CHAPTER II. SKETCHES OF EARLY PREACHERS.

The Methodist fathers were self-sacrificing men, who possessed great virtues, and performed heroic deeds. Many of them are now unknown except by their names. Those who knew them personally are nearly all numbered among the dead. I knew most of them, and will give a sketch of a few of those who found their way into the rural districts of Lancaster County, Pa.

Robert Strawbridge, the apostle of Methodism in Maryland, is a name prominent in the early annals of American Methodism. We are indebted to Ireland for Robert Strawbridge as well as for Philip Embury. I heard Strawbridge preach at my father’s house in 1781, and am the only man now living that has a personal recollection of him. Though I was then quite small, his image is still before me. He was a stout, heavy man, and looked as if he was built for service. My father was much pleased with him and his preaching. He was agreeable company, full of interesting anecdotes. Many times I have been to the old log meeting-house he erected in Maryland, concerning which so much has been said and written, and around which so many interests cluster. He died in August of the same year I heard him, and his spiritual son, Richard Owings,⁠[2] preached his funeral sermon from Rev. xiv, 13. No monument marks the place where his dust is sleeping. I hope this will not be said after the celebration of the first centenary of American Methodism, for his name will be prominently connected with it.

Another of these pioneers was Benjamin Abbott, who early visited my father’s house. He was indeed a son of thunder, and preached with exceeding power. This was the only ministerial tour he made through Pennsylvania, and he went like a flame of fire. My father had a very exalted opinion of Mr. Abbott, and felt it an honor to entertain him as his guest and listen to his powerful sermons.

Mr. Abbott wrote his life, and in it he describes his visit to my father’s, his preaching, and the wonderful results that followed. I prefer he should give it in his own peculiar style.

“At Boehm’s we found a large congregation. When I came to my application the power of the Lord came in such a manner that the people fell all about the house, and their cries might be heard afar off. This alarmed the wicked, who sprang for the doors in such haste that they fell over one another in heaps. The cry of mourners was so great that I thought to give out a hymn to drown the noise, and desired one of our English friends to raise it; but as soon as he began to sing the power of the Lord struck him, and he pitched under the table, and there lay like a dead man. I gave it out again, and asked another to raise it. As soon as he attempted he fell also. I then made the third attempt, and the power of God came upon me in such a manner that I cried out and was amazed. I then saw that I was fighting against God, and did not attempt to sing again.

“Mr. Boehm, the owner of the house, and a preacher among the Germans, cried out, ‘I never saw God in this way before.’ I replied, ‘This is a pentecost, father.’ ‘Yes, be sure,’ said he, clapping his hands, ‘a pentecost, be sure.’ Prayer was all through the house, up stairs and down. I desired Mr. Boehm to go to prayer. He did so, and five or six of us did the same.

“A watch-night having been appointed for that evening, and seeing no prospect of this meeting being over, although it had begun at eleven o’clock, I told Mr. Boehm we had best quietly withdraw from the meeting-house. When we had got out of the door a young man came out and laid hold upon the fence to support himself from falling, and there cried amain for God to have mercy upon him. ‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Boehm, ‘I never saw God in this way before.’ We exhorted him to look to God, and not to give up the struggle, and God would bless him before he left the place.

“I took the old gentleman by the arm, and we went quietly to the house to get some dinner. About five o’clock a messenger came from the preaching-house requesting that I would go there immediately, for there was a person dying. We went without delay. I went up stairs, and there lay several about the floor in like manner. I then went to see the person said to be dying. She lay gasping. I kneeled down to pray, but it was instantly given me that God had converted her soul, and therefore, instead of praying for her deliverance, I gave God thanks that he had delivered her, and immediately she arose and praised God for what he had done for her soul. A young German came to me and clasped me in his arms, but could not speak English that I could understand.

