CHAPTER XVI. MISSIONARIES, 1807.

Bishop Asbury preached the funeral sermon of Bishop Whatcoat April 29, 1807, and the same evening in Dover I preached my farewell sermon. My heart was deeply affected on parting with my dear brethren and friends, with whom I have had so many gracious seasons. Can it be wondered at that I wrote, “I hope to meet them in a better country?” Most of them are already there, and I am on my way.

The session of the Philadelphia Conference was a harmonious one. It was held in Philadelphia, commencing on April 2. On Sunday morning Bishop Asbury preached from Rev. ii, 10, “Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” In the afternoon I went with William Colbert to the debtor’s prison, where he preached. Many of the prisoners appeared very serious. In those days we took great pains to preach in poor-houses, jails, penitentiaries, and state-prisons. We visited prisoners, and particularly those who were under sentence of death. The Wesleys did the same in the infancy of Methodism. My appointment was strange, as it appears in the Minutes: “Pennsylvania, William Hunter, Henry Boehm.” We had not, however, the whole “Keystone State” as our field of labor, but only that part which lies between the Delaware and Susquehanna Rivers. We were to break up new ground, “stretch ourselves beyond ourselves.” This was what Bishop Asbury was ever trying to do himself, and wished others to imitate him. I was appointed to that field because I understood the German language. My German sword had become a little rusty, for I had had but little occasion to use it on Dover Circuit; but I had now to take it out of its scabbard and polish it, and try its temper.

Thomas Burch and I put up with Mr. Rolph, who was the keeper of the debtor’s prison. People were in those days imprisoned for debt, and as there were many in debt, so there were many prisoners. Robert Morris, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, the intimate friend of Washington, one of the framers of the Federal Constitution, and the great financier of the Revolution, whose credit for a time was better than his country’s, lost all his property and became bankrupt, and was confined in this very prison for debt for a long time, to the shame of the city of brotherly love and to the shame of his country. But the year before I was there death came to his relief, on May 6, 1806. He died in poverty at the age of seventy-three. This law of imprisonment for debt is now abolished, thanks to humanity. The keeper of this prison and his wife were awakened, and shortly after converted. It was a very fine family, and in after years I used to be entertained by them.

In the conference our brethren were filled with much of the divine presence. The work of God went on in the congregations, and many were converted. Fifteen were admitted on trial at this conference, among them Peter P. Sandford, long known as one of the strong men of the New York Conference.

Solomon Sharp was my presiding elder. Our first quarterly meeting was held in a grove near Cornwall Furnace. Brother Sharp preached on 1 Peter iv, 7, “But the end of all things is at hand,” etc., a sermon full of power; and again on Sunday from Eccles. ix, 11. On Monday the sacrament was administered, and Solomon Sharp preached a very profitable sermon from Gal. v, 17, “Ye did run well; who did hinder you?” etc. There were a few converted, and both ministry and the laity got a wonderful baptism of love at our first quarterly meeting in the grove. We had about twenty tents and wagons, in which the people lodged.

The last of May a camp-meeting was held in the neighborhood of what is called “the Forrest Chapel.” This was an old chapel in the forest, built by Mr. Demer, whom I have already noticed. Brothers Sharp, Hunter, Ireland, and others preached, and also myself. Solomon Sharp preached four very impressive sermons. He was a mighty man in the tented grove, and had great power over the masses.

One of his sermons was on the worth of the soul, and the danger of its loss. Sinners trembled, and who can wonder? Another was the contrast between the Law and the Gospel, John i, 17; another on the danger of looking back after having put his hand to the Gospel plow. Upward of twenty were converted, many shouted for joy, and over ten were sanctified. Meetings of this kind were new in this part of the country, and crowds came to attend them.

An incident occurred here worthy of note. Some of the sinners of a baser sort were disposed to interrupt the service. When the disturbance threatened to be serious, the Hon. George Clymer, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, then a lawyer, residing in Reading, arose in the congregation and addressed the assembly. He spoke of the struggles of the Revolution, of what our liberties cost, and the right our glorious Constitution gives to all to worship under their own vine and fig-tree. Then he said, “In vain have patriots bled and martyrs died to procure freedom if we cannot worship the God of our fathers according to our own conscience.” His address had a most happy effect in restoring order. It was whispered round, “Who is that?” “The Hon. George Clymer,” was the answer. It was the only time I ever saw him or heard him. His conduct was so noble, for then we were a “sect everywhere spoken against,” and no great honor could be obtained by defending us.

