western frontier. Irreconcilable as they may be to our sense of religious decorum, they are essential illustrations of the time. History cannot evade them, even if we should not feel a lurking sympathy with the rude courage which they too often provoked beyond all self-control.

For nearly seventy years Peter Cartwright has been a Methodist, for nearly sixty-five an itinerant preacher; for about fifty years a presiding elder; twelve times he has shared in the General Conferences of his Church. In his long ministerial life he has not lost six months from his regular work for any cause whatever. "For twenty years of my ministry," he writes, "I often preached twice a day, and sometimes three times. We seldom ever had in those days more than one rest day in a week, so that I feel very safe in saying that I preached four hundred times a year. I was converted on a campground, and for many years of my early ministry, after I was appointed presiding elder, lived in the tented grove from two to three months in the year. I have lived to see this vast western wilderness rise and improve, and become wealthy without a parallel in the history of the world; I have outlived every member of my father's family; I have no father, no mother, no brother, no sister living; I have outlived every member of the class I joined in 1800; I have outlived every member of the Western Conference in 1804; I have outlived nearly every member of the first General Conference that I was elected to, in Baltimore, in 1816; I have outlived all my early bishops; I have outlived every presiding elder that I ever had when on circuit; and I have outlived hundreds and thousands of contemporary ministers and members, as well as junior, and still linger on the mortal shores. Though all these have died they shall live again, and, by the grace of God, I shall live with them in heaven forever. Why I live God only knows. I certainly have toiled and suffered enough to kill a thousand men, but I do not complain. Thank God for health, strength, and grace, that have borne me up, and borne me on; thank God that during my long and exposed life as a Methodist preacher, I have never been overtaken with any scandalous sin, though my shortcomings and imperfections have been without number."

He has received into the Church some twelve thousand members, and led into the itinerancy scores, if not hundreds, of preachers. Rough and hardy as the oak; overflowing with geniality and humor; a tireless worker and traveler; a sagacious counselor, giving often in the strangest disguises of wit and humor the shrewdest suggestions of wisdom; an unfailing friend, an incomparable companion, a faithful patriot, and an earnest Methodist, Peter Cartwright has been, for nearly three generations, one of the most noted, most interesting, most inexplicable men of the West and of Methodism.

David Young's labors, especially in Ohio, were long and successful. He was born in Bedford County, Va., was well trained at home, where he had the then rare advantage of a good library, and by becoming a studious youth, prepared an intelligent and effective manhood. From his seventh year he was seldom without religious reflection. In 1803 he emigrated to Tennessee, where he taught a grammar school and in the same year was converted, and became a Methodist. The next year he was "exhorting," and in 1805 joined the Conference. His appointments were for some time in Tennessee; but in 1811 he was sent to Ohio, where he labored, with commanding influence, down to 1849, when he was placed on the "superannuated list." He suffered from disease most of his life, the effect of his early itinerant exposures. His self-education, improving good natural powers, secured him "the first rank among his brother ministers." [15] He was always master of his subject. "His logical method, associated with fervency of spirit, enchained his auditory. Sometimes his pathos was overwhelming, for he was often a weeping prophet. Fond of reading, he had in store a large amount of general literature, which gave great interest to his preaching. His voice was pleasant, though sometimes shrill and penetrating; his gesticulation graceful, and his whole manner peculiarly solemn and impressive." He led into the communion and ministry of the Church its present senior bishop, who describes him as "tall and slender, but straight and symmetrical. His step was elastic. He wore the straight-breasted coat, and the broad-brimmed hat usual among early Methodist preachers. His yellow hair, all combed back, hung in great profusion about his neck and shoulders, giving him an imposing appearance. His blue eyes were prominent, and exceedingly penetrating. I heard a Virginia lawyer say that he could withstand the direct contact of any preacher's eye in the pulpit he ever saw, except David Young's; but his always made him quail. In manners he was a finished gentleman of the Virginia school. He abounded in incident, and had a rare talent at narration, both in and out of the pulpit. Yet, as a minister, he was grave and dignified. No man conducted a public religious service more solemnly or impressively than he did, especially in reading the scriptures or in prayer. His deep religious emotion was always apparent in his prayers and his sermons. On special occasions, while applying the momentous truths of the gospel, he stood on his knees in the pulpit, and, with many tears, entreated sinners, as in Christ's stead, to be reconciled God. Among the most celebrated Methodist preachers of the great West fifty years ago were William Beauchamp, Samuel Parker, and David Young, each of whom excelled in his own way. Beauchamp was the most instructive, Parker the most practical and persuasive, and Young the most overpowering. Under the preaching of Beauchamp light seemed to break on the most bewildered understanding; under that of Parker, multitudes of people melted like snow before an April sun; while, under the ministry of Young, I knew whole assemblies electrified, as suddenly and as sensibly as if coming in contact with a galvanic battery. I have myself; under some of his powerful appeals, felt the cold tremors passing over me, and the hair on my head apparently standing on end. On camp-meeting occasions, where the surroundings were unusually exciting, it has sometimes happened that vast numbers of persons have simultaneously sprung from their seats, and rushed up as near to the pulpit as they could, apparently unconscious of having changed positions." He died at Zanesville in 1858. His descent to the grave was like a serene going down of the sun. "I am calmly," he said, "though through great physical suffering, nearing my better home." [16]

