CHAPTER XXV. NEW ENGLAND AND GENESEE CONFERENCES OF 1810.

On Monday we left Pittsfield (the most beautiful inland town in the United States) for Winchester, New Hampshire, the seat of the New England Conference. We went over the perpetual hills and descended beautiful valleys, crossing the Connecticut River, and on Thursday reached Winchester, and were the welcome guests of Caleb Alexander. There was but one Methodist family in the village. He was a large-hearted man, and had petitioned to have the conference hold its session there, pledging himself they should be well entertained. His own house and his neighbors’ were filled, and he paid the board of others. He was a noble-hearted man, and the preachers were delighted with him and their entertainment.

Bishops Asbury and M’Kendree were both present, and presided alternately at the conference. There was a general fast held by several of the conferences on Friday, and we religiously observed it till six o’clock in the evening. Bishop Asbury regularly observed his fasts whether ordered by conferences or not. It was his practice to abstain every Friday.

On Sunday, June 3, the bishop preached in the morning and I in the evening. He says: “I think my words pierced the hearts of some like a sword. I neither spared myself nor my hearers.”

On Wednesday, June 6, the New England Conference for 1810 commenced in the Congregational meeting-house.

There was a camp-meeting held in connection with it, about three miles distant, and they had preaching there three times a day during its session.

On Sunday the 10th Bishop Asbury preached with life and energy; after which six deacons and twelve elders were ordained. There were about fifteen hundred persons present. Six sermons were preached that day.

On Monday morning, after the bishops had delivered their valedictory addresses, which were distinguished for appropriateness and pathos, Bishop Asbury read off the appointments of eighty-seven preachers, who all went cheerfully to their work in the spirit of their Master.

We left Winchester and went to Waltham, and on the 16th Bishop Asbury, George Pickering, and myself went to Boston, and were the guests of the Rev. Elijah Sabin, the stationed preacher. The new chapel was greatly in debt, and Brother Pickering had been south soliciting funds; and yet, such were the pressing wants of the Church, that while we were in Boston Bishop Asbury wrote five letters supplicating a collection for the new chapel, namely, to Baltimore, Georgetown, Alexandria, Norfolk, and Charleston, and I believe they all responded.

We visited Newport, and in the afternoon I went with Brother Daniel Webb (now the oldest effective preacher in the world) to Fort Wolcott. On Sunday the 24th we had preaching three times. The bishop preached to the soldiers at the fort.

On Monday we crossed the Narraganset Bay, and then went to Stonington, Conn. I do not wonder at its name, for the ground is literally covered with stones. We crossed the Thames. We found a home at friend Douglass’s, and the bishop preached in the evening.

Here for the first time Bishop Asbury saw a copy of Jesse Lee’s History of Methodism. It made the bishop nervous, as will be seen by the record he made at the time in his journal: “It is better than I expected. He has not always presented me under the most honorable aspect. We are all liable to mistakes, and I am unmoved by his. I correct him in one fact. My compelled seclusion in the beginning of the war in the State of Delaware was in no wise a season of inactivity. On the contrary, except about two months of retirement from the direst necessity, it was the most active, the most useful, the most afflictive part of my life. If I spent a few dumb Sabbaths, if I did not for a short time steal after dark, or through the gloom of the woods, as was my wont, from house to house to enforce that truth I, an only child, had left father and mother to proclaim, I shall not be blamed, I hope, when it is known my patron, good and respectable Thomas White, who promised me security and secresy, was himself taken into custody by the light horse patrol. If such things happened to him what might I expect, a fugitive and an Englishman? In these many years we added eighteen hundred members to society, and laid a broad and deep foundation for the wonderful success Methodism has met with in that quarter. The children and the children’s children of those who witnessed my labor and my sufferings in that day of peril and affliction now rise up by hundreds to bless me. Where are the witnesses themselves? Alas! there remain not five perhaps whom I could summon to attest the truth of this statement.”

I do not think Mr. Lee meant to censure the bishop,⁠[32] but others have, and I am thankful we have the bishop’s explanations and his admirable defense.