“I then retired to the house and consulted with Mr. Boehm who should preach in the evening, for I thought it would be best for one of the German preachers to speak first, there being several of them present. The rumor having run through the neighborhood of the power of God through the day, we had a very large congregation in the evening, to whom one of the German preachers preached. It appeared to me he spoke with life. Then Mr. Boehm gave an exhortation in the German language, and after him a young man gave a warm exhortation in the same tongue. Then I arose and hardly knew how to speak, there had been so much said, and it was now growing late. However I spoke, and the Lord laid to his helping hand as he had done in the day time. Divers fled, and made their way out of the house, and then it appeared as if there were none left but what were earnestly engaged in prayer; some praising God, and others crying for mercy. I told Mr. Boehm that I should not be fit for the duties of the ensuing day if I did not retire, so we went to the house about twelve o’clock and took some refreshment and went to bed. In the morning I found the people were still engaged, and had been all night. I went to the house about sun an hour high, where I found about one dozen still engaged in prayer. I told them we ought to begin to prepare for the other meeting, so they broke up.

“We set out with about forty friends to the next appointment. The people being gathered, after singing and prayer I began to preach, and God laid to his helping hand. Many cried aloud for mercy. One young man being powerfully wrought upon retired up stairs, and then thumped about on the floor, so that Mr. Boehm was afraid that he would be injured in body. ‘To be sure,’ said he, ‘I never saw God work in this way before.’ I told him there was no danger, he was in the hands of a merciful God. In a few minutes after, in attempting to come down stairs, he fell from the top to the bottom, and hallooed aloud, ‘The devil is in the chamber! the devil is in the chamber!’ which greatly alarmed all the people. This brought a great damp over my spirits, for I thought if I had raised the devil I might as well go home again. However, after a little space, I bid some of the good people go up stairs and see if the devil was there. Several went up to see what the matter was, and there they found a man rolling, groaning, and crying to God for mercy. They returned and told us how the matter stood. When I dismissed the people many wept around me; some said they had found peace, some were truly awakened, and others deeply convicted.”⁠[3]

Such is Mr. Abbott’s description of the scenes that occurred in the old house where my grandfather used to live. I heard him, and beheld the strange scenes he relates. It was more like pentecost than anything else I ever saw. The influence of that meeting was tremendous, and for years it made a great deal of talk in my father’s neighborhood.

Richard Webster was the second Methodist preacher raised up in America. He joined at the second Conference, 1774, with Philip Gatch, when there were only twenty Methodist preachers in America and two thousand members. He was appointed to Baltimore Circuit with the excellent George Shadford and Edward Dromgoole. He used to preach in my father’s barn long before the Chapel was built, and I listened to him with great delight. He was a fine specimen of the early Methodist ministers. He was a perfect Christian gentleman, a son of consolation; the Gospel flowed sweetly from his lips. Mr. Webster was the first Methodist minister that Freeborn Garrettson heard, and he greatly admired him. I heard him preach in after years, as the shadows of the evening were gathering around him.

Sylvester Hutchinson was a thundering preacher, who alarmed the careless ones. In 1790 he preached at my father’s, and a glorious revival followed.

Richard Whatcoat was the Elder in 1790,⁠[4] and I heard him preach. He was then stationed in Philadelphia, and the only Methodist preacher in that city. His text was, “There shall be a handful of corn in the earth on the top of the mountains,” etc. I well remember the preacher and his illustrations, and the mighty effect produced by the sermon, although it is now over seventy years ago.

William Thomas was a good minister of Jesus; I heard him on the witness of the spirit. Our fathers were great in preaching experimental Christianity, especially the knowledge of sins forgiven.

John Jarrell I heard in 1793. He was lively and energetic. His discourse was against Winchester’s doctrine of Universal Restoration. “See the wicked,” said he, “coming up from the furnace of fire. What will they sing in heaven? ‘Unto Him who hath loved us and washed us from our sins in his own blood be glory for ever?’ No. They cannot sing any such song; but ‘Unto hell fire that hath purified us and made us meet for heaven, be glory for evermore.’ This is the only song they can sing. Will any such song be heard in heaven?” Thus he used irony in exposing and refuting error. Mr. Jarrell was a fine-looking man, with a splendid voice, which he knew how to use to purpose. He was very popular and successful. He entered the traveling connection in 1786, and, after having traveled ten years, died in Wilmington, Delaware.