John Collins has already appeared in our pages as founding the Church in Cincinnati. He was born in New Jersey in 1769, and was of Quaker parentage. When very young his attention was drawn to religious subjects by hearing a hymn sung as he passed the house of a neighbor. For several years he struggled against his convictions, living a moral life, but attaining no rest for his soul. He went to Charleston, S. C., in order to escape his local associations, and, if possible, become a more decided Christian away from the observations of his acquaintances, but failed, and, returning home, was converted in 1794. He soon began to preach, but with much self-distrust, and doubt of his divine call to the ministry. Learner Blackman, his brother-in-law, was saved by his first sermon, and Collins now hesitated no more, especially as he further ascertained that ten or twelve of his kindred were awakened by the same discourse. [17] His word, even his casual allusions to religion, seemed to have remarkable effect. He had been appointed major of militia, but now resigned the office, and sold his inform to his successor, saying to him, "My friend, when you put these on, think of the reason why laid them off." The brief sentence was "a nail fastened in a sure place." It so impressed the young officer that he also resigned the post, and became a Methodist. [18]

Blackman went to the West, where, as has been noticed, he became a champion of the itinerancy from Ohio to Louisiana. Collins followed him in 1803, and located his family in Clermont County, about twenty-five miles west of Cincinnati. He thus became a co-laborer with McCormick, Gatch, Tiffin, and Scott in founding the denomination in the Northwestern Territory.

In 1807 he joined the itinerancy. His appointments, with two intervals of "location," were all in Ohio for thirty years. In 1837 his infirmities required him to retreat into a "superannuated relation." He lived yet about seven years a serene Christian life, venerated by the Church, beloved for his memorable services, his gentle manners, his catholicity, his pathetic eloquence, and his cheerful piety. He died a blessed death, in 1845. "Happy! happy! happy!" were his last words.