One who has recently written says, “It was a question painfully revolved in the mind of Mr. Asbury whether or not he ought to have thus concealed himself from his enemies. It is certain that in this he was not imitating the Saviour, who went forth to meet Judas and his band in the garden; neither was he following the example of the apostles, who went forward in their work, although forbidden by the Jewish Council; nor did he exhibit the courage of Wesley in the days of mob violence in England, nor yet that of Abbott, Garrettson, and Hartley, who dared to meet their worst foes. It seems that his prudence prevailed over his faith.”⁠[33]

Does my friend Lednum mean to accuse Francis Asbury of cowardice? If he does, the bishop’s explanation is a defense against all attacks until the end of time.

We left New London on Wednesday, June 27, and went to Hebron, riding six hours in the rain. The bishop seldom stopped for rain, even if it came in torrents. He preached in the evening.

The next day we rode to East Glastenbury, and put up with Jeremiah Stocking. He was one of the oldest and most distinguished local preachers in New England. His ministry extended over a period of sixty years. He was the first to open his doors in that part of the country to receive the Methodist preachers; he was the father of the Methodist society in the town. He died in holy joy March 23, 1853, aged eighty-five, his wife and eight children following on in the path made smooth by his feet and wet by his tears. Brother Stocking wrote many interesting articles while Dr. Bond was editor, entitled “Sketches of my Life,” and dated “Pilgrim’s Tent, on the Banks of Jordan.”

Saturday we rode through Hartford to Middletown amid a heavy thunder-storm. At Hartford we were like Noah’s dove: had no place for the sole of our foot, and it was the day of small things at Middletown. We rode one hundred and eighty-six miles this week. We spent the Sabbath in Middletown, and were entertained at Brother Eggleston’s. The bishop preached in the morning from 1 Cor. xv, 5-8; I preached at three o’clock from Acts iii, 19; the bishop again at six from “Behold, now is the accepted time,” etc. There was a small congregation both morning and afternoon; but who hath despised the day of small things? Could the bishop have foreseen the growth of the Church in Hartford and Middletown, and especially that noble institution, the Wesleyan University, which has been such a blessing to our Church, how would his great soul have thanked God and taken courage! Its first president, the seraphic Fisk, who sleeps in the beautiful cemetery on the hill, was then a youth of eighteen, and was not licensed to preach till eight years after; and Stephen Olin, of blessed memory, was then a lad in his father’s house in Vermont, and it was not till twelve years after our visit to Middletown he became a Methodist minister.

The bishop had been at Middletown several times before. He was there as early as June, 1791. He preached in the meeting-house belonging to the Standing Order, and then after preaching rode a mile out of town to get lodging. Bishop Whatcoat was with him there in the month of May, 1803, and preached at five o’clock on Sunday in “the Separate Meeting-house.” When he had finished his sermon the old women controverted his doctrine of sanctification.

On Monday we went to Burlington. The bishop preached, and he shaved very close. On through Goshen, next to Sharon, where we were the guests of Alpheus Jewett, a wealthy farmer. He was a large man, with much native dignity. He was the father of the late Rev. William Jewett.

Bishop Asbury preached at Brother Jewett’s from Heb. iv, 11-16. Our meeting-house was a mile from the village, among a huge pile of rocks. Our fathers were not Solomons in regard to the sites of their churches. Now we have a neat brick church in the village.

Thursday, July 5, brought us to Amenia, and to Thomas Ingraham’s, just where we were May 17; and think what a round we had taken in the intervening six weeks. One would have thought that the bishop might have rested a little from his incessant toil after he had attended the conference in Winchester; but no, he never thought of resting till he rested in Abraham’s bosom, or of locating till in the neighborhood of the throne of God.

The next day he preached at John Row’s meeting-house in Milan. The old man still lives, and has consecrated his money to God by building a church and parsonage.⁠[34] Here we met Freeborn Garrettson and Daniel Hitt, and went with them to Rhinebeck.

On Monday, July 16, Bishop Asbury, Daniel Hitt, William Jewett, and I started for the Genesee Conference. William Jewett was then a youth of uncommon beauty and promise. We crossed the Hudson, passed through Kingston, (formerly Esopus, originally settled by the Huguenots,) then to Durham, over the mountains, to New Sharon, to a camp-meeting under the charge of Henry Stead.

