TWENTY-FIVE YEARS
IN THE
WEST.
BY ERASMUS MANFORD
CHICAGO:
E. MANFORD, PUBLISHER.
1867.
TO
MY CHRISTIAN FRIENDS
IN THE WEST,
WITH WHOM I HAVE LIVED
AND LABORED MANY YEARS,
THIS VOLUME
IS DEDICATED
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Parentage and Childhood; “Lord” Timothy Dexter; At School; In Haverhill; Shoemaking; Early Aspirations; Converted; Must be a Minister; On a Plank; Attend School; A Long Walk; Studies with J. C. Waldo and Dr. Cobb; First Preaching; With W. S. Balch; First Tour; First Debate; Came out Second Best; Talk with an Englishman about American Coarseness; Conversation on Slavery; In Maryland; Talk with an Episcopal Clergyman concerning Endless Woe not being Taught in the Old Testament; Traveling and Preaching on the Eastern Shore; Return to Baltimore; A Storm; Where Truth Flourishes and Where it Does Not; Another Location; Self and Faith Abused; Preach in Harper’s Ferry, Charleston, Winchester, Va.; A Hard Battle; Cross the Alleghany Mountains.
CHAPTER II.
In Pittsburg; S. A. Davis, Wife and Daughter; The West; Preach in Pennsylvania and Ohio; Western Reserve; Talk with a Bigot; Conversation on a Steamboat; Forbidden to Preach; Grave Creek; A Mound; My Study; What is Salvation? Proceedings in Bainbridge; Mud; In Cincinnati; General Harrison; In Rising Sun; Patriot; Preach in Louisville, Ky.; E. M. Pingree; On the Mississippi River; Preach in a Steamboat; In New Orleans; Battle Ground.
CHAPTER III.
A Sea Voyage; A Meeting at Sea; Tornado; Strange Vessel; In Texas; Travel to Houston; Hard Fare; The Country; Sleeping on the Ground; Very Thirsty; Must have Water; Colorado River; Sound Asleep on its Banks; Cross the River on Logs; Corn Cake; A Surprise; In Houston; General Houston; The Attorney-General of Texas; San Jacinto Battle Ground; A Pandemonium; Buck Wheat Cakes; Embark for New Orleans; A Condemned Vessel; On Allowance; In New Orleans; A Contrast; Ague and Fever; Up the Mississippi.
CHAPTER IV.
Labors of E. B. Mann; N. Wadsworth; Owner of a Horse; Preach in Indiana and Kentucky; A Profane Life; General Clarke; Atheism; The Eyeless Fish; A Presbyterian Minister’s Wisdom; No Hell, No Heaven; Travel in Ohio; Another Preacher Replies; Labors in Dayton; D. R. Biddlecom; George Messenger; R. Smith’s Somersault; J. A. Gurley; George Rogers; Start for Indiana; Battle in Harrison; Universalism an Old Doctrine, and of God; Partialism an Old Doctrine, but of Satan; Grove Meeting; Father St. John: Badly Treated; John O’Kane on his Creed; In Indianapolis; A. Longley; A Horse; Questioned by a Methodist; In Terre Haute; Very Unpopular.
CHAPTER V.
Journey in Ohio; Intemperance; General Baldwin; In Columbus; Death Penalty; How to Deal with Offenders; Preach in Newark and Zanesville; Hell Discussed; Mrs. Frances D. Gage; Invited to Settle in Marietta; W. H. Jolly, In Chillicothe; Opposition in Richmond; —. Webber; In Kentucky; Dr. Chamberlin; Opposition in Lexington; Is Universalism Infidelity? A Slanderous Story by a D.D.; In Paris; Excursion to Patriot; A Discussion; Daniel Parker; Cure the Ague; Good Health.
CHAPTER VI.
A Journey East; Talk with a Baptist Minister; Preach in Delaware and Centerville, Ohio; W. Y. Emmett; Doors Closed; A. Bond; A. B. Grosh; In New England; On the Sea; A Storm; Methodist Preacher Frightened; Blow the Trumpet; In Philadelphia; In Delaware; In Pittsburg; Return to Cincinnati; Go to Chicago; Bad Roads; In Richmond; Talk with a Quaker; A Spirit Returns to Earth; A Spirit Out of the Body; A Strange Sight; Preach in God’s Temple; Preach in Chicago; Preach in Joliet; Aaron Kinney, an Early Preacher; Bill of Fare; Hard Luck in Magnolia; Why Preach; In Hennepin; Political Humbugs; Opposition in Washington; Justice of God; In Pekin and Tremont; Frozen; A Preacher Replies.
CHAPTER VII.
Located in Lafayette; The Christian Teacher Commenced; A Circuit; Society Organized; Meeting-house Built; All Alone; Conflict in Frankfort; Old Testament Doctrine of Punishment; Debate Proposed in Frankfort; Discussion in Independence; Character of my Sermons; Slander Refuted; Debate in Burlington; Endless Woe; Some Voting; The Use of Discussion; A Traveler.
CHAPTER VIII.
Debate in Lafayette; Die in Adam; Alive in Christ; This World and World to Come; Battle Ground; In Monticello; A Reply; A Preacher Whipped; D. Vines; S. Oyler; I. M. Westfall; B. F. Foster in Indiana; Revival Poetry; Ladoga Camp-Meeting; Worship; In Michigan City; An Episcopal Preacher; A Wet Ride; Debate in Dayton; Discussion in Jefferson; Everlasting Punishment; End of the World; Second Coming of Christ; Eternal Life; Meaning of Everlasting.
CHAPTER IX.
Questioned J. O’Kane in Dayton; He Beat a Retreat; He Replied in Crawfordsville; Three Resurrections, National, Moral, and Immortal; Conversation in West Lebanon; Everlasting, Forever; Kingdom of God; Sin, Error, Suffering not Endless; In Southern Indiana; Why Live a Christian Life? Bigotry in Breckenridge; Discussion with Mr. Dickerson; Calvinism; Arminianism; Universalism; Debate in Chambersburg.
CHAPTER X.
Move to Terre Haute; Lecture in Fort Wayne; A Discussion There; Dr. Thompson; Visit Illinois; Opposition; Discussion in Charleston; Prayed For; Called Infidel; Debate in Green Castle; Conditions of Salvation; God’s Will; All are Spirits; Form of the Teacher Changed; J. Burt and J. H. Jordan, Editors; Oliver Cromwell; Foundation of Character; In Many Places; A Celebration; Meeting in the Rain; Fourth of July Celebration; Debate in Martinsville.
CHAPTER XI.
Journey into Northern Illinois; Temperance Lecture; Result of Temperate Drinking; Married; Homeward Bound; High Waters; Difficult Traveling; Trouble in Crossing Streams; A Cold Bath; End of the “Bridal Tour”; A Hard Ride; Debate with E. Kingsbury; In Northern Indiana; Conversation with an Indian; Dark Man and Dark Night; Explanation of Hebrews ix. 27, 28; End of the World; The Earth and Man.
CHAPTER XII.
Discussion in Franklin; Justice of God; What the Gospel Is; Society Organized; Discourse on Total Depravity; Conversation with a Presbyterian Minister on Christian Rewards; Talk with a Catholic; A Methodist; A Presbyterian; A Campbellite; Salvation; A Mormon Sermon; Reply to It; A Journey to Louisville and Cincinnati.
CHAPTER XIII.
Move to Indianapolis; Extensive Traveling; Henry Ward Beecher; A Fossiled Calvinist; Supposed to be an Orthodox Preacher; Debate in New Philadelphia; Strife Between the North and South; The Old Convention Dead; The New Convention Organized; Discussion in Springfield, Ill.; Abraham Lincoln; God is Love; Is Merciful; Is Just; Is Holy; Travel in Illinois; Conversation with a Presbyterian Clergyman on the Origin of Hell; In Iowa City, and Other Places in Iowa; Home Again; W. J. Chaplin; Discussion with Benjamin Franklin; Debate in Covington; Discussion with Mr. Russell; Publish the “One Hundred and Fifty Reasons”; Review of “Universalism Against Itself”; Publish Another Book; Olive Branch Discontinued; Travel Far and Near.
CHAPTER XIV.
Conclude to go to St. Louis; Commence the Golden Era; Association in Crawfordsville; Debate in Dayton; Man in God’s Image; God the Father of All; Man Immortal; Man a Spirit; High Waters; In St. Louis; Why Moved to St. Louis; But Few Friends; First Journey in Missouri; Wet, Hungry, Out in the Cold; In Troy; In Ashley; Four Brothers; In Louisiana; Opposition in London; In Hannibal; Good Friends; Questioned in Palmyra About Slavery; Conversation on Judgment; In Memphis; Questioned; A Presbyterian Preacher Replied; Was to Debate in Newark; Covered with Ice; Missouri River; Discussion in Georgetown; In Southern Missouri; Questioned in Warsaw; In Jefferson City; Hard Work in Danville; Return to St. Louis.
CHAPTER XV.
The Golden Era Issued Semi-Monthly; The Missourians; Slave Holders; Travel in Southern Missouri; If Endless Woe is True all Nature would Weep; Region of Iron; Dunkards in Millersville; In Southern Illinois; Philosophy of Christ Being the Savior of the World; Refuse to Debate; Discussion in Carlyle; Inspiration; Our Name; Partialism Approaches Infidelity; Three Downward Steps; Reply to a Sermon; Hayne’s Sermon; Mr. Lewis Debating on his Knees; Written Discussions with two Methodist Ministers; In Northern Missouri; A Preacher Replies; A Log Cabin; Talk with a Slave; Thomas Abbott; Negroes Hung; The Golden Era; Mrs. Manford Lecturing; Let Woman Work; A Circuit in Missouri; Travel in Cold Weather; Debate in Quincy.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Golden Era; Extensive Traveling; In Missouri and Kansas; Talk with a Deist in Jefferson City; Moses; The Prophets; Replied to in Pisgah; Talk with a Rum-seller; In Kansas City; In Wyandotte; Conversation with a Clergyman Concerning Christ and his Work; Lectured in Leavenworth; Destruction of Man’s Enemies; In St. Joseph; The Mercy of God; In Kingston; Rich Man and Lazarus.
CHAPTER XVII.
The Rebellion Commenced; What Senator Douglas Said; Defenders of our Country; Camp Jackson; Rebel Flag; Great Expectations; Subscribers Lost; Money Lost; All but Two of the Religious Journals Stopped; Could do but Little in Missouri; Society in St. Louis; G. S. Weaver Left; The Unitarian Society; Published Pamphlet on Water Baptism; Discussion with B. H. Smith; Extracts from the Discussion.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Discussion in Pontiac; The Apostle’s Faith; His Argument in Romans; Extensive Traveling; In Kansas and Missouri; Price’s Raid; In Ohio and Indiana; Dark Night and Walk in Toledo; Conversation on Destructionism; The Victory; The Death; President Lincoln; Debate in Milford, Ohio; The Restitution an old Doctrine; The Sentiment Wide Spread; At Work in Iowa; Laborers There; Murderers Saved and the Murdered Lost; Intellectual and Moral Growth; What Man Was; What He is to Be; The Victory; Spiritualism; Immoral Preaching; Saved Without Repentance; Preaching a Means of Salvation; A Methodist Minister Believes; The Suicide.
CHAPTER XIX.
Last Campaign; In Galesburg, Ill.; The United States Convention; Lombard University; Other Schools; Journey to Missouri; In Macon City; In Brookfield; St. Joseph and Other Cities; Grove Meeting; On the Missouri Bottom; Beautiful Country; Preach in Fillmore and many other Places; Return Home; Anti-Orthodox Preaching; Funeral Sermons; Death; Life; Conclusion.
CHAPTER I.
Parentage and Childhood—Lord Timothy Dexter—At School—In Haverhill—Shoemaking—Early Aspirations—Converted—Must be a Minister—On a Plank—Attends School—A Long Walk—Studies with J. C. Waldo and Dr. Cobb—First Preaching—With W. S. Balch—First Tour—First Debate—Comes out Second Best—Talk with an Englishman about American Coarseness—Conversation on Slavery—In Maryland—Talk with an Episcopal Clergyman concerning Endless Woe not Being Taught in the Old Testament—Traveling and Preaching on the Eastern Shore—Returns to Baltimore—A Storm—Where Truth Flourishes and Where it Does Not—Another Location—Self and Faith Abused—Preaches in Harpers Ferry, Charleston, Winchester, Va.—A Hard Battle—Crosses the Alleghany Mountains.