The fruits of his ministry abounded in all parts of Ohio, for his superior character and talents gave him extraordinary influence among all classes of the population. Among other eminent citizens he led into the Church John McLean, afterward judge of the Supreme Court of the nation, and the biographer of the itinerant. Born in New Jersey in 1785, McLean emigrated successively to Western Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio. When eighteen years old he began his legal education, in Cincinnati, under Arthur St. Clair. He gave himself meanwhile to general studies in almost every department of science and literature. He became skeptical in religion, but, after his admission to the bar at Lebanon, Ohio, in 1807, he was rescued by Collins. One of the judge's biographers says, "Collins had an appointment to preach in a private house at Lebanon. The people crowded the rooms, and many had to stand about the doors. Among these was McLean, who stood where he could hear distinctly, though, as he thought, unobserved by the speaker. During the discourse, however, he fell under the notice of Collins' keen eye, and his prepossessing appearance attracted at the first glance the notice of the preacher. He paused a moment, and mentally offered up a short prayer for the conversion of the young man. Resuming his discourse, the first word he uttered was 'eternity.' That word was spoken with a voice so solemn and impressive that its full import was felt by McLean. All things besides appeared to be nothing in comparison to it. He soon sought an acquaintance with Collins, and, a short time after this, accompanied him to one of his appointments in the country, and, at the close of the sermon, he remained in class to inquire what he must do to be saved. On their return to Lebanon Collins told his young friend that he had a request to make of him which was reasonable, and he hoped would not be rejected. The request was, that he would read the New Testament at least fifteen minutes every day till his next visit. The promise was made, and strictly performed. After this a covenant was entered into by the parties to meet each other at the throne of grace at the setting of the sun. The agreed suppliants had not continued their daily, united, and earnest prayers long before McLean was justified by faith, and realized the great blessing of 'the washing of regeneration and, renewing of the Holy Ghost.' " [19]

The United States never had a more upright or more honorable citizen, nor American Methodism a more faithful member than Judge McLean. He was commanding in person, tall, and symmetrical in stature, with a Platonic brow, thoughtful, tranquil features, and the most modest but cordial manners. He was an able statesman, almost infallible in his cautious judgment, a thoroughly devoted Christian, persevering and punctual in the minutest duties of his Church, and catholic in his regard for good men of whatever sect. Lawyer, member of Congress, supreme judge of Ohio, member of the cabinets of Monroe and Adams, and supreme justice of the Republic, he passed through a long life unblemished, and above all his titles, gloried in that of a Christian.

McLean says of Collins that as both a local and an itinerant minister it is supposed that the Methodist Church in the West has not had a more successful preacher. He was a marked man in his person. He always wore the primitive Quaker dress. His forehead was high, his eyes small, but very expressive, and over all his feature was spread an air of refinement, a sort of intellectual and benevolent glow, that immediately won the interest of the spectator. And his spirit and manners corresponded with these indications. The unction of divine grace abode upon his soul. He was always interesting in the pulpit, and not infrequently extremely affecting. A very fountain of pathos welled up in his devout heart, and seldom did he preach without weeping himself, and constraining his audience to weep. One who heard him several days in succession, at a quarterly meeting, said, "I came to the conclusion that the 'British Spy' only dreamed of a pulpit orator, that it was left for me to behold one."

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ENDNOTES

1 Peter Cartwright's "Autobiography," p. 167.

2 Bishop Morris, in Sprague, p. 380. There Is no record of his early life; Minutes 1836-7.

3 Biographical Sketches, p. 53.

4 Bishop Morris, in Sprague, p. 381.

5 Bishop Morris.

6 Life, etc., of Allen Wiley, p. 53. Cincinnati, 1853.

7 Papers on "the Origin of Methodism in Missouri," by Rev. E. H. Waring, in "Central Christian Advocate."

8 Cartwright's Autobiography p. 489.

9 Cartwright's Autobiography, p. 491.

10 Finley's Sketches of Western Methodism, p. 206.

11 Peter Cartwright, in Sprague, p. 416.

12 Bishop Morris, in Finley's Sketches, p. 231.

13 Letter of Peter Cartwright to the author. Dec., 1865.

14 Cartwright's Autobiography, p. 24. New York, 1856.

15 Rev. Dr. Trimble, in Sprague, p. 431.

16 Obituary, by Rev J. W. White, in Western Christian Advocate.

17 "Sketch of the Life of Rev. John Collins, by Judge McLean, p. 11. Cincinnati, 1852.

18 Rev. J. F. Wright, in Western Christian Adv., October, 1847.

19 Bishop Clark, in Ladies' Repository, p. 66. Cincinnati, 1859.

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