On Thursday we fired three guns in quick succession. Bishop Asbury preached first; then Daniel Hitt, without any intermission; and as soon as he sat down I preached in German. There was a good number of Germans present (many of them Lutherans) who were permitted to sit near the stand and hear in their own tongue the wonderful works of God. They were delighted. They had supposed the difference in the effect of Methodist preaching from that of their own ministers was in the language. They thought the English expressed the Gospel better. But when the power of God came upon the people, and tears flowed down many cheeks under German preaching, they were convinced the difference was not in the language, but in the manner of communication; the one formal, the other spiritual. Quite a revival followed, and a number of preachers were raised up. This meeting was held near Cherry Valley.

We spent the Sabbath at Cazenovia. Bishop Asbury, Brother Hitt, and I, preached, and William Jewett exhorted. The services were held in Silas Blass’s barn. It would have been a glorious vision of the future could Bishop Asbury have foreseen the future prosperity of Methodism in Cazenovia and the noble seminary of learning erected there.

On Monday we reached Daniel Dorsey’s, at Lyons, about sunset. We had rode two hundred and sixty-one miles from Rhinebeck. Daniel Dorsey, a Methodist of the old stamp, was originally from Maryland, and a Methodist there. He had a large farm and a large heart. His house was a home where the weary itinerant delighted to rest. He was steward of the circuit and a local preacher.

FORMATION OF GENESEE CONFERENCE.

As Bishop Asbury was severely censured for organizing this conference, and as it produced much agitation at the time, so that several annual conferences and the General Conference of 1812 took action upon it, I will give a brief sketch of it, showing that what Bishop Asbury did was worthy of all praise, and that, like Mr. Wesley, he was far-seeing, and could plan for the future.

Previous to its formation, the preachers on the Susquehanna District, in Western New York, (eighteen in number,) belonged to the Philadelphia Conference, and it was a long distance to go to conference on horseback, which was then their usual mode of traveling; so also the preachers in Canada and Cayuga District, who belonged to New York Conference. Mr. Asbury believed there was a more excellent way for both preachers and people. Much time was lost, and the work on circuits suffered by the long absence of the preachers. Bishop Asbury, with almost a prophet’s eye, foresaw the growth and prosperity of Western New York; that it would be the garden of the Empire State, and the garden of Methodism.

In 1809, while the bishop and I were passing through the Genesee country, as we were riding along he said to me, “Henry, things do not go right here. There must be a Genesee Conference;” and then he went on to assign his reasons. The bishop then planned the conference and its boundaries in his own mind, and proceeded afterward to carry his purpose into effect. The new conference was composed of four districts, namely, Susquehanna, Cayuga, and Upper and Lower Canada, and it was to hold its first session in Lyons, Ontario County, July 20, 1810.

This act of the bishop gave great dissatisfaction to many of the preachers, not of the Genesee, but of other conferences. James Smith and Jesse Lee were greatly displeased. The former said “it gave evidence of the increasing infirmities of age in Bishop Asbury; that he was in his dotage,” etc.; others considered it an unauthorized assumption of power; and some said “it was cruel, setting off these preachers to starve.” I justified him, and said “I thought it one of the best official acts of the bishop, and that in a few years Genesee Conference would be one of the richest in the Union.” How far I was right may be easily seen. It certainly was the best thing that could have been done for the Methodists in Western New York. The plan originated with Bishop Asbury, who was better acquainted with the state of things in that part of the country than his colleague; but Bishop M’Kendree concurred in it, and therefore received his share of the censure. But very nobly some of the conferences vindicated the bishops, for most of them took action upon it. That the bishops were perfectly justifiable is evident from the fact that in 1796 a proviso had been inserted in the Discipline in these words: “Provided that the bishops shall have authority to appoint other yearly conferences in the interval of the General Conference, if a sufficiency of new circuits be anywhere formed for that purpose.” This was re-enacted at each succeeding conference, with a slight change, until 1832; therefore the bishop’s act was constitutional, and there was no reason to complain of “assumed powers,” etc.

At the Virginia Conference of 1810 this important question was asked: “Whether the bishops had a right to form the eighth, or Genesee Conference?” The bishop had no difficulty in answering this question in the affirmative. It will be seen, however, that the “right” was questioned.

Bishop Asbury, after the first session of the Genesee Conference, makes the following record: “If the cry of ‘want of order’ came from God, the appointment of the Genesee Conference was one of the most judicious acts of the episcopacy. We stationed sixty-three preachers, and cured some till then incurable cases.”