Mr. Clymer was a tall, fine-looking man, with a dark, expressive eye, a grave countenance, and hair of a kind of iron gray. He was a great financier, associated with Robert Morris in establishing a bank for the relief of his country. He was a member of Congress, and president of the Philadelphia Bank and of the Academy of Fine Arts. He was one of the great men of Pennsylvania, and of the nation, and for such a man to defend the Methodists under circumstances that I have described certainly was a noble act. The name of George Clymer has in my mind ever been associated with the Forrest camp-meeting. Six years after he died, aged seventy-three years, just as old as his friend and compatriot Robert Morris was when he bid adieu to earth.

CAMP-MEETING AT WYE.

In July Bishop Asbury and Daniel Hitt made us a brief visit, as they were on their tour West.

On Sunday, July 26, the bishop preached, under the shade of some locust trees, near Columbia, on the east bank of the Susquehanna, from 2 Cor. v, 14, on the death of Jesus, and why he died for all. Daniel Hitt preached from 2 Cor. vi, 17, 18, on coming out from the world, etc. The next day I accompanied Bishop Asbury to Little York, and then bade him adieu, little thinking that the next year I would be his traveling companion.

On Wednesday I went with Brother Sharp and several friends to Wye camp-meeting, Queen Anne County, Maryland. On Friday night the campaign was opened by Solomon Sharp, from Mal. iii, 16-18, “Then they that feared the Lord spake one to another,” etc., an admirable introduction. I preached on Jer. vi, 16, and John Chalmers on Matt. vi, 10, “Thy kingdom come.” It did come, not in word only, but in power. The work of revival went on all night. Many were converted, and the grove echoed with loud halleluiahs.

Sunday was a great day. Great crowds, great singing, great preaching, and great power under the word. Solomon Sharp preached in the morning from Jer. ix, 1, “O that my head were waters,” etc.; Brother Ridgeway in the afternoon, on 1 Cor. xv, 34, “Awake to righteousness, and sin not,” etc., a very awakening sermon; and William B. Lacy in the evening, on Luke xiv, 17. The slain of the Lord were many.

On Monday there was a novel scene. In the morning, John Chalmers preached with great effect. He was followed by his son, John Chalmers, Jr., who preached from Dan. vii, 18, “But the saints of the Most High shall take the kingdom, and possess the kingdom forever, even for ever and ever,” a sermon full of encouragement. The preacher was a noble son of a noble father. His youth then attracted great attention. He was called “little Jackey Chalmers.” Many souls found the Lord this day.

On Tuesday morning Leonard Castle, of Baltimore, preached from 2 Cor. iv, 5, “For we preach not ourselves,” etc., a sermon of uncommon beauty, eloquence, and power. Solomon Sharp followed, on Luke xxii, 26. Great unction attended the word; convictions and conversions were greatly multiplied. A brother was appointed to preach in the evening; but the work broke out so under the prayer offered at the stand, and such were the cries of distress, the shouts of triumph, that the preaching had to be dispensed with. But the work went on gloriously.

On Wednesday Leonard Castle preached again from Ezek. xxxiii, 5. This was a sermon full of alarm. Sinai’s thunder could be heard, its lightnings seen. The people were awe-struck, and listened as if they were hearing an angel from heaven. I wrote: “Praise the Lord that mine eyes have ever been permitted to witness such displays of the power of God as I have seen this day.” The work went on all night.

On Thursday morning a love-feast was held. The testimonies were clear. God spread his banner over us, and it was love. At three o’clock Brother Leonard Castle preached from I Tim. iv, 8, on the profitableness of godliness for two lives and two worlds. He was surpassingly eloquent, and the Lord worked powerfully.

On Friday Solomon Sharp and E. Larkins preached. The work went on with such power that it was concluded, to the joy of many, to continue the meeting over another Sabbath.

On Saturday Leonard Castle, Henry Boehm, and Henry White preached. It was a great day of the converting and sanctifying power of God. The work went on during the night.

Sunday was a day of wonders. Eight thousand people were on the ground. Brothers Sharp, Castle, and Alward White preached. Leonard Castle’s text was: “Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.” The sermon was one of the most eloquent and impressive I have ever heard. The multitude on the ground looked astonished; it was visible in their countenances. If we would know the number of conversions and sanctifications we must wait till we are permitted to search the records of heaven. But they were many.