Having been often solicited, by my friends, to publish an account of my travels and labors in the West, after much hesitation and doubt, I have concluded to accede to their wishes. But before doing so, I will say a little about my early life. Newburyport, Mass., is my native place. My father, whose full name I bear, was from Denmark; my mother from Amsterdam, Holland. I was the first born of a family of three boys, one of whom, Frederick, many years since passed the way of all the earth. The other, James, resides in Texas. My father was a sailor, and was lost at sea in a terrific storm, when I was seven years old. I have a faint recollection of seeing him two or three times, and the only memento I have of him, is a large pitcher he had manufactured in Liverpool with his name and the picture of a ship on one side, and my mother’s maiden name and a picture representing Liberty, Peace and Independence, on the opposite side. My mother was left in indigent circumstances, with not a relative in the New World, save her three helpless boys. She married some years after my father’s death, and resided till her death, which took place two years since, in Princeton, Mass. I have then a father, mother and one brother on the other side of the river, and one brother on this side, and not many years can elapse ere the whole family will be reunited in the land beyond the flood. I well remember the spot where all of us once lived, although I have not been in Newburyport for thirty years. It was on High street, between the Court House and the residence of “Lord” Timothy Dexter. To me, that street seemed a paradise, and it was, and still is, a magnificent thoroughfare. It is on high ground, runs parallel with the Merrimac river, overlooks the harbor, and is bordered with rows of grand trees, with fine residences embowered in lawns and flower gardens. In this charming locality, I spent the first decade of my life. Here I ran, played, and frolicked with my brothers, and other little associates. The Mall around the Court House, the pond in the rear, and a neighboring cemetery, were places of frequent resort. On Sunday, I attended Dr. Morse’s church, where, I am told, I was christened by the good doctor, who was an Episcopalian. But the bud came near being suddenly blasted. An old-fashioned cent which I put into my mouth, slipped down my throat, and was extracted with much difficulty. I distinctly remember the circumstance. When the copper was taken out, blood flowed copiously from my mouth. My poor mother was much frightened, and I suffered for a short time severely. If my father had lived, I should probably have been a sailor. He was first mate of the ship in which he made his last and fatal voyage, and was to have been promoted to captain on his return. I have ever loved the sea, and a ship is a thing of beauty in my eye. But it was written that the solid earth, not the treacherous deep, should be the field of my operations.
One word about Lord Timothy, just referred to. He was a very eccentric man, had many soft spots on his head, but knew enough to accumulate a large fortune. He built a magnificent residence, which he adorned in a very extravagant manner, with sculpture and pictures. He was very vain of his house and wealth. It is said that a stranger, passing his house, was attentively observing it, when Dexter, who was sitting at a window, remarked: “Do you not think this is paradise?” “I should,” replied the man, “if I did not see the devil at the window.” He was dubbed “Lord” for his vanity and ostentation, and the title delighted him as much as “Corsica” prefixed to Boswell, delighted the well known biographer of that name.
I commenced attending school at an early age, but have no pleasant memories of school-hours in my native town. My teacher would read a chapter in the Bible, and make a long prayer every morning, and then whip and pound his pupils till the time for his evening devotions. If I escaped a day without two or three hard thrashings, I deemed myself very fortunate, and I think I was as dutiful as school boys generally were of my age. He was doubtless a believer in total depravity, and was sure that nothing but blows and knocks would make a good impression on our corrupt hearts.
From my tenth to my eighteenth year, I resided in Haverhill, Mass., with S. George. He was a farmer and shoemaker—made shoes in the winter, and tilled the soil summers, and I worked on his farm and in his shop, except winters, when I attended school. I remember my first attempt at horseback riding. I went to live with him in the spring, and he soon put me on a horse to ride when ploughing corn. The beast was contrary and spirited. He would go like jehu a few rods, and then stop short, and I would go over his head on to the ground. But I was as spunky as the horse, and would scramble up, and tell Mr. G. to put me on again. I was always eager to remount the beast, although he threw me twenty times a day. Since then, I have rode over the Western country horseback, and consider myself a good horseman.
I have said I worked in Mr. G.’s shoe shop; yes, and learned to make cheap shoes, but always despised the business, and never more than half learned the trade. My aspiration was to be a merchant. Oh, if I could only be a merchant how happy I would be! I dreamed, and planned, and built air-castles—would weep over my “lapstone,” for being doomed to work at that hateful trade. When I was about sixteen years old, the Boston Trumpet, a Universalist paper, published by Thomas Whittemore, led me to look into Universalism, for up to that time I knew nothing of its principles or history. Mr. George’s family, and all my associates, attended the Congregational church in the neighborhood, and no body seemed to call in question the infallibility of the sermons we heard every Sunday. But the Trumpet opened a new world to my view, changed all my aspirations, and I was really born again. I thought no more of being a merchant—that seemed a contemptible calling,—but must be a preacher. I devoured the paper, read the Bible, and had many hard fought battles with my comrades. I loved them, loved the world, and was sure, if I could get the ears of mankind, I could convert all nations and people. The world seemed to be a musical instrument, tuning the praises of its almighty Author. Thomas Farnsworth was then preaching in Haverhill, four miles from where I resided, and I called on him several times, and he urged me to prepare for the ministry, but I never intimated to him that I had such an intention. I kept that to myself.
I was always fond of reading, and my new faith quickened my love for it. I perused religious books, romance, history, but poetry was especially my delight. I remember with what enthusiasm I read portions of Dr. Young’s “Night Thoughts.” His grand and solemn thoughts and diction stirred my soul to its lowest depths. I even wrote what I called “poetry,” but I am thankful that none of it survives. I have never attempted the “divine art” since those early days, although phrenologists tell me I ought to be something of a poet, as my “ideality” is large.
When in Haverhill, I came near losing my life. I never could swim, but with a plank three feet long, one end pressing against my body, I could paddle far from shore into deep water, without any fear. On one occasion, when indulging in one of my aqueous excursions, while in deep water, a comrade, who was ignorant of my helpless condition when off the plank, took it from me, when down I went, but by the aid of other boys I reached the shore, and I never went into deep water again on my frail craft. In my boyhood, I was subject to violent attacks of colic and sick headache, but otherwise my health was good. My physical frame was small and of fine texture, and consequently I was not very strong, and could not cope with boys generally of my age in athletic exercises.
When I was eighteen years old, I left old Haverhill, and repaired to Princeton, where I attended school one year, and made considerable progress in English branches. But my purse being nearly empty, I was obliged to replenish it before I could further prosecute my studies; and having no one to aid me, I went to Boston, hoping something would there turn up in my favor. I knew no one in that city, and no one knew me, and soon became satisfied I had better try my fortune elsewhere. I noticed in a city paper, that school teachers were wanted in Eastern New York, and I resolved to go there and seek a school, although I had only three dollars in my pocket, and it was one hundred and eighty miles to the place of destination; but my empty purse did not prevent my making the journey. On foot and alone, I traveled the whole distance. Although my feet were sore, and my bones and muscles ached, I pursued my weary march, and finally reached the neighborhood of Bethlehem—I think that was the name of the place. I found myself in the midst of a German settlement, with a people of unknown tongue, and of manners and customs all new to me. I remained there but a few days, became distressingly homesick, and resolved to return to Boston. Repaired to Albany, where I sold my watch to pay traveling expenses, went on a steamboat to New-York city, and from thence to Boston by sea. This was my first tour; this was the beginning of my ramblings, but it was rather an unpropitious beginning. When I went on this school-hunting expedition, my intention was, after securing a school, to devote my leisure hours to study, and if opportunity offered, to speak occasionally in public, and thereby prepare myself for what I deemed the chief business of my life. But that Dutch Bethlehem broke up all my calculations, and I returned disgusted, but not discouraged.
In a few days I walked out to Lynn, the great shoe manufacturing town of New England, where nearly all the men, women and children are shoemakers, and recommenced cobbling, earning enough to defray current expenses, and continued my studies. J. C. Waldo was then pastor of the Universalist church in Lynn, and I soon introduced myself to him, and made known my intentions of preparing for the ministry, and he kindly offered me the use of his books, and such instruction as I might need in prosecuting my object. I remained in L. six months, working, reading and writing, when Mr. Waldo advised me to go to Malden, and study with Sylvanus Cobb. To Malden I repaired, and made arrangements with Mr. C. to reside in his family, and devote all my time to study.
A new era in my life had now opened, and my hopes were buoyant. I could give all my time and thought to study, and I made the best use of my advantages. Mr. Cobb was a prominent man in the denomination, an able minister, a fair scholar, and consequently well qualified to give instruction. To that excellent man, and his accomplished lady, I am under great and lasting obligations. “I was a stranger and they took me in.” May God ever bless them. They now reside in Boston. Mr. Cobb, or rather, Dr. Cobb, for he is now a D. D., for many years published the Christian Freeman, is the author of a Commentary on the New Testament, and of several other useful books. His son, Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., who is a well known literary writer, was a boy when I was in Mr. C.’s family, and the twins, Cyrus and Darius, now ministers, and who fought for the Stars and Stripes, during the late rebellion, were born while I was a member of the household. He had three other students while I was with him—A. P. Cleverly, G. Hastings, and C. S. Hussey. We had fine times; we talked, read, wrote and declaimed. When we wanted to ventilate our logic, we repaired to a neighboring grove, where we made the welkin ring with our eloquence. “The Orthodox,” said A. P. Cleverly, on one of these occasions, “will come to you with their creed in one hand, and damnation in the other, and say to you, take this or take that, but one of them you must and shall have.” On Monday we generally went to Boston, two miles distant, and at the Trumpet office would usually see Hosea Ballou, H. Ballou, 2d, Walter Balfour, Thomas Whittemore, Sabastian Streeter, Henry Bacon, T. B. Thayer, all noted men, but most of them are now dwellers of the spirit land. The departed did a noble work on earth, and long will they be remembered. “Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.”
When I had been with Mr. Cobb about three months, he went to the state of Maine, and left me to preach for him one Sabbath. My heart jumped when the first bell on Sunday morning told me to prepare for my first pulpit services; but I went through the exercises of the day without much embarrassment. My texts were: “God is love”—“They hated me without a cause.” When Mr. C. returned, he seemed well satisfied with my effort, for he had heard his friends speak of it, and gave me words of encouragement. While with him, I preached in Lynn, Haverhill, and several other places, but devoted most of my time to hard study.
After being with Mr. Cobb six months, I put myself under the instruction of William S. Balch, then residing in Claremont, N. H., and pastor of the church in that place. I found him to be a noble man and shall ever remember his many acts of kindness with gratitude. Although I was in his family, and received his instruction most of the time during six months, he would receive no compensation. He now resides in Galesburg, Ill., and although years are pressing hard upon him, he is as faithful in the discharge of his ministerial duties as when in early manhood. When with him, I took my first preaching tour, and had my first debate. I went up the Connecticut river into Canada, and preached in most of the towns on both sides of the river. I performed the journey on foot, and must have walked about two hundred miles. In one town where I had an appointment, a Methodist minister had one at the same place and hour. We both met in the pulpit. He did not wish to speak, as he was unwell, he said, and desired me to occupy the time. I objected, for I was afraid of him; but as he insisted that I should go ahead, I delivered my discourse. My text was: “For if the word spoken by angels was steadfast, and every transgression and disobedience received a just recompense of reward, how shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation which at the first was spoken by the Lord, and confirmed unto us by them that heard him.” Heb. ii. 2, 3. As soon as I was through, he seemed to be well enough, took my text, and made a long reply to my feeble effort. He handled me rather rough, but I did the best I could in the way of a rejoinder, but felt that I had come out second best. It was not manly in him, an experienced preacher, to attack a boy as he did; but I suppose he had rather encounter a boy than a man.
Soon after returning from this journey, I noticed a statement by Otis A. Skinner, a minister in Baltimore, Md., in one of our denominational papers, that several young men were wanted to preach in Maryland, and Mr. Balch advised me to go there. Heeding his advice, I went by stage across the Green Mountains to Albany, thence to New-York. In the latter place, I had the following conversation with an Englishman, right from his foggy island:
“I do not like this country,” said he.
“Why not?” I inquired.
“I have many reasons. One is, the people are not refined enough. I did not encounter as much coarseness during the thirty years I lived in England, as I have in this country the past six months.”
“You have been very unfortunate in the company you have kept. There are coarse people in all countries, and a man can eat and sleep with them all his lifetime if he chooses. But that there are more coarse people in this country than in England, I am sure is an error. But what do you mean by coarseness?”
“I mean that the peasants do not pay proper respect to gentlemen.”
“Yes, yes; I understand you. Why, sir, we have no peasants in this country; all are gentlemen.”
“I abhor such a democratic notion. Only see how rudely your people talk about the President of the United States. He is called Mr. Jackson, Old Jackson, Old Hickory. In Europe, we call the king, His Majesty. Don’t you see the difference?”
“I see the difference. The people of this country have little respect for titles, and I am thankful for it; but they have great respect for man; so much that they deem every man a sovereign; and I hope they will never make such fools of themselves as to single out one of their number, perhaps the biggest gump in the land, and bow down and worship him, and like cringing slaves, call him ‘His Majesty.’ God only is worthy the title of Majesty.”
In the cars near Baltimore, I had some conversation with a lawyer, concerning slavery.
“Are you going South?” he inquired.
“To Maryland. Am from the East, and was never as far south or west before.”
“As you are going into a slave-holding state, I should like to know your views of slavery.”
“In principle I think it is wrong; but I know little of its practical effects. I shall be better able to judge of it practically at some future time.”