The New York Conference took action on the subject and nobly vindicated the bishops. I cannot withhold their preamble and resolutions, which do them so much honor, especially as they never have been published:

“Whereas, doubts have been entertained in the minds of some of our brethren respecting the constitutionality and necessity of the Genesee Conference. Our opinion being requested on the subject, after mature deliberation, we are of opinion that the constituting of that conference is perfectly conformable to the spirit and letter of our form of discipline, and calculated to facilitate the work of God, and spread the Redeemer’s kingdom, in the convincing, conviction, conversion, and establishing immortal souls in the precious truths of the blessed Gospel; and also we are of opinion that our venerable superintendents have acted judiciously therein, and entirely under the authority our discipline has vested in them, and therefore recommend the adoption of the following resolutions:

“Resolved, 1, That we consider the appointment of the Genesee Conference to be perfectly consistent with the spirit and letter of our form of discipline; and that the superintendents have assumed no illegitimate power, or forfeited any of the confidence reposed in them.” Carried.

“Resolved, 2, That, considering the extent of the Philadelphia and New York Conferences, and the great increase of circuits since the bounds thereof were defined by the General Conference in 1800, which is about or fully double the number, we consider the appointment of the Genesee Conference proper and necessary for the good of the connection.” Carried.

“Resolved, 3, That we therefore recommend or advise the continuation of that conference, and that we do pledge our mutual support to our bishops and superintendents therein.” Carried.

At the General Conference of 1812 an address of several preachers of the Genesee Conference on the subject was presented by Bishop M’Kendree on the 6th of May. A committee of eight was appointed, one from each conference. Ezekiel Cooper was chairman. The next day, May the 7th, the chairman presented the following resolution: “Moved, that this General Conference do consider that the Genesee Annual Conference is a legally constituted and organized conference.” It was carried unanimously.

The organization of the Genesee Conference was an era in the history of Methodism in Western New York. The first conference began on Friday. Both Bishops Asbury and M’Kendree were present. There was a camp-meeting held in connection with the conference. We had no meeting-house in Lyons then, and the conference was held in Captain Dorsey’s granary. There were sixty-three preachers present, among them some noble men: Anning Owen, my old colleague, Benjamin Bidlack, and Gideon Draper. William Case, Ebenezer White, Seth Mattison, and others were indeed pillars in our Church.

A more harmonious conference I never attended. Everything augured well for the future prosperity of our Zion.

On Sunday Bishops Asbury and M’Kendree preached on the camp-ground. The word was quick and powerful.

On Wednesday about two o’clock the conference adjourned, and the preachers, after shaking hands and exchanging plans, separated for their various fields of labor, to preach, to suffer, or to die. Most of them are now resting in Abraham’s bosom.

After dinner Bishop Asbury and I started on our journey. It was not his custom to tarry after conference adjourned. He moved right on, and often his horse was at the door and he was ready to commence his journey as soon as the benediction was pronounced. He thus avoided importunity, and no one could have his appointment changed if he desired to, for no one knew where to find the bishop.

We commenced our southern and Western tour. Such a doleful, fearful ride few bishops ever had, and it was one calculated to make the traveler rejoice when at the end of his journey. Asbury at that time, in consequence of infirmities, rode in a sulky and I on horseback. Sometimes I would ride before him and then in the rear. We would occasionally change when he was tired, or the roads very rough.

The first part of our journey was very pleasant. We had the company of Anning Owen, the apostle of Methodism in Wyoming, who was not only good company but a good guide. He went with us to Tioga Point, and then we parted with him reluctantly. Brother Owen went to Wyoming, and we took the route for Northumberland. We soon got lost in the wilderness, and needed a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night to guide us. Then a fine gentleman, by the name of Coles, piloted us five miles, and helped us out of our difficulty.

We had been accustomed to muddy roads, rocks, hills, mountains, gulfs, rapids, dangerous streams, but this route excelled them all for difficulty and danger. We traveled several hours in the rain and gained nine miles. We came to Elder’s Inn, where, though not a very desirable place, we were glad to put up. It poured all night. The next morning we proceeded through the solitary woods, that had been the abode of Indians, and where the wild beast still found a home, through deep mud, over huge rocks and lofty hills, down deep gulleys, to where two branches of the Elk waters formed a junction. The current being so rapid we thought it not safe to venture over; but we soon perceived that the water was falling, and in about an hour and a half we passed over in safety.