On Monday morning we separated with tears and regrets. I wrote: “This was the greatest meeting I have ever attended. Almost every sinner on the ground was awed to reverence.”

Over twenty sermons were preached by men who knew how to wield the sword of the Spirit. Solomon Sharp preached five sermons of rare power and excellence. The youthful and captivating Leonard Castle preached five times on the grandest themes that ever engaged the powers of a minister or the attention of a congregation. His sermons on that camp ground for years were subjects of profound admiration.⁠[13] The old hero, John Chalmers, twice held forth; and Jackey, a counterpart of himself, once.

We tried to break into new ground. About ten miles from Wilmington was Sharpless’s rolling mill. We got a foothold, and formed a society, and a church was afterward built in the neighborhood. When we first preached there some tried to mob us. They gathered around the door and tried to rush in and seize us. I was preaching, and Brother Hunter was with me. There was a strong man who stood at the door with a stone in his hand and took sides with us, and threatened to knock down the first man who touched us. So he frightened the rowdies, and we preached on unmolested. He was a large Irishman, and one reason he interested himself so much on our behalf was that Brother Hunter was an Irishman, and he was determined that his countryman should not be abused.

When on this circuit several years after I became acquainted with Abram Sharpless, the owner of the works. He was an orthodox Quaker, a man of wealth and great business talent. We put up with his foreman, and Mr. Sharpless furnished plenty of food for our horses. Mr. Sharpless when eighty years of age spoke to me of the great change that had taken place among his workmen. Of their sobriety and industry since the Gospel had been introduced among them he said that previous to the preaching there on seventh day his hands would be dissipated, and no better on first day. On second day he would have to send after them to get them to work, and then they were not worth much. He said it was very different now. All he had to do was to tell his people what he wanted done, and how, and it was accomplished. I then asked him if we might not conclude that the influence of the Gospel had produced this great change. He heartily assented. This was acknowledging a great deal for an old Quaker.

In 1790 my old schoolmaster left Lancaster, and I did not know where he had gone. One Sabbath in July this year, while preaching in German in a barn in Likens’s Valley, I saw an intelligent-looking man viewing me intently through his spectacles. I wondered who it was, and where I had seen him. Behold, it was my old schoolmaster, that I had not seen since I was his pupil eighteen years before. We greeted each other with tears, and talked of bygone days and scenes. He was a Lutheran, and used to read the burial service at funerals when the minister was absent. He became a minister, and was pastor of a church west of the Susquehanna. I never saw him afterward, but I never can forget Henry Rossman, my old schoolmaster, to whom I am so deeply indebted, especially for my knowledge of the German language.

It was not till 1807 we got a permanent foothold in Lancaster. It was very hard soil for Methodism. Twice we made a beginning, but failed, and for several years the place was abandoned. We had no preaching there, only an occasional sermon.

The introduction of Methodism into Lancaster was providential. The translation of the Methodist Discipline into German had something to do with it. In 1807 I went to Lancaster to read the proof-sheets of this translation at the printer’s. After I had read them, and was about to return home, it commenced raining hard, and I put up at a public house where I had often stopped. The Lutherans were there in great numbers to draw a lottery, the proceeds of which were to finish a church steeple.⁠[14] A crowd had come together to see who was fortunate enough to obtain a prize. Feeling no interest in the result of the drawing, and annoyed by the noise and confusion of the people, I left the public house and took a walk through Lancaster to while away the time. While going along the street I met with a woman who had been a member of the Methodist Church in Germantown. She told me there was a man by the name of Philip Benedict in Lancaster who had been awakened at a camp-meeting, and he and his wife were seeking the Lord, and she advised me to call and see them, telling me where they lived. I went to their house, pointed them to Jesus, and prayed with them. As I was about leaving they said, “O that we could have Methodist preaching in Lancaster!” I told them they could have it. So I left an appointment to preach at his house. It became a permanent preaching place. In a little while I formed a class of six members: Philip Benedict and his wife, and four others. This was the nucleus of the society which remained permanent. I am thankful that I had the honor of planting the tree of Methodism in that city. Behold how many links there are in this singular chain; how many small causes to bring about such large results!