“Morally I regard it wrong; nearly all the Southern people so view it. But that slavery is a benefit to the blacks, there can be no doubt. As an evidence of this, contrast the condition of the negroes in Africa with their condition in the Southern states. In this country they are far better off than their brethren are in Africa.”
“They doubtless are in some respects, but I am not sure that slavery has improved them. Living in this country, and associating, to some extent, with a superior race, has improved them; but I cannot admit that slavery has done it. You admit slavery to be an evil, and we have the best authority for asserting, that an evil tree cannot produce good fruit. It seems to me that you condemn slavery in principle and practice when you admit it to be an evil. What effect do you think it has on the whites?”
“Decidedly a beneficial effect. There is more refinement and high-toned character in the slave states than in the free states. The people in the South have leisure to cultivate the better sentiments of their nature.”
“I repeat, you must be mistaken. If slavery is a upas tree—is an evil as you admit—it cannot produce such heavenly fruit. It is not true that the Southern people are more intelligent, moral and refined than the Eastern people. Statistics, from which there can be no appeal, show that there are more school houses, academies, colleges and meeting houses in the East, than in the South, in proportion to the population. There are more persons in Virginia, the best of the slave states, who cannot read or write, than there are in six of the most Eastern states. Facts are against you.”
I proceeded to Baltimore, and S. P. Skinner, who afterwards resided, preached and published the New Covenant, in Chicago, advised me to go to the eastern shore of Maryland. This portion of the state, and part of Delaware, lies between the Chesapeake and Delaware bays. Most of this neck of land is level and sandy, having been, at a comparatively recent period, reclaimed from the sea. Went in a small vessel to Centerville. While running down, I had some conversation, on religious subjects, with an Episcopal clergyman.
“The doctrine of endless punishment is taught in the Old Testament.”
“That is your opinion, but some of the wisest and most learned men of your school differ from you. I will read some extracts from their writings on this subject. Your Bishop Warburton, in his Divine Legation of Moses, says:—‘In the Jewish Republic, both the rewards and punishments promised by heaven were temporal only. Such as health, long life, peace, plenty, and dominion, etc. Disease, premature death, war, famine, want, subjections, and captivity, etc. And in no one place in the Mosaic Institutes is there the least mention, or any intelligible hint, of the rewards and punishments of another life.’
“Milman, in his History of the Jews, testifies thus:—‘The sanction on which the Hebrew Law was founded is extraordinary. The lawgiver (Moses) maintains a profound silence on that fundamental article, if not of political, at least of religious legislation—rewards and punishments in another life. He substituted temporal chastisements and temporal blessings. On the violation of the constitution followed inevitably blighted harvests, famine, pestilence, defeat, captivity; on its maintenance, abundance, health, fruitfulness, victory, independence. How wonderfully the event verified the prediction of the inspired legislator! how invariably apostasy led to adversity—repentance and reformation to prosperity!’
“Dr. Paley, another great man of your church, admits the same:—‘This (Mosaic) dispensation dealt in temporal rewards and punishments. In the 28th of Deuteronomy you find Moses, with prodigious solemnity, pronouncing the blessings and cursings which awaited the children of Israel under the dispensation to which they were called. And you will observe, that these blessings consisted altogether of worldly benefits, and these curses of worldly punishments.’
“Jahn, the best of authority says:—‘We have not authority, therefore, decidedly to say, that any other motives were held out to the ancient Hebrews to pursue good and avoid evil, than those which were derived from the rewards and punishments of this life.’
“This is the testimony of able and learned men who have made the Bible their life-study. Notwithstanding they believed in eternal woe, they candidly admit that it is not taught by the great Lawgiver, Moses, or the prophets.”
“They do seem to think that doctrine is not taught in the Old Testament, and I admit their judgment is entitled to much respect. I will look into the subject.”
“I am glad to hear you express such a purpose. And I am sure that you will agree with those wise men, after a careful examination. If they are correct, and the dogma in question is true, is it not amusing that the Old Testament writers say nothing about it? If they had believed in eternal punishment, they surely would have spoken of it in distinct terms, and warned their countrymen of their danger. You believe in ceaseless woe, and you preach it faithfully, earnestly. You are right; you act according to your convictions. And were Moses and the prophets less faithful and earnest? But they did not speak of it, and the inference is, they had no faith in the doctrine. But, sir, if that dogma is true, would not God have forced those inspired men to proclaim it to a dying world? Would God have permitted the Jews to be ignorant of so important a matter? What! thousands of immortal spirits daily dropping into a fiery gulf, and not a word of warning given? have no intimation of such a place till they find themselves in its fathomless vortex? Believe this who can, I cannot.”
I spent six months in this part of Maryland, traveling and preaching all the time. My head-quarters were at Salisbury, and from thence I went east, west, north and south, sometimes on foot, and sometimes on horseback. The liberal faith I advocated was almost totally unknown in that region. O. A. Skinner, who had resided in Baltimore, once traveled through there, and delivered a few discourses, but I found not more than a dozen persons, who knew or cared any thing about liberal christian sentiments. It was any thing but a favorable field for one so young and inexperienced as I was, to operate in. I was tired of traveling, and desired to settle where I could devote my time to two or three places, that I might have an opportunity to study, for I well knew my literary needs, and as such arrangements could not be effected in that region, I resolved to try some other locality. That my well intended labors had much effect, is more than I can affirm, as I have heard but little of the religious sentiments of the people since I left there. Much of the Eastern Shore is a very poor country, and were it not for the fish and oysters that abound in Chesapeake bay, part of that region would be an uninhabited desert, at least, till the soil was improved, for the farmers in those days merely scratched over the ground, and exhausted it more and more every year. Slave labor and scratch culture, I have observed, generally go together. And, I think it is a fact, that poor soil, unless there are counteracting causes, such as commerce and manufacturing, produces weak heads and sterile hearts; and it is also a fact, that the rich sentiments of our faith will not flourish permanently in physical or moral deserts. The apostles of our Lord spread the gospel among the ignorant and brutal nations of the earth, but how soon was it corrupted. Their “darkness comprehended it not,” and there was soon developed a wretched compound of light and darkness, error and truth, sin and virtue, life and death, heaven and hell, and this compound corresponded with the intellectual and moral culture of the people. Since Luther’s day, the process of disintegration has been going on, and it will, I trust, continue till the dross shall be all separated from the gold, and the former burned with unquenchable fire.
I returned to Baltimore in December, 1836. Encountered a terrific storm on the Bay, which came near sending the vessel and all on board to the bottom. It raged during a bitter cold night, the wind was directly ahead, and most every wave swept the deck fore and aft. The owner was on board, the steersman was his negro slave, and he stood to his post like a man the whole of that boisterous and cold night. In the morning we anchored in a sheltered situation, and during the day reached Baltimore. Spent several weeks traveling and preaching in the vicinity of the city, and from thence went to Hagerstown, Md., which I made my home for six months. Samuel A. Davis had labored in the vicinity some time previous, as a missionary, but receiving little encouragement, had moved to Pittsburg, Pa. I preached in Hagerstown, Woodville, Frederick, Sharpsburg, and many other places, in many of which I was the first to proclaim our beautiful faith, and encountered all sorts of opposition. Our ministers who have always labored where our cause is well established, have no idea of the mean and contemptible opposition a laborer encounters in a new field, where hardly any one knows any thing of our faith or its history. At the close of a sermon I delivered in Frederick, a clergyman of the place, arose and poured forth the vials of his wrath. He said Universalism was the lowest grade of infidelity, that the blasphemies of Tom Paine were purity itself compared to it; and that Universalists were the scum of society, that the grog-shops, gambling dens, jails and penitentiaries were full of them. Hosea Ballou and Walter Balfour died drunkards, and they were the best men the sect ever had. The fellow overshot the mark, and disgusted the people with himself; and the mild remarks I made after he got through, turned the tide in my favor. Ever after, I had large congregations in Frederick.
I spoke several times in Charleston, Va., where John Brown was hung; also in Harper’s Ferry, the place he so easily captured, and in Winchester, where several battles, during the late rebellion, were fought. In Smithfield, Va., I had an exciting season. Went there an entire stranger, and delivered a discourse in a school-house, the first sermon on the great salvation ever delivered in the place. As soon as I said amen, up jumped three men to reply. It was with difficulty they agreed on which should first speak. They finally settled that matter, and then gave me particular attention. Each of them occupied about half an hour, and as the night was short, for it was an evening meeting, it was midnight when they got through. I notified the people that I would notice the arguments of the speakers the next evening. The novelty of my faith, and the attention I received from three of the most prominent men of the town, caused intense excitement, and the whole village, and the region round about, attended the next meeting. My three opponents, one doctor and two lawyers, were on hand, with paper and pencil, which was ominous of another attack. I noticed the arguments and proofs of the gentlemen, and replied to them in the best way I could. One of them had charged me with denying a judgment day. I stated that I believed in a judgment day, yea, in many judgment days. The Bible speaks of numerous judgment days, but they are all this side of the end of the world. When Adam and Eve were condemned and driven out of Eden’s bowers, it was a judgment day to them. When Cain was banished to the land of Nod, it was his judgment day. When the wrath of heaven burst on the world and destroyed all but Noah’s family, it was a terrible judgment day. The Sodomites experienced the horrors of a judgment day when they were destroyed by fire. The ten tribes of Israel, when they were banished to the far East, never to return, knew something of a day of judgment. When Babylon, Nineveh, and other mighty cities of the old world were destroyed, they suffered the desolations of judgment days. When Jerusalem was trodden under foot by the Babylonian power, and when subsequently it was burned up, ploughed up, and drenched with the blood of its citizens, did it not suffer, what the sacred writers call, days of darkness, of gloom, of judgment? The world has been crowded with judgment days: all nations and people have sadly experienced their sorrows. The Christian dispensation is also termed a day of judgment. It commenced when the kingdom of God was established on earth by the Son of the Highest, and will continue, till Jesus shall return the kingdom to God the Father, as recorded in 1st Corinthians 15th chapter, when God shall be all in all. It commenced amid sin, error, suffering and death, and when it shall end those evils will be known no more, but truth, virtue, life and immortality will be the universal and everlasting boon of Adam’s race.
As soon as I got through, a lawyer commenced reading a long chapter of quotations from the Bible, to prove that there was a devil. He had prepared it with much care, and read it loud and emphatically. It was supposed that a preacher or two in town helped him to his texts, and comments. When he closed, a doctor commenced an harangue, but I begged him to hold on till I had disposed of his brother’s sermon. I told the people that I believed in many devils—lying, slanderous, revengeful, cruel, superstitious, sectarian devils; that every man was his own devil, and if any of my hearers should become vile and degraded, if they would look into a mirror, they would see a devil. But I had no faith in the devil the lawyer had been preaching about. As soon as I had finished my remarks, the doctor resumed his speech. He launched into the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, and did a large amount of special pleading, to show that the hell spoken of in that passage was a place of eternal woe. When he was through, I asked him if he would answer a few questions. He replied that he would.
“Do you regard that passage to be a literal relation of facts?”
“I do.”
“Hell is there called a place. Do you suppose it is a place having length, width and height?”
“Yes.”
“It is said to contain fire. Do you believe it contains fire?”
“I do, for the passage says so.”
“The rich man and Lazarus were within speaking distance of each other—they talked together. Do you think that heaven and hell are so near each other, that the saved can see the damned, and hear their groans and lamentations?”
“I am not bound to answer that question.”
“But you promised to answer my questions.”
Several voices—“You must answer”—“You are getting into a tight place.”
“Well, if I must answer it, I will say, Yes.”
“One more question. Could you be happy in heaven if you should see all the dear ones you now love, roasting in hell? Will you answer?”
“To be candid, I do not see how I could be happy.”
“I thank you for your candor. According to your interpretation of the passage, and it is the common interpretation, heaven and hell, the latter a region of quenchless fire, are neighbors, within speaking distance of each other, and mankind are to be torn asunder—part driven into hell, and part sent to heaven—husbands and wives divided, parents and children, brothers and sisters divided, part in heaven and part in hell, and those in heaven will know that half of the world are in hell, that their near and dear friends are there. Now, it is utterly impossible for there to be any happiness in heaven, when such a world of woe is within sight and hearing. The passage must be a parable—figurative language. Jesus often spake in parables. It is in connection with several parables, and like them is figurative. But I have not time this evening to give an explanation of it, but on to-morrow, Sunday, at eleven o’clock, will give what I regard to be the true exposition of that important passage.”
The discussion had a sensible effect on the hearers; some rejoiced and some were mad. One old gentleman, with streaming eyes, thanked me for what he had heard. But others were so enraged, that some of my friends feared that violent hands would be laid on me, ere I should reach the hotel, and I heard several cry, “Search his saddle-bags! he is a d——d abolitionist! get a rail!”
The next day my meeting was in a grove, for no house, that could be obtained, would hold half of the people who came out. My youth, the novelty of my faith, and the controversy, drew an immense concourse. The people listened with attention and respect, and the meeting was not disturbed by any opposition. I went to the village a stranger to all, but when I left, which was the next day, I had many friends.
I often preached in Harpers Ferry, and generally had large congregations. The town site, and its surroundings, are well known to be remarkably picturesque. The Shenandoah and Potomac, rapid streams, here unite, and roar and plunge through the chasm they have made through the Blue Ridge. The rocks on both sides are several hundred feet high, and nearly perpendicular. Thomas Jefferson said it was worth a voyage across the Atlantic to see this wonderful work of nature.
Near Hagerstown, I had a little controversy with a Campbellite preacher. We both had an appointment in a barn, and the people were eager to hear both of us speak. He delivered a discourse on his peculiar views—dwelt long on the importance of water baptism, which he affirmed was a condition of salvation. In my discourse, I paid particular attention to his water-cure notions, and showed that if he was correct, none could be saved without being baptized in water, and therefore most of mankind would be lost forever, as but a small portion of our race are immersed. In his reply he said he did not believe in endless misery, but in annihilation, and admitted that he had no evidence of the salvation of a soul, old or young, in a christian or a heathen land, without water baptism. What a gospel! I rejoined. Instead of bringing life and immortality to light, it proclaims eternal death to nearly the whole world; instead of being good news to our race, it is a howl of everlasting despair; instead of being a blessing to the world, it is an unmitigated curse; instead of its proclaiming that God is the loving Father of mankind, it announces that He is full of partiality and hatred towards most of His creatures. Never again prostitute that blessed word, gospel, by calling your partial, cruel and revengeful system by that dear name. There is not as much gospel in your creed as there is brain in a mosquito’s head.
One evening, I accompanied a friend to a Methodist meeting; the congregation was large, and a “revival” was raging in its midst. The first speaker spoke well and sensibly, but his words fell on dull ears and cold hearts. The second speaker was a regular son of thunder, and he did thunder, and storm, and quake, and he made some of his hearers do the same. When he got through with his “exhortation,” he kneeled and said, “Let us pray.” He prayed, and half of the assembly prayed with him. He raised his voice, and they raised theirs; he screamed like a maniac, and they did the same; he jumped up and down, and they jumped up and down. I looked on with utter amazement, having never witnessed such a scene before. As soon as he had finished this part of the performance, he told all to rise to their feet, who wanted to go to heaven. I was the only one who did not stand up. “Rise to your feet,” said he, “or you will be damned.” I kept my seat, and though strongly tempted to rebuke him, I said nothing.
Near Charleston, Va., I attended, for the first time, a Methodist camp-meeting, and have not since been anxious to renew my acquaintance with such gatherings. It was held in a beautiful grove, and there were present some two thousand people, black and white. During the services, the whites were seated in front of the speaker’s stand, and the negroes in its rear. The speakers would talk awhile to their white brethren, and then turn on their heels and give the black brethren a broadside, and the latter always responded to the condescension of the preachers with a hearty shout. The night was the hour of promise; then they were almost sure of being blessed with copious showers of “grace.” Sunlight, it seems, is not favorable to its descent; it comes more plentifully with moonshine. The night I was on the ground, there were all sorts of manifestations of the “spirit.” Some laughed, others cried, groaned, and threw themselves on the ground. I noticed one poor fellow trying to climb a tree, and I asked him where he was going. “To heaven,” said he, and he kept scratching the tree with his finger and toe nails, for he was bare-footed. The preachers and the hearers generally, seemed to think all that hopping, jumping, shouting and screaming, was the work of God in converting the souls of the people. Every good thing can be abused, and thus become an evil. Religious excitement, when kept within due bounds, is productive of much good, but when it overleaps all bounds, and becomes temporary insanity, as it did on this occasion, it is prostituted to a very bad purpose. I spent a short time in the “preacher’s tent” where the following conversation ensued:
“John Wesley was opposed to such excitement as you have here.”
“You are mistaken,” replied the Presiding Elder; “that man of God was in favor of it, for he knew it was the work of the spirit of God, and I warn you to flee from the wrath to come, before it shall be eternally too late.”
“Do not get excited, my friend. Let us see what Wesley says about what you call the work of the Holy Spirit. In one of his volumes he speaks of the doings of Satan thus:—‘Satan strives to push many of them to extravagance. This appears in several instances:
“‘1. Frequently three or four, yea, ten or twelve, pray aloud together.
“‘2. Some of them, perhaps, may scream altogether, as loud as they can.
“‘3. Some of them use improper, yea, indecent expression in prayer.
“‘Several drop down as dead, and are as stiff as a corpse; but in a while they start up and cry, “glory, glory!” perhaps twenty times together. Just so do the French prophets, and very lately the Jumpers in Wales, bringing the real work into contempt.
“‘Scream no more at the peril of your soul. God now warns you by me. I never scream, I never strain myself; I dare not, I know it would be a sin against God and my own soul!
“‘Some very unstill sisters, who always took care to stand near me, and tried who could cry loudest, since I have had them removed out of my sight, they have been as quiet as lambs. The first night I preached here, one half of my words were lost through the noise of their outcries; last night, before I began, I gave public notice that whosoever cried as to drown my voice, should, without man’s hurting or judging them, be gently carried to the farthest corner of the room, but my porters had no employment the whole night.
“‘There is a fervor which has passed for devotion, but it is not true, not scriptural devotion. It is loud shouting, horrid, unnatural screaming, repeating the same words twenty or thirty times, jumping two or three feet high, throwing about the arms and legs, both men and women, in a manner shocking not only to religion, but to common decency.
“‘I dislike,
“‘1. Speaking or praying of several at once.
“‘2. Praying to the Son of God only, or more than to the Father.
“‘3. The use of improper expressions in prayer.
“‘4. The using poor, flat, bald hymns.
“‘5. Those never kneeling in prayer. (They sat on the floor.)
“‘6. Your using postures or gestures highly indecent.
“‘7. Your screaming, so as to make the words unintelligible.
“‘8. Your affirming people will be justified or sanctified just now.
“‘9. The affirming they are where they are not.
“‘10. The bidding them, “I believe.”
“‘11. The bitterly condemning any that oppose, calling them wolves, etc., and pronouncing them hypocrites, or not justified!’
“These are Wesley’s words, and you have been doing here nearly all he so severely rebukes. What you call the work of God, he calls the work of Satan.”
“Let us pray,” said the Elder, with an awful groan. And such a prayer! It was not praying, but rather the ravings of a mad man, and the crowd raved with him. He called me the devil, and said I had slandered the sainted Wesley, and had come there to stop the work of God. He beseeched the Lord, either to convert my soul or send me to hell. When he was through, I told him that his performance was more like the ravings of a maniac, than the simple prayer of a Christian, and bid him good by.
After spending six months in this region, traveling and preaching constantly, and seeing but slim prospect for establishing our cause permanently there, and receiving hardly any compensation for all my hard labor, and many privations, I resolved to go to Pittsburg, Pa. The truth is, I was much discouraged. I had labored one year in Maryland, and found but few sympathizers with me or my faith, and had not received fifty dollars for all my toil. I was tired of traveling, and longed for an abiding place where I could preach without being constantly on the wing, and where I could pursue my studies. I was not avaricious, but thought, as I devoted all my time to the ministry, I ought to be comfortably supported. I regretted having come to the state, and certainly should not have been there, had I known the religious character of the people, and how few friends we had in that region.
CHAPTER II.
In Pittsburg—S. A. Davis, Wife and Daughter—The West—Preaches in Pennsylvania and Ohio—Western Reserve—Talk with a Bigot—Conversation on a Steamboat—Forbidden to Preach—Grave Creek—A Mound—My Study—What is Salvation?—Proceedings in Bainbridge—Mud—In Cincinnati—General Harrison—In Rising Sun, Patriot—Preaches in Louisville, Ky.—E. M. Pingree—On the Mississippi River—Preaches in a Steamboat—In New Orleans—Battle Ground.
I went to Pittsburg by stage, stopped at several places on the road, and delivered my message. Arriving in that city, I became acquainted with S. A. Davis, pastor of the church there, and publisher of the Glad Tidings, a paper devoted to the good cause. His church was numerically feeble, for liberal principles had just begun to take root in that city as in the West generally. Mr. Davis worked hard in the double capacity of pastor and editor. He was a pleasant speaker, fair writer, and a very excellent man. His wife, who long since went to the better world, possessed much talent, and wrote clever articles for the Glad Tidings. He now resides in the East, and is still in the Master’s service. His daughter, Minnie Davis, is one of the best female writers in the denomination. She has written several excellent books, and contributes liberally to our periodical literature.
I had crossed the mountain barrier between the East and the West, and was then in the Mississippi Valley—merely though on its border. Its hills and vales, its forests and prairies, its rivers and lakes, were all before me towards the setting sun. Compare the West then to the West now. Never since earth’s foundation was laid, has any country exhibited such rapid progress in so few years. The West has made a thousand years growth in twenty-five years. And is it destined to continue to grow at that rate? The signs of the times indicate that it is even so. The most vivid imagination can form but a faint conception of the future greatness of the West. Columbus, romantic and extravagant as were his visions, could not have dreamed of half the glory of the future West. Here fiction has already become fact, and dreams realities.
I effected arrangements to travel and preach in Pennsylvania and Ohio, for I soon learned that our friends were few in the West, and that I should have to travel extensively. I submitted to my fate and went to work. Visited several places in Pennsylvania, but meeting with little encouragement, I passed into Ohio, where I found more friends. Preached in many places in the Western Reserve, generally had large congregations, and found many devoted believers in the Great Salvation. A large portion of the population of the Reserve were from the Eastern states, and they brought industrious habits, correct moral principles, and liberal religious sentiments with them—the right kind of soil for Universalism to grow in. But where wheat grows, there grows chaff, and I encountered some intolerable bigotry in that region. In Ashtabula a vinegar-faced gentleman accosted me thus:
“I understand you are a Universalist preacher.”
“You have been correctly informed. Universalism is only another name for the gospel. ‘A rose,’ you know, ‘by any other name would smell as sweet.’”
“Sweet! Universalism the gospel! It is neither sweet nor the gospel. It is a loathsome spawn from hell, the meanest of all the devil’s mean works, and you ought not to be allowed to teach it to immortal souls. I would put a stop to such preaching had I the power.”
“Very likely you would, for you look like a villain. The mark of the beast is on you, and you would, doubtless, like to be about your master’s business. The world has been cursed a long time with the spirit you possess, and with men of your character, and that spirit, and that breed are not yet dead. Bigots and hypocrites like you, nailed the Savior of man to the cross, stoned Stephen, murdered the apostles, and crucified, burnt, hung, beheaded, and quartered, the saints of God in all ages.”
“If I believed as you do, I would take my fill of sin.”
“You are full of sin now.”
“What do you preach for?”
“To reform such men as you. You may think you are a Christian of the first water, but you know nothing about Christianity. The name of its Author is Love, and Christianity corresponds, letter and spirit, with that blessed word. But what do you know about love? and what does your fiery creed know about love? But you know what hate means, and you would pursue all with fire and sword who do not kneel at your shrine. I pray God that you may be converted, that you may know the meaning of love, mercy, goodness, justice, know that they do not signify hatred, cruelty, vengeance, and that God is served when we obey the law of love, not when we hate and devour each other.”
On board of a steamboat, on the Ohio river, I participated in the following conversation:
“I am free to acknowledge, that I cannot reconcile endless misery with the goodness of God, and yet I have to believe in that doctrine.”
“Others have admitted the same. The celebrated Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great moralist of the last century, admitted that God cannot be infinitely good to the victims of ceaseless woe—so Boswell tells us. We judge of a person’s character by his works. If his works are evil, we infer his character is evil; if his works are good, we infer that his character is good. We are safe in judging of God’s character by the same criterion. If he has built an everlasting hell, and will consign his own offspring to its dismal vaults, to be the victims of Almighty wrath, world without end, and all for the errors of a day, it is utterly impossible for Him to be good, much less, infinitely good. Goodness seeks the welfare, not the ruin, of the subjects of its power.”
“But your argument, if it is sound, proves, that God is not infinitely good, for the world is full of misery. All, the old and the young, the good and the bad, suffer.”
“True, there is much suffering beneath the sun, but I think it can be reconciled with the goodness of the Creator. Consider, first, how short is our stay on earth. Some are here a few hours, others a few days, and none but a few years. Suppose there were nothing in this world but suffering, but if an eternity of bliss awaits us on the other side of the river, all the sufferings of earth would afford no evidence that God is not good. For every tear, every sigh, every woe, we should have millions of ages of happiness. But with very few exceptions, if there are any, all in this world, enjoy far more than they suffer. There are more muscles in the face for laughing than for weeping, which proves that it is the will of our Creator that there should be more happiness in our cup than sorrow. As there is more sunshine than storm, so more joy than grief falls to the lot of mortals. But this should also be considered, most of the suffering men endure, they bring on themselves by their ignorance or willfulness. This is a beautiful world, a garden of Eden, and if we observe the laws of the Creator, taste not of the forbidden fruit, but partake only of fruit from the tree of life, there would be but little suffering in this world.”
“But we are informed, that man was forbidden to partake of the tree of life.”
“Adam and Eve were forbidden while they were unrepentant and sinful, and so are all while they possess such a character. We cannot serve God and Baal. If we serve the one we despise the other. We cannot possess a sinful character, and a virtuous character, cannot partake of the tree of evil and of good at the same time. We are driven from the one when we partake of the other. But if we flee from the deadly shades of the upas, touch not, taste not, handle not its poisonous fruit, the tree of life will be accessible to us. We are told that the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations, (Rev. xxii. 2,) showing, that it is now within our reach. Yes, if we approach it with pure motives, clean hands, and reverent steps, we can, even now, pluck its fruit and live. But a flaming sword prevents access to it while we are morally low, debased, groveling.”
“That is a new view of the subject; I will think about it.”
“As all suffering in this world is of short duration, and as we voluntary bring most we do suffer on ourselves, and as we have reason to trust it will all, by our Heavenly Father, be overruled for good, and be succeeded by an eternity of blessedness, I cannot see that the few tears, and aches of this brief life militate against the goodness of the Creator. I am sure, when we shall have passed through the strifes and conflicts of this world, and can see the past in the light of their results, in the light of eternity, we will exclaim, ‘Love and mercy pursued us all the days of our lives.’ But misery without mitigation or end, without one ray of hope, nothing but an eternity of gloom, and the most intense agony, can never be reconciled with infinite goodness.”
A few miles below Pittsburg, in Virginia—I now forget the name of the place—I stopped one Saturday evening, and told the people I would speak to them the next day, if they would give me a hearing. A citizen invited me to his house, and I delivered a discourse on Sunday morning, to a large assembly. In the middle of the afternoon, some ten or a dozen persons entered the house where I was stopping, and after being seated, the following ensued:
“Are you the man who preached in the school house this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we have called to let you know that you must not hold another meeting in this town.”
“Why not? What is the matter, gentlemen?”
“Your doctrine is dangerous; it is infidelity, and we want no more of it.”
“Did any of you hear my discourse to-day?”
“No, and we don’t want to hear such stuff.”
“How then do you know it is dangerous and infidel?”
“We are not here to have a controversy with you, but to notify you that you cannot occupy the school house this evening.”
My host here informed the gentlemen, that he had an interest in that house, and that I should preach in it if I desired to. “This gentleman,” said he, “is a stranger in this place; I heard his sermon in the morning, and although I know nothing about Universalism, he uttered not a word I consider dangerous or infidel.”
“When you reflect,” I remarked, “on the mean business you are here on, you will be heartily ashamed of yourselves, and your conduct. You admit you did not hear me, and yet you are loud and angry in your condemnation. I am a stranger in this place, and to you; I have never harmed a hair of your heads, and yet you treat me with savage rudeness. Is this Virginia hospitality? What do you suppose I teach?”
“We understand you teach, that there is no God, no Savior, no hell, and that the good and the bad, go to heaven together.”
“You have been misinformed. My advice to you is, to acquaint yourselves with the principles you so rudely condemn, for you are as ignorant of them as the Hottentots are of English grammar.”
“We have no more to say to you, except to repeat, that you must not again preach your abominations in this town.”
“I expect to hold a meeting in town this evening, and hope you will attend, and learn something of the gospel of Jesus.”
Exit the inquisitors.
I held a meeting according to appointment, but that company of bigots kept out of the way. They found, however, they could neither rule me or the town, for I had a much larger congregation after their visit than before. Lectured in Wellsville, and a Methodist minister replied in a good natured manner, and we parted in friendship. Proceeded down the Ohio river to Wheeling, where I lectured several times, in a Baptist meeting-house, and then went to Graves Creek, on the Virginia side of the river, and there spent two weeks, speaking most every day in town or country. C. G. Cox resided there, and preached occasionally. My sojourn in this place is a green spot in my memory, for I found some excellent friends, which was really cheering after meeting with so much opposition.
There is an artificial mound here, some eighty feet high, of a conic shape, and very steep. When, or by whom it was made, whether by the Indians, or a race who preceded them, is unknown, and the mystery will probably never be solved. A few years since a shaft was extended through the base of the mound, and a broken arch and some human bones were found in the center, indicating that it was a monumental structure.
A great portion of my traveling at this period was on foot. I often walked twenty or twenty-five miles in a day, and delivered a long discourse at night. Traveling in this hard way, and preaching most every day, I had but little time to read or write. When a traveler asked Wordsworth’s servant, to show him his master’s study, he answered, “Here is his library, but his study is out of doors.” So, like him, my study was out of doors. The Bible was my constant companion, and the portions of it that most interested me, were the New Testament, the Psalms, the book of Job, the Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. When weary, I would sit by the wayside, and study the Book of Life, and on resuming my march, would reflect on what I had read, or arrange a sermon. My discourses were seldom written, neither were they wholly extemporaneous, for I often repeated portions of them.
I journeyed to Steubenville, Ohio, where I spoke twice; then to Marietta, and from thence to Chillicothe, as I was then bound for Cincinnati. In Chillicothe, I remained a week, and lectured four times. While in this place, I had the following conversation with a Presbyterian clergyman:
“What do you mean by salvation?”
“I mean, deliverance from evil tendencies, thoughts, habits, purposes, and all of their long train of results. This is a perfect salvation. It can be only partially enjoyed in this world, at best; it will require the grace, light and wisdom of eternity to perfect the work. It may be commenced here, but cannot be consummated in this lower world. And this is what the New Testament means by salvation. ‘Thou shalt call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins.’ Matt. i. 21. ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world.’ John i. 28. ‘Unto you first, God having raised up his Son Jesus, sent him to bless you, in turning every one of you from his iniquities.’ Acts iii. 25. ‘There shall come out of Zion the deliverer, who shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob; for this is the covenant unto them, when I shall take away their sins.’ Rom. xi. 27. ‘There is no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus.’ Rom. viii. 1. ‘Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a people zealous of good works.’ Titus ii. 14. ‘Because the creature [meaning mankind] shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.’ Rom. viii. 21. These scriptures clearly teach what is gospel salvation. The recipients of it are liberated from the bondage of sin and error; the ‘chains of darkness’ are broken, and they enjoy a glorious liberty, a glorious deliveration, a glorious salvation.”
“True, that is salvation; but the Bible also speaks of salvation from hell.”
“The only passage in the Bible where deliverance from hell is spoken of reads thus:—‘For great is thy mercy towards me; and thou hast delivered my soul from the lowest hell.’ Psalms lxvi. 13. Here is hell, the lowest hell, and the writer speaks of salvation from it; but this hell is on earth, and the deliverance is a present deliverance. David had sinned, and he expressed his sins and their consequences by the term, hell; but he repented, reformed, obtained forgiveness, and was delivered from the lowest hell into which he had been plunged. And it was the mission of Jesus to save the world from just such a hell, and from no other.”
“But the Bible speaks of salvation from hell in the future world—an endless hell.”
“The Scriptures no where locate hell in the immortal world. It is a condition of moral corruption, and, the world knows by sad experience, that condition is experienced in this life. The terms, ‘eternal hell,’ ‘everlasting hell,’ ‘endless hell,’ do not once occur in the good book. But if gospel salvation is deliverance from such a wretched place, it is remarkable that the sacred writers say nothing about it. The truth is, God never made such a horrible place as theologians denominate hell, and consequently nobody is exposed to its fiery surges, and all this talk about salvation from it, is simply idle talk. But men do cherish evil thoughts, purposes, habits, and the salvation the Bible contemplates is deliverance from those real evils. Here is a trinity of evils, and to sever them from our souls and from our life; to purify our thoughts, correct our habits, and rightly direct our purposes, should be the end and aim of life. But to spend life’s golden moments, trying to dodge imaginary evils, evils which exist only in our creeds, and thereby make ourselves miserable, is foolish, is suicidal. The only hell we need fear is within our own souls, not without, and away in yonder world; and if half the effort was made to save the world from that hell, that is made to save it from imaginary torments beyond the grave, much more would be accomplished for humanity.”
Proceeded to Bainbridge, where I spent several days, and delivered four sermons to an excited people. The doctrine of the Restitution was hardly known there, even by name, but all classes attended my meetings to hear the youthful speaker, and to learn something of his strange doctrine. Some were mad and some were glad. One minister treated me very kindly, and assisted several times in the services, but another was boiling over with rage, but he heard me through. At the close of the second discourse, he jumped to his feet, and told the people that the speaker believed in no hell or devil, and for my part, he added, I would as soon deny that there is a God or a heaven. I kindly informed him that he was mistaken, that he had not understood me; that I believed in all the hells and devils the Bible speaks of, and no more; that possibly we might differ relative to the Bible meaning of those subjects, and that it was very uncharitable to assert that I denied the Bible because I differed from him in understanding it. Doing that is not denying the Bible, but simply differing from the gentleman. He then dashed into Revelation to prove that the devil was a huge monster, almost equal to the Almighty, had his throne in the infernal regions, where he reigned, “monarch of all he surveyed,” and that his eagle eye, from the center of hell, beheld this earth and all therein, and he not only attended to his infernal duties at home, but was constantly besieging every man, woman and child of earth, and never forsook a soul till it was fairly within the gates of the New Jerusalem. I replied, that there was this difference between the speaker and myself—he was a Pagan and I was a Christian; I believed in one God, and he, at least, in two—the God of heaven, and the god of hell. And I exhorted him to abandon his Paganism and embrace Christianity. He cooled down some, and at the close of the meeting gave me his hand. I entered Bainbridge a total stranger, and departed from it with the blessings of many.
I went to Cincinnati by stage, and oh, what roads! There were no railroads then, not even turnpikes. It was mud, mud, mud, nothing but mud; stiff, black, deep mud. I forget how many times the stage broke down, how many horses were killed, or how many times all hands had to get out into the ocean of mud, and pry the stage out of the mud. But I do remember, that when we reached Cincinnati, the horses, driver, stage and passengers, were covered with rich Buckeye mud. Mr. West was then preaching in the Queen city, in a small house, on Walnut street, and Mr. Tizard and George Rogers were publishing the Star in the West. Cincinnati then contained only twenty-five thousand inhabitants, but now its population is fully two hundred thousand. Still, it was then the city of the West. St. Louis and Chicago were then mere villages, now each of them is equal to Cincinnati in population. Surely, western cities are great growers. Preached several times in C., and made many pleasant acquaintances. I was urged to remain and labor in the vicinity, but I had resolved to go South, and no persuasion could change my purpose. I had to learn my mistake by experience.
I went on foot, down the Ohio river. Stopped at North Bend, saw General Harrison, who then resided there, and spent several hours in his company. He was very kind and social. He told me he had thought much about religion, believed in its reality and usefulness, that he could not subscribe to the eternity of punishment, but did not know about the salvation of all; but added the General, “I believe God is just, wise, good and merciful, and that all will end well, but what that end is to be I know not. I must wait for the developments of the great teacher—death.” Soon after, he was elected President of the United States. I saw him several times during the presidential campaign; heard him make his Dayton speech to congregated thousands, and read with tearful eyes, the announcement of his death, one short month after his inauguration, and have since lingered around his grave, on the banks of the Ohio.
I next went to Rising Sun, Ind., where I preached every day for a week. This was my first advent into Indiana. Since then, I have traveled through its length and its breadth, and preached in nearly every town within its borders. Much interest was manifested in the meetings at Rising Sun, and large congregations attended. One man, I was informed, a member of some orthodox church, who attended one of the meetings, became so excited, during the service, that he ate all the tobacco he could find in his pockets—three large plugs. Since then, a society has been organized there, and a church built. Perhaps the good seed sown then, in after years yielded some fruit. Seven miles down the river is Patriot, where I stopped ten days, and delivered five discourses. The principal families of the place were of the liberal faith, excellent people, and practical Christians. They loved the truth, loved to talk about it, and loved to attend the services of the sanctuary. That place was an oasis in the desert—no controversy, no denunciation, but peace, love and harmony reigned. A fine meeting-house was built soon after I was there, and the society prospered for several years. But pecuniary misfortunes overtaking some of the leading members, and the business of the town diminishing, nearly broke up the society. After a pleasant sojourn with the Patriot friends, I went to Louisville, Ky., where I preached several times in a large hall. I had not been in Kentucky before, but since then have traveled extensively in that state. In this city, E. M. Pingree lived, studied, labored and died. He died young, in the midst of usefulness, loved and honored by all who knew him. He was a strong man, gathered many friends around him, and built up what seemed to be a permanent society, but it did not prosper long after his death, and is now extinct. Gad Chapin was in L. on my first visit, and is there still—a patriarch in our Israel.
At Louisville I took passage on the steamer “Commercial” for New Orleans, fifteen hundred miles down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. Nothing of much interest occurred on the voyage. I delivered three discourses, at the request of the captain and passengers, on three subjects—Judgment, Punishment, Salvation—and theological points were the principal subjects of discussion the ten days occupied in going to New Orleans. The merits and demerits of Universalism were pretty freely canvassed by all, from the captain to the barber. Captain Rudd, the commander, was of the liberal faith. I met him in after years in St. Louis, where he died of yellow fever. He was a good officer, and a generous friend.
I arrived at New Orleans in January. Ten days had transported me from winter to summer weather; from where the earth was bound in chains of ice, and covered with snow, to where mother earth was teeming with vegetable life, and covered with a carpet, in which were blended the tints of the rainbow. Jack Frost was busy, biting ears and fingers, in Louisville, but in New Orleans gnats and musquitoes were fully as eager to bite at every exposed point. I heard Dr. Clapp, but he had not then embraced the better faith, and I formed no acquaintance with him. I traveled all over the city, and visited the battle ground where General Jackson gave the English such a drubbing. I wanted to preach on the spot, but could not find a door of entrance. No one seemed to care for any thing but money, and dissipation. Mammon and Bacchus were the gods mostly worshiped. The churches on Sunday were nearly empty, but the theaters, museums, gambling dens, and grog-shops, were crowded. There were doubtless some righteous men there, but to a stranger, they seemed to be as scarce as they were in Sodom of old.
CHAPTER III.
A Sea Voyage—A Meeting at Sea—Tornado—Strange Vessel—In Texas—Travels to Houston—Hard Fare—The Country—Sleeping on the Ground—Very Thirsty—Must have Water—Colorado River—Sound Asleep on its Banks—Crosses the River on Logs—Corn Cake—A Surprise—In Houston—General Houston—The Attorney General of Texas—San Jacinto Battle Ground—A Pandemonium—Buck Wheat Cakes—Embarked for New Orleans—A Condemned Vessel—On Allowance—In New Orleans—A Contrast—Ague and Fever—Up the Mississippi River.
Desiring to see more of the world, I embarked for Matagorda, Texas, on board of a brig, bound for that place. A steam tug towed us to the Balize, and we were soon winding our way towards the destined port. There were many emigrants on board, going to Texas, to make themselves homes. As soon as it became known that I was a clergyman, I was invited to hold services. I stood on the quarter-deck, my hearers, numbering about one hundred, gathered around me—some on deck and some in the rigging. My text was, “And he arose, and rebuked the winds, and the sea, and there was a great calm.” I commenced by speaking of the storms to which the sea is subject, and then spoke of that One, who has perfect control of its mountain waves, and of the hurricane that lashes the mighty deep into such fury. One word from Him turned the headlong tornado into a calm, and the angry surges into repose. Life is a sea, and we are all voyagers, sailing from port to port. Sometimes we have fair weather, and sometimes foul weather. To-day the sun may shine bright, and the air be as gentle as an infant’s breath, and our bark may glide smoothly along, like a vessel on the mirrored deep; to-morrow, clouds and darkness may gather around, the storms of human passion, or of adversity may threaten the destruction of us and ours, and in despair we may give up all as lost. But let us remember, through the whole journey of life, that there is One who controls the storms of life as well as the storms of the ocean, and to every troubled heart he does or will say, “Peace—be still.” A hymn was sung, in which nearly all, sailors and passengers, participated.
In an hour after services, a small cloud was observed in the west. The captain, knowing what it betokened, ordered the vessel put in trim for a gale. In a few minutes, the wind was howling through the rigging, and the vessel plunging from wave to wave, as if eager to flee from the wrath of the storm-king. The gale continued above an hour, when the wind abated, the clouds dispersed, the sun shone bright, and the sea soon became as smooth as a mirror. That latitude, at that season of the year, is subject to such gusts of passion. A few nights after, when I was sound asleep on the quarter-deck, for it was too hot to rest below, one of these gales crossed our track, and a huge wave breaking over the vessel, dashed me across the deck, when I scrambled up, and ran into the cabin, not fancying so unceremonious a sea-bath. One night, a man jumped overboard, and was lost—he must have been insane. Friends at home probably waited with alternate hope and fear for his return, and, perhaps, never knew of his sad fate. At that time, Mexico and Texas were at war, and armed vessels were in the gulf looking after prizes. One day, a large ship was observed in the distance, bearing down upon us, without showing colors. Our captain was alarmed. With a pale face, he eyed the stranger through his telescope. We were all fearful it was a Mexican armed vessel, and that we should be taken into Matamoras; but we were finally relieved by the ship showing English colors, tacking eastward and leaving us.
We sailed up the Matagorda bay a few miles, but the water being shallow, I got on board a lighter, and went to a village, the name of which I do not now remember. When I landed in Texas, I supposed I had delivered my last sermon. I had become tired of wandering about the world, and had had no opportunity to settle before I had concluded to quit the ministry. But going to Texas at that early day to find a home, was certainly a wild and foolish project; and I had been there but a short time, when I repented in sackcloth and ashes, for having taken the step I had, and resolved to return to the United States, and continue in the ministry. I immediately commenced making preparation to go to Houston by the land route, and thence to New Orleans by water. The distance to Houston was one hundred and sixty miles, and I resolved to go there on foot. Being informed that there were but few inhabitants on the road, and most of them in a starving condition, as the Mexican army had the season previous passed through that region, I carried food to last me to the end of my land journey. No tea, coffee, sugar, salt or flour could be obtained for love or money. Every body lived on fresh beef, without salt, pepper or butter, save here and there an aristocrat who had a little corn meal in his larder. I bought some beef, cut it in slices, and dried it in the sun.
With a good supply of dried beef, and nothing else, a tin canteen, a blanket and a staff, I commenced my journey, on foot and alone, through the wild prairies of Texas. I found the country to be nearly all prairie, the surface quite level, and the soil rich and deep. The forest trees were generally covered with ivy, which gave them a melancholy appearance. Live oaks abounded in some localities. Alligators flourished in the streams, and Indians, snakes, tarantulas and horned toads on the land. I often traveled a day without seeing a human being or his habitation. When night came on, I would stop, eat my dried beef, drink some water, which I had carried, perhaps, all day, and then roll myself in my blanket, lay on the ground, and go to sleep, not knowing that there was a human being within miles of me. I was four weeks in going to Houston, and did not sleep in a house one night during that time.
I well remember how I suffered one day from thirst. It was a very warm day, and my little stock of water was exhausted at my morning repast. I expected to find more of the blessed beverage about noon in a small grove. I reached the spot, but no water was there; the bed where there had been a stream was dry and hard. It was a sore disappointment, for I was very thirsty. As I could not eat my dry beef without water, I pressed towards the Colorado river, which seemed to be about fifteen miles distant, for I could see the timber bordering on the stream. I reached the timber a little after dark, but how far it was to the river, I knew not. I plunged into the forest in the direction I knew the stream must lay, as it ran southward. The moon, which had just risen, was my only guide, for be it known, I was on no road. It proved to be about four miles to the river, and how I got through, I know not. There was no path, the thick foliage of the forest admitted but little moonlight, and the underbrush, vines and branches of trees, made the whole distance a perfect thicket. But I went through with a rush, regardless of scratches, snakes, or anything else, for water I must have. About ten o’clock, I reached the bank of the river, reflecting the full moon, which had been my guide through the dense forest; and never did a traveler on the Arabian desert behold the long sought pool with more delight. It seemed to be my friend, my savior; and if I had been an idolator, I should have fallen down and worshiped it. I filled my canteen, and drank till I was satisfied. I then bathed my head, face, hands and feet in the glorious river. On the bank I partook of my humble repast—dried beef and water—with a thankful heart. With my blanket around me, I laid down on the ground and slept, never better, till the hot morning sun, shining in my face, awaked me, when it was about two hours’ high. I have often wondered how I dared to sleep that night, knowing as I did, that there were alligators in the river, and bears, wolves, and poisonous reptiles in the woods. In the morning, I again partook of beef and water, with an excellent relish.
But a new difficulty now presented itself. A deep river was before me, without a bridge or a boat, and I could not swim. But cross the stream I must by some means. In the first place, I explored the river, up and down, several miles, hoping to find some one to aid me, but not a sign of a human being, or human habitation could I discover. I resolved to attempt to cross the river on a log, and after much hard work succeeded in getting two logs of sufficient size, into the water, fastened them together with strips of my blanket, and with pole in hand, launched into the river. The stream being quite rapid, my frail craft floated down about one mile, but I safely landed on the opposite shore without much trouble. After wandering in the canebrakes two hours, I struck a road, and thanked God and took courage.
I soon came to a house, and had the good fortune to obtain a quart of corn, which I ground in an old coffee mill, and made some excellent corn bread of meal and water. I passed through San Felipe, where was once a village, but only its ruins then remained, for the Mexicans had destroyed it. Waking one morning about sunrise, I was amazed by the presence of six naked Indians, squatted in the grass around me. I jumped to my feet; they saw that I was astonished, but I noticed they smiled. Taking courage by that friendly token, I walked up to them, and extended my right hand. They offered me the pipe of peace, which was gladly accepted. They did not understand a word of English, nor I a word of Indian. We talked, however, in gestures. They remained an hour, when we separated in friendship.
When within thirty miles of Houston, I sold my watch for fifteen dollars, expecting that I should need the money to help pay expenses to the States. After receiving the money, I heard a woman remark, “It will do him no good, for he will spend it all for liquor in Houston.” I suppose she would have thought I lied, if I had told her that I had never drank a glass of liquor. Arriving at Houston, I renovated self and clothing, for both were rather dilapidated. Samuel Houston was then president of Texas. I was in company with him several times, and dined once in the log-cabin, where he boarded. He was a good talker, but an awful swearer. Oath after oath rolled from his tongue without an effort. It is said that General Jackson was an eloquent swearer, but I have doubts of his beating General Houston in that department of eloquence. I witnessed his departure for the interior of Texas, to treat with some Indian tribes. The ferryman did not handle the boat to suit the president, and he poured battery after battery of oaths on the poor fellow’s head. On leaving, he embraced, after the French fashion, his friends, who had followed him to the boat. I was on the San Jacinto battle ground, a few miles from the city. It was a short but decided contest. The Mexican forces were totally routed, and Santa Anna taken prisoner. That battle crowned Houston with glory and honor in Texas. The town of Houston, when I was there, was a moral desert. Vice of most every name and grade reigned triumphant—it was a hell on earth. The Attorney-General of Texas, while I was there, roamed the streets half of one night, drunk, and hatless, coatless, bootless, daring any one to fight with him. The people laughed about it as if it was a trifling matter, and of common occurrence. It is to be hoped that the morals of that place have improved.
Wishing to go to New Orleans by water, I went in a lighter down Buffalo bayou to Galveston bar, where the steamer was anchored. The passage down occupied three days, and that vessel was a perfect pandemonium—the officers and hands were quarreling or fighting most of the time. Dirks and pistols were freely used. Buckwheat cakes and fat hog-sides were served to us three times a day. And oh, what cakes! The cook baked them about an inch thick, without any rising properties, and put them on the table stone cold. Fine cakes—thick, cold and solid. I finally reached the steamer, and the captain promised us a quick passage and good fare. But I soon learned, when it was too late, that the boat was an old, rotten, condemned hulk; that provisions were scarce, and that the captain was a scamp. Time and again the engine broke, or some of the running gear. Water and food soon being exhausted, we were allowed one pint of water and one Boston cracker per day. The fuel being all consumed, we had to burn part of the boat to get into port. We were a week in going from Galveston bar to the mouth of the Mississippi river, when the trip should have been made in thirty-six hours. Fortunately we had pleasant weather, for one such squall as we had going out, would have sent the whole concern to the bottom of the gulf.
When I returned to New Orleans it was mid-summer, and the city presented a very different appearance from what it did when I was there the previous winter. Then business was at its zenith, now at its nadir; then the hotels, streets and marts of trade were crowded, now there was plenty of room; then steamboats and vessels were receiving and discharging freight for and from every clime, now the shipping was very meager; then the weather was pleasant, now the heat was scorching, burning, melting; then it was healthy, now the yellow fever and almost every other fever, was raging. Exposure and hard fare in Texas, ultimated in ague and fever. I had several chills while in Houston; when at sea beyond the land breeze, I was free from them; but as soon as I inhaled the air from shore, they returned with increased violence, and it was two years before I entirely regained my former good health.
I was soon on board of a steamer bound for Cincinnati, and after a voyage of two weeks, landed at Leavenworth, Ind., where I remained three months doctoring for the ague.
CHAPTER IV.
Labors of E. B. Mann—N. Wadsworth—Owner of a Horse—Preach in Indiana and Kentucky—A Profane Life—General Clarke—Atheism—The Eyeless Fish—A Presbyterian Minister’s Wisdom—No Hell, No Heaven—Travel in Ohio—Another Preacher Replies—Labors in Dayton—D. R. Biddlecom—George Messenger—R. Smith’s Somersault—J. A. Gurley—George Rogers—Start for Indiana—Battle in Harrison—Universalism an old Doctrine, and of God—Partialism an old Doctrine, but of Satan—Grove Meeting—Father St. John—Badly Treated—John O’Kane on his Creed—In Indianapolis—A. Longley—A Horse—Questioned by a Methodist—In Terre Haute—Very Unpopular.
Partially recovering, I resumed my former work of traveling and preaching. E. B. Mann resided near Leavenworth, and labored in the counties in Indiana and Kentucky, bordering on the Ohio river. He also distributed a large number of denominational books. His circuit, which was about two hundred miles round, he traveled on horseback, once a month. He was not graced by education or refinement, yet his labors were blessed with a good degree of success. He is now dead, and his mortal remains repose near Leavenworth, the center of his labors for many years.
I lectured in L. and vicinity three weeks, and then proceeded to Louisville, Ky. N. Wadsworth was then residing there, and publishing a paper called The Berean; and at his earnest solicitation, I spent three months in obtaining subscribers for it. Mr. W. was formerly a Methodist minister, but then cherished a more liberal faith. His talent was above mediocrity, his acquirements fair, was a good man, and devoted to the cause he espoused, and the profession of his choice. He was small in stature, and feeble in health—too small and feeble for his large and active mind. A year after, he moved to Troy, Mo., his periodical was discontinued, and he died of consumption, after laboring there with excellent success, about one year. His widow resides there still, and although she has changed her name, the home of brother and sister Sydnor is ever a welcome retreat for our ministers. It has been my privilege to spend many pleasant hours in their company. The humble grave of my early friend is in the Troy cemetery; and I have read the brief monumental inscription on the cold marble at its head, through tearful eyes.
I bought a horse of Mr. Wadsworth, and agreed to pay him in obtaining subscribers for his paper. It was the first horse I ever owned, and I felt quite rich, and very independent. I preached in most of the towns within fifty miles of Louisville, in Kentucky and Indiana. In Salem, Ind., I delivered a series of sermons. A merchant there told me that his counting-room was his chapel, his ledger his Bible, and money his religion. He was then doing a large and lucrative business. A few years after, he had no counting-room, no ledger, no money, and died a miserable death—the natural result of so profane a life. General Clarke, an old Indian warrior, resided near Salem. He attended my meetings, and I was often at his house. He said he had helped steal Kentucky and Indiana from the Indians. He was an intelligent man, but a zealous Atheist. He admitted that faith in a God of goodness, wisdom and justice, and in the immortal blessedness of mankind, was more satisfactory, and yielded more happiness than Atheism; and if such exalted and benevolent sentiments had received his attention ere his present views had become permanently established, he might have embraced them, but now he was too old to learn. I used to rejoin, that his admission was fatal to his creed. If a belief in God and immortality confers more happiness than the denial of a God, and a hereafter, that was the best evidence that Atheism was false, and religion truth, for truth always confers more happiness than error. Virtue is truth and vice is falsehood, because the former is adapted to our nature, and makes us happy, while the latter is a violation of our nature, and darkens and deforms the mind. For the same reason your theory, I would add, must be false, and mine correct. Not “too old to learn,” General. Your body is frail—it has been dying these many years, but your mind is vigorous. Why stop learning? If religion is true, death, that is fast destroying your body, will not invade your mind—that will live to learn forever.
Near Salem was a cave, containing water, in which were fish without eyes. God creates no superfluities. The fish of every sea, lake, river, have eyes, because there is light in those waters, but the beams of the sun had never penetrated that cavern, therefore eyes were useless, and hence the denizens of that eternal dungeon, have no visional organ. Nothing is created in vain; every thing answers some useful purpose in the economy of the Creator. Here is a solid foundation on which to rest.
In Bedford, Ind., a Presbyterian minister abruptly attacked me at the close of a discourse. “If the pains of the damned will cease,” said he, “so will the joys of the saved; for the words that express the misery of the one, express the happiness of the other.” Never, I replied, was a man more mistaken. The Bible speaks of endless life, but not a word about endless death. The terms, “endless death,” “endless misery,” “endless woe,” “endless damnation,” “endless hell,” found in the creeds of men, do not once occur in the Bible. Read all that Moses and the prophets, Jesus and the apostles, said or wrote, and you will not find those terms once, not even once, in the Old or New Testaments. “Endless” life is a Bible term, but those other endlesses are wretched fictions. The Bible says, “O hell, I will be thy destruction;” but where does it say, “O heaven, I will be thy destruction?!”
Finding but few persons of the liberal faith in the vicinity of Louisville, I concluded to go to Ohio. Preached in Cincinnati, Mount Healthy, Hamilton, Oxford and Middletown. In the latter place a clergyman attended my meetings, and at the close of every sermon entered his solemn protest against what had been said. He was a German, and in one of his harangues said, “This fellow believes the fire will be squenched, and I believe the fire will not be squenched.” But he became so interested, that he proposed traveling with me a few weeks, but not caring about his company, I did not accept of his proposition.
Proceeded to Dayton; and having reference to no one, I called on the sheriff, and engaged the Court-house for the next day—Sunday. Wrote some notices of the proposed meeting, and while putting them up in different parts of the town, a gentleman introduced himself, who proved to be the mayor of the city. He kindly informed me of a man of my faith, on whom I called, and was received with a hearty welcome. I delivered two discourses on Sunday, and on Monday morning was preparing to leave town, when several friends called on me, and urged me to remain, at least, a few months. The town, they said, had just been scourged by a crazy revival, and if I should tarry there awhile, they were sure a good society would be established. I told them I could not remain, as I was under obligation to travel to extend the circulation of The Berean, and must soon have, at least, seventy subscribers, to discharge my obligation to its publisher. “If that number should be obtained in this town, will you tarry with us?” queried the gentlemen. I replied, that I would. Notice was given that there would be a meeting that evening. I delivered a discourse, and at the close of it, a friend informed the congregation, that I had consented to remain three months, if seventy subscribers should be obtained in town for The Berean; and in a few minutes the required number were secured. We soon organized a society, a choir, and our meetings were well attended during my sojourn in that pleasant town. I wrote two sermons every week, and committed them to memory—did not take the manuscript into the desk with me. The society paid me one hundred dollars for my services. My health not being good, I declined remaining after the three months had expired I stipulated to remain. The society, after I left, built a meeting-house, and prospered for several years. I am not informed of its present condition.
While residing in Dayton, I visited Springfield, Centerville, and many other places within twenty or thirty miles of the city, in all of which I delivered my message. In the former place, George Messenger, a minister of the Common Salvation, was residing, and the society was building a meeting-house. D. R. Biddlecom, well known in the West as a minister of the Restitution, visited me while I resided in Dayton. He was then traveling and scattering the good seed broadcast over the land. He now lives in Dayton, and is still engaged in the good work.
Taking leave of my dear friends in Dayton, I proceeded to Cincinnati. Stopped in Mason, and delivered four sermons. Here I met Robert Smith, a singular kind of a man, but of considerable ability. He deemed it wrong to pray in public, baptize, or partake of the eucharist. Some of his views being offensive to our people, he was often coldly treated. This offended him, and he subsequently joined the Reformers, prayed in public, eat bread and drank wine every Sabbath, and taught that immersion in water is a condition of salvation. When I returned to Cincinnati, J. A. Gurley was publishing the Star in the West in that city. He was an active and enterprising man, possessed respectable talent, and was a forcible speaker. He was a popular preacher in the West, as long as he continued in the ministry. He made himself a beautiful home near Cincinnati, and lived under his own vine and fig-tree. Having made two or three hundred thousand dollars—on paper—by Chicago town-lots, he abandoned the Star and the ministry, and jumped into the muddy pool of politics. He was a member of Congress two terms, and when he died, was governor of Arizona. Here I met for the first time, George Rogers, a well known minister of our faith, and the author of several acceptable books. During his brief ministry, he traveled extensively in the South and West, publishing the glad tidings of life and immortality. He was a little man physically, but a great man intellectually and morally; his voice was feeble, but his words were weighty. He broke down a good constitution by hard labor, and died in the prime of life.
Mr. Rogers had recently traveled in the interior and western portions of Indiana, and advised me to spend a few months in those sections of that state. In a few days I was on the road, bound for Indiana. It was then the middle of May, 1838, and I did not expect to return till the latter part of autumn. Mounting my faithful horse, I rode to Harrison, where I preached in the evening. As soon as I had said amen, George Campbell, a Reformer, expressed a desire to reply. He was told he would be heard with attention. Among other things he remarked, “That Universalism is a new doctrine, and therefore cannot be the gospel, for that is old—most eighteen hundred years old.” I replied, that it was as old as revelation; and that several of its distinguishing features were revealed to our first parents by the Creator. To them he said, “In the day you sin you shall surely die.” They did sin, and they died the death threatened. St. Paul calls it a “death in trespasses and in sins;” “to be carnally minded,” he says, “is death,” and he terms this death the wages of sin. This is the death—a moral death—that God threatened the primitive pair; and if we sin we die the same death—no mistake about that. Mark also the important fact, that they were to suffer this punishment in THE DAY they sinned. It was not to be deferred till the next day, next year, or next world, but in the day, when and where they sinned, they were to begin to suffer the penalty of transgression. It is as true now as it was six thousand years ago, that in the day we sin we are punished; it is as true in this town as it was in the Garden of Eden, that in the day we sin we are punished; it is as true of us as it was of Adam and Eve, that in the day we sin we are punished. Truth is eternal; the laws of God are unchangable, the same yesterday, to-day and forever. As sin and its penalty were chained together in the beginning, it is thus now, and ever will be thus. Here then, in the beginning, we are taught the certainty of punishment—“in the day you sin you shall be punished;” and here also we are taught, that punishment is immediate—in the day they sinned the penalty was to overtake them. These ancient truths we believe and preach—they are portions of the gospel. But my friend, Mr. Campbell, denies all this. He contends that punishment is not certain, is not immediate; that a person may sin three-score years and ten, without being punished, for remember, he denied that God judges in the earth; he said, that was a new doctrine, one of our heresies, it was not taught in the Bible. He also teaches, that a man, after spending seventy years in crime of the blackest dye, can, by complying with certain conditions, escape all punishment in eternity, and occupy as high a seat in heaven as St. Paul or St. John. In a word, Mr. C. denies squarely and fully the everlasting truth of the ancient record, that “in the day you sin you shall be punished.”
But the gentleman is not the first to make that denial, and this is not the first place where this truth has been called a lie. He has an ancient precedent, he is following an old leader, has taken lessons from an old master. The serpent preached in Eden’s garden just what the gentleman has been preaching here to-night, with so much zeal. “Ye shall not surely die,” said his snakeship; God will not surely punish you; there is a way to escape. Besides, don’t believe a word of it, that you will be punished in the day you sin. Mr. C. has taken the serpent’s text this evening, and I give him credit for sticking to the text of the father of lies. Our doctrine, then, relative to punishment, is not new, neither is Mr. Campbell’s doctrine, concerning punishment, new. But ours and his came from different sources; one is of God, who is the author of truth, the other is of the serpent, the father of lies. They are both ancient doctrines, but judge ye which is true.
The doctrine of salvation—universal salvation—is not a new thing, either, under the sun, as Mr. C. affirmed. Immediately after sin, and its dire results, entered into the world, and while the first sinners were yet trembling with guilt in the blissful garden, it was revealed to them that the seed of the woman should bruise the serpent’s head. It is generally considered that “the seed of the woman” was the future Christ, whose advent occurred four thousand years afterwards. This seed was promised through the Jewish patriarchs—“In thee and in thy seed shall all nations of the earth be blessed.” And St. Paul distinctly asserts, that Jesus is here intended. “Now to Abraham and his seed were the promises made. He saith not, And to seeds, as of many; but as of one, And to thy seed, which is Christ.” Gal. iii. 16. The seed, then, promised to our first parents, and to the patriarchs, was Jesus Christ. He was to bruise the serpent’s head. Serpent, in the Bible, is a symbol of sin. As a serpent is a low, vile and cruel reptile, so vice is low, vile and cruel. It worms its slimy folds into our thoughts, purposes, character, and life, and is sure to poison every thing it touches. But Jesus Christ is to bless all nations, by bruising the serpent’s head. When we wish to kill a snake, our blows are aimed at his head; so Jesus is to crush the head of the serpent, that is, destroy sin, and thus bless all nations, as the patriarchs were promised.
Three vitally important truths, then, were revealed to mankind in the morning of creation. 1st. Punishment for transgressing is certain. 2d. It is immediate. 3d. Sin and its results are temporary, for it is the purpose and promise of God that the seed of the woman shall make an end of sin, and thus bless all the nations of the earth.
As soon as Mr. Campbell’s discourse was disposed of, a Presbyterian minister, by the name of Thomas, spent half an hour in trying to prove that countless millions of Adam’s race would be the victims of Almighty wrath, world without end. I replied to him, and when we got through it was midnight. The congregation was large, and was so deeply interested that nearly all remained till that late hour. The next Sunday, I delivered two discourses in the Snow Settlement, to immense assemblies. The meetings were held in a grove, and a wagon was my pulpit. In Brookville, I also spoke to the people. Father St. John, a venerable man, resided there, and for many years occasionally dispensed the word of life. His silvery locks are now in the grave, but his soul, I trust, is with God. Spent several days in West Union, and although I told the people that God was their Father, Friend and Benefactor, some treated me with bitter malignity—threatened to drive me out of town, and even to horse-whip me. Since then, a better spirit has prevailed. There is now a society and meeting in that place. Let not the reformer despair if his mission is rejected; every crucified truth will rise again, and go on conquering and to conquer.
Spent a Sunday in Connersville, preached twice, and heard John O’Kane, a noted minister among the Reformers, once. He has, since then, held several oral debates with our ministers. Not knowing much about the faith of his sect, I asked him the following questions, and received the subjoined answers:
“What must we do to be saved?”
“Believe in Christ, repent of our sins, and be baptized.”
“What do you mean by baptism?”
“Immersion in water.”
“Do you mean to say, that no one can be saved without immersion?”
“There is no promise that any one can.”
“That is not answering my question. Do you contend that there is no salvation without water baptism?”
“The New Testament gives us no assurance, that a soul can be redeemed without baptism.”
“But what is YOUR opinion?”
“No matter what my opinion may be.”
“Cannot the heathen be saved without being baptized?”
“I have nothing to do with the heathen.”
“Cannot children, dying in childhood, be saved without being baptized?”
“Yes.”
“Then you admit that one third of mankind are saved without baptism. But you just said, that baptism was a condition of salvation, and that you had no evidence a soul could be saved without complying with that condition. Your system contradicts itself. If God can save one third of mankind without baptism, can he not save the remaining two thirds without baptism?”
“I have no evidence that he will.”
Since I had this conversation with Mr. O’Kane, I have often come in contact with persons of his denomination, and they all contradict themselves as he did. They all assert, that water baptism is a condition of salvation, without any qualification or exception. But after they have laid down this platform, ask them if the salvation of children depends on being baptized, and they will say, nay. Ask them if the heathen can be saved without baptism, and they will give an evasive answer.
I spoke in several of the towns on the National road, between Richmond and Indianapolis, and generally had fair congregations. In the latter place, the capital of Indiana, I delivered several sermons in the Court-house, but found only two families of the liberal faith—C. Vanhouton and A. Longley. The latter was doing business in town, and preaching in the neighboring villages on Sundays. He still resides in Indiana, and is still preaching the gospel. He is a worthy man, and a sincere and devout Christian. He has been a minister of the gospel about forty years. My horse being lame, Mr. Vanhouton furnished a colt, that had never been rode, in its stead; but I soon broke him, and he carried me on my mission very pleasantly. When I returned him, five months afterwards, he jumped with delight. I love a horse, love to ride and take care of him. He is a noble animal, and merits kind treatment from man. But he is often savagely abused. I always want to kick the fellow, who ill treats a horse. He has a bad heart.
I lectured in Greencastle several days. A Methodist minister, desiring to know more about our faith, questioned me thus:
“Do you believe in the Trinity?”
“No; I believe in one God, and no more.”
“What do you think of the person of Christ?”
“He was a created, subordinate, and dependent being; the Son of God, the Son of man.”
“For how many did he die?”
“He tasted death for every man,—‘Gave himself a ransom for all.’”
“Did he make a vicarious atonement?”
“No. He came to teach us that God is our Father, Judge and Savior; that we are immortal beings, shall live forever, and that we should love God, and our fellow men.”
“But did he not come to reconcile God to the world?”
“It was the mission of Jesus to reconcile man to God, by the influence of truth, and his own noble example. God is right, man is wrong, and Jesus preached, lived and died, to advance man in all things pure and good—to make man Godlike, and hence it is said, that ‘God is in Christ reconciling the world to himself.’”
“Do you believe in experimental religion?”
“Religion does no good unless we individually experience its blessings. It is not an abstraction, a speculation, but a reality, something to be known, felt, experienced; it is a life.”
“Do you believe in conversion?”
“Yes; conversion from error to truth, from sin to holiness, from depravity to purity, from a disloyal to a loyal life. But this conversion begins, progresses and is consummated in perfect harmony with the laws of the mind. It is as natural a process as is the growth of the body.”
“Do you believe in a hell?”
“The word hell in the Bible has several distinct signification. 1st. It often means the grave. 2d. Temporal destruction. 3d. Moral degradation. 4th. The state of the dead. But hell in no sense is endless in duration.”
“Do you believe in a general judgment?”
“In a general and everlasting judgment. All are now judged by the eternal laws of God, and we rise or fall, are happy or miserable, as we obey or disobey them. This judgment is also everlasting. Through all time, and through all eternity, happiness will result from obeying the laws of God, and misery from disobeying them. Entering the spirit world, will not change our natures, and the laws of the Creator are the same there as here.”
“But do you not believe in a day of judgment?”
“Yes; in a day and in days of judgment. Judgment commenced six thousand years ago, and it is not yet closed. ‘All God’s ways are judgment,’ the Bible teaches us. Particular calamities befalling nations and cities, are called judgment days. The gospel dispensation is termed a judgment day.”
“But do you not believe in a judgment day at the end of time, when the immortal destiny of each of Adam’s race will be immutably fixed for eternal weal or woe?”
“No, sir; I can find no reason, or philosophy, or scripture for such a notion. The destiny of each individual will not be determined at the end of time, but it was determined in the purpose of God from all eternity. Man is immortal, and is destined to become more and more Godlike, intellectually and morally, as the eternal ages roll along.”
“Are wicked men punished?”
“In the language of the Bible, I believe, that ‘He that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong he hath done, and there is no respect of persons.’ ‘Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not go unpunished.’ ‘God is not mocked; whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. He that soweth to the flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption.’”
“You deny though, everlasting punishment.”
“I believe in everlasting punishment in the Bible sense of the word, but not in the present popular sense. Punishment is as lasting as sin; but the Bible no where teaches that sin and wrong are immortal.”
“How long do you suppose punishment will continue?”
“I know not how long. If you can inform me how long men will be corruptible, earthy, sensual, I will tell you how long they will suffer.”
“Do you think that in the other world all will be equally happy?”
“There will, doubtless, be different degrees of purity, virtue and happiness, on the other side of the grave. There must be a moral connection between this life and the life to come. As we end here we shall begin there. Character belongs to the soul, and the death of the body will not make a wise man of a fool, or a saint of a sinner.”
“Do you believe in the resurrection of the body?”
“I believe in the resurrection of man, the inner man, that which now lives, thinks, and acts, but not of the body, these bones and muscles, this flesh and blood. This body connects the spirit with the material world, but when it shall be withdrawn from this outer sphere, and live wholly in the interior world, it will have no farther use of this physical frame. It will be clothed there with a body adapted to that heavenly home.”
“Where is heaven?”
“Heaven is not a place, but a condition—a condition of wisdom, purity, holiness. Heaven reigns in that soul, which is loyal to God. There is a difference between heaven and the spirit world. The latter is a place—it may be boundless space. Men may exist in that world without knowing much of heaven, as they do exist in this world without much heavenly mindedness.”
“Well, you entertain curious views. I do not see how you can reconcile them with the Bible.”
I journeyed on to Terre Haute, where I delivered several discourses. This was then a pleasant village, but now it is a large and flourishing town, and one of the most beautiful places in the West. Its spacious streets, flanked on each side by trees, shrubbery, lawns, flower gardens and elegant dwellings, give it a charming appearance. It stands on the east bank of the Wabash river, and on the margin of a rich and beautiful prairie. Subsequently a society was organized, and a meeting-house built, but for various reasons, which I need not name, our cause, for many years, has been in a feeble condition in that city. It has recently revived under the auspices of the Northwest Conference, and an able minister, H. Jewell, is settled in the place. I rode to Vincennes, seventy miles down the river, and preached in several villages and neighborhoods, in not one of which the doctrine of the Restitution had before been proclaimed. The people generally attended my meetings, but I found but few believers in the Great Salvation.
Returning to Terre Haute, I went up the Wabash river, and preached in Clinton, Eugene, Perryville, Attica, and West Point, places I have often since visited. The religious principles I advocated were new to nearly all the inhabitants of the Wabash Valley, where I was traveling. There was here and there a believer, but nearly all the people knew nothing of Universalism. “Why,” said a man to me, “you do not believe in the Bible, do you?” When I informed him that I did, he was much astonished; and he was perfectly amazed when he was told that I found my faith in the Good Book. “I don’t know what you preach for,” said he, “if all will be saved; and as to praying, of course, you don’t pray.” This man’s knowledge of our faith was the knowledge nearly all the people of that region had of it. I was regarded as an infidel, a wolf, a blasphemer, an emissary of Satan. Women crossed the street when they saw me coming, as if I was a walking pestilence; children passed me as if they were afraid, and men looked suspicious when they came in contact with me. But it was not thus with all—far from it. Most of those I met with, though they knew nothing of Universalism, treated me kindly, and listened respectfully to what I had to say.
I spent one month in Lafayette and Dayton, places seven miles apart. A Methodist clergyman, by the name of Smith, attended my first meeting in Lafayette, and gave notice that he would reply in the evening, and invited me to attend and reply to him if I saw proper. Each of us spoke several times, but I was far from being satisfied with my defense. I considered it a failure, though my friends seemed to think I did well. Mr. Smith was a pretty sharp man, an experienced preacher, and accustomed to speaking without preparation. He knew he had the advantage of me, and so followed me up for several Sabbaths, and seemed determined to drive me out of the country, or shut my mouth. We had five distinct encounters, and in the outcome he got the worst of it, for he spent his strength in the beginning of the contest, while I grew stronger as the discussion progressed. Two years after I located in Lafayette, organized a society, commenced the publication of The Christian Teacher, and several years after a meeting-house was erected. In the interim of the discussions with Mr. Smith, I preached in Dayton. Here a school teacher tried two or three times to demolish me, but I survived his attacks. I found some excellent friends in this place, a society was formed, and a few years after a temple was erected.
Preaching, debating, conversation, visiting and riding, occupied nearly all my time, and what reading I did was chiefly on horseback. If I had five or fifty miles to ride, I improved the occasion by reading some useful book. I would pass travelers and farm-houses unnoticed. I recollect, after spending a day in riding and reading, I put up at a farm-house, and told the good woman I wanted no meat, tea or coffee for supper. “What do you want?” said she, with amazement. “A little bread and milk, if you please, and a whole candle, as I wish to write this evening.” The candle was furnished, a pig’s face, a cold hoe-cake, and a bowl of sour milk. She went to the neighboring village, Martinsville, and reported that there was a crazy man at her house.
Proceeding on my journey, with book in hand, I rode to Logansport, where I lectured twice. Have preached there often since. We have now an elegant meeting-house in this pleasant and flourishing town, built by a bequest of Colonel Pollard, who for many years was a prominent merchant of the place. He will long be remembered with gratitude for his noble gift. Though dead he yet speaks. Men of wealth, in disposing of their possessions, would do well to remember religious societies, benevolent and literary institutions, and those tried and faithful men who have grown gray in the service of humanity. Such men devote their time and talent to the world, and old age often finds them poor in this world’s goods. Let the rich, when dying, consider them, and the cause for which they have given their all.
Near Plymouth were congregated six hundred Pottowattamie Indians, preliminary to moving them to the distant West. I spent several hours with them. Asked the chief where they were going. “I don’t know.” “Do you wish to remain here?” “Oh yes, oh yes. I leave the bones of my fathers here; but where will my bones, and those of my children be laid? No matter, no matter. The Indians are doomed.” A father and mother buried their child with their own hands. Not a word was uttered, not a tear was shed. “Lo, the poor Indian!” In a few more years the sun will rise on the last original owner of our national domain. Our swords and our vices have been doing their work of death ever since the Indians welcomed the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock, and they are rising in judgment and condemning us. It seems to be a law of nature, that a subjugated people must either blend with their conquerors or be annihilated. The Indians will not unite with us, and destruction is their doom. The weak, if they attempt to stand alone, fall. Their only chance of salvation is in the alliance of the strong.
Lectured in Laporte and Door village, and then proceeded to Michigan City, where I also held meetings. I also spoke in South Bend. A Presbyterian clergyman opened his battery on me from his pulpit, which has been called the coward’s castle. He said Universalism was false for the following reasons: 1st, It conflicts with the justice of God; 2d, With the mercy of God; 3d, With the love of God; 4th, With reason; 5th, With sound philosophy; 6th, With the law of God; 7th, With the gospel of Jesus Christ; 8th, With the Bible doctrine of sin; 9th, Of punishment; 10th, Of faith; 11th, Of rewards; 12th, Of heaven; 13th, Of hell; 14th, Because it is a new doctrine; 15th, The devil’s doctrine; 16th, A wicked doctrine; 17th, A licentious doctrine; 18th, Wicked men and devils preach it. I replied to his long tirade. Our people now have a society, meeting-house, and a settled minister in South Bend. There is also a society and meeting-house four miles from there, at Mount Pleasant.