Of this journey Bishop Asbury makes the following mournful record: “We must needs come the Northumberland road; it is an awful wilderness. Alas! Read and prayed in the woods. I leave the rest to God. In the last three days and a half we have ridden one hundred and forty miles. What mountains, hills, rocks, roots! Brother Boehm was thrown from the sulky, but providentially not a bone broken.” This record needs no comment. It makes me weep when I look back and remember how patiently he suffered. I was suddenly thrown from the sulky and might have been killed, but as the bishop said I was providentially preserved, or I might have found a grave in the wilderness and left the poor infirm old man to have pursued his journey alone. The road was so rough that Father Asbury could not ride in the sulky; it jolted and hurt him, so he and I exchanged, and he rode my horse and I in his vehicle. If he had been thrown out as I was he probably would have been killed. No bone of mine was broken, and yet the flesh was torn from my left leg so that I was a cripple for months. I suffered more than if it had been broken. Riding on horseback with that poor leg, no language can describe my suffering.

We will resume our narrative, for we are not yet out of the woods. When we reached the other side of the stream we fell in with a man by the name of John Brown. As it was dangerous for us to proceed, Mr. Brown kindly invited us to his cabin. No endangered mariner was ever more glad to get into harbor than we were to find a shelter, for houses in that wilderness were very “few and far between.”

But the reader must not suppose Mr. Brown’s cabin was close at hand, and that all we had to do was to enter it. We had to cross the creek twice, and that with great difficulty and danger, and then tug our way up an exceedingly high mountain in the heart of the wilderness before we reached his cottage. When we arrived there we found he had no wife, nor children, nor housekeeper. He did his own cooking and washing. John Brown was a hermit. He was an Englishman who, for some reason, had chosen this secluded spot where he lived, four miles from any other dwelling. His cabin was pleasant, and he most cheerfully divided his coarse fare with us.

We felt much at home, and the after part of this day we were employed in reading, meditation, and prayer. We spent the Sabbath very differently from what we had generally done. It was what Mr. Asbury used to call a “dumb Sabbath.” What added to the gloom, it rained all the day and night. By the fall out of the carriage the day before I was more injured than I thought for at first; my left leg was bruised and torn and much inflamed, and I was very lame.

But onward we must move. So on Monday, July 30, we began to descend the mountain, and our kind friend John Brown accompanied us to the shore of the creek, which we found considerably higher than the day before, being swollen by the rain. As it was dangerous to attempt to cross, we took the back track, our host inviting us to return to his cabin and stay till it was safe to proceed on our journey. He did everything he could to make us comfortable and happy. I have put up in palaces, but never felt more comfortable and grateful than in the humble cabin of John Brown.

As the storm had abated the next morning we bade a final adieu to our pleasant home in the wilderness, and began to descend the mountain; but our kind friend and benefactor would not permit us to go alone. He went with us five miles, in which distance we crossed the waters of the Elk seven times. John Brown’s hospitality was worthy of patriarchal times. To us it was a heaven-send, for if we had been obliged to remain at a tavern during that time we stayed with him we should have been bankrupt, for Bishop Asbury and myself had only two dollars. I know, for I carried the purse.

With grateful hearts we bade adieu to the hermit, and proceeded on our perilous journey. After dining at Hill’s Inn we crossed the stream, which was full of drift logs. The wheels were taken from our carriage, and they and the body placed in a canoe, in which we also got, and were rowed over by two men, while our horses were obliged to swim across. The stream was swollen and the waters rapid, but fortunately we all reached in safety the other shore; then we had to put on our wheels to get our sulky in order to prepare for our journey. I was lame and the bishop feeble. To add to the gloom, clouds gathered over us dark and heavy. It thundered and lightened, and the rain fell in torrents, and when we were over the stream to begin our journey we had to ascend a rough, high, craggy mountain; but as Mr. Asbury wrote, “God brought us in safety to Muddy Creek. Deep roads and swollen streams we had enough on our route to Northumberland on Wednesday.”

Northumberland is a pleasant, quiet, romantic place on the Susquehanna. The distinguished Dr. Joseph Priestley spent the evening of life here, and died in 1804, aged seventy. He was a splendid scholar, and a great man; but how different his life, labors, and influence from that of the apostolic Asbury. They both were adopted citizens of America; both died at the age of seventy.

On Friday, after an unparalleled week of toil and suffering, we reached