Valentine Cook was over six feet high, with dark complexion, long arms, very black hair, coarse and bushy, and dark piercing eyes. He had a fine cultivated intellect and a powerful voice. He was an extraordinary preacher, and I listened to him with great delight. In after years I heard of his fame when traveling with Bishop Asbury in the West.

Joseph Everett was a soldier of the Revolution, and a standard-bearer in the ranks of Methodism. He preached in Boehm’s neighborhood in 1793. He abhorred slavery, and preached against it with all his might, denouncing it in no measured terms. Sometimes he would refuse to eat with slaveholders till they had freed their slaves. I spent weeks with him at Dr. White’s in Cambridge after he had retired from the regular work, and could only ask, “How goes the battle?” Mr. Everett was six feet high, well proportioned, of a commanding appearance, very agreeable in conversation, and full of anecdotes and reminiscences of olden times.

Simon Miller was a native of Lancaster County. He possessed much of this world’s goods, but he was ready to make any sacrifice to preach the Gospel. He was a man of deep piety and remarkable gifts. He was the spiritual father of Jacob Gruber. I recollect with gratitude the efforts he made for my salvation, how earnestly he labored, what sympathy he manifested. He was a German, and preached in his vernacular. He received him into society in 1792, when he was but a school-boy. His ministerial career was brief but brilliant; his end triumphant. He joined the traveling connection in 1791, and died, deeply lamented, in 1795. He left no children. Thomas Ware married his widow.

William Jessop was a tall man, with a prominent nose and a very grave countenance. I knew him intimately, and heard him preach often. He joined the traveling connection in 1784, the year in which the Methodist Episcopal Church was organized. Mr. Jessop occupied prominent appointments. In 1790 he was stationed in New York, and the next year volunteered to go to Nova Scotia. He died of consumption in the latter part of 1795, and was buried in the graveyard connected with Boehm’s Chapel. His last sermon was on the sufferings of Christ, and was one of the most melting I ever heard. He was reduced almost to a skeleton; his face was pale, his eye sunken and glassy, his voice sepulchral, his countenance grave, and his manner solemn as eternity. The preacher and his auditors felt that his days were numbered. A few days after he died in triumph, exclaiming, “My work is done! Glory, glory!” He expired at Strasburg, at the house of John Miller, who was a brother of Simon the preacher. This family were great friends of the preachers. They nursed them when sick, and when dying they smoothed their pillow. John and Simon Miller helped to give character and stability to Methodism in that region. Mr. Jessop, knowing he could not survive long, sent to Bishop Asbury requesting him to preach his funeral sermon. The bishop complied, and preached it at Boehm’s Chapel. He says in his journal: “I had my difficulties in speaking of a man so well known and so much beloved. He was always solemn, and few such holy, steady men have we found among us.”

Michael H. R. Wilson visited Lancaster County, and fell at his post while the dew of his youth was upon him. He was from Maryland, and only twenty-eight years old when he died, on April 24, 1798. He finished his course with joy at John Miller’s, in Strasburg, in the same room where William Jessop had expired three years before, and they were both interred in the same ground.

But time would fail to tell of Caleb Boyer, John Bloodgood, John M’Claskey, Joseph Cromwell, John Haggerty, and others, from whom I heard the Gospel, and to whom I am indebted for my Methodism. These were the pioneers in the great work of introducing Methodism into Lancaster County.

Bishop Asbury early visited my father’s house. In July, 1799, he came there with Jesse Lee, who was then his traveling companion. They both preached at Boehm’s Chapel; the bishop from Heb. vi, 12, Mr. Lee from Isa. xxx, 31. The latter wandered among the tombs, and stood by the grave of William Jessop, whom he greatly loved, and wept there, and then rejoiced for his triumphant death and the consoling thought that “them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.” Reluctantly turning away from the grave with his eyes moist with tears, he offered the prayer that has been repeated a thousand times: “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.”

Mr. Lee gives a description of my father, of his conversion, his personal appearance, his long white beard, his call to the ministry, and his praying in German in the family after Bishop Asbury had prayed in English.⁠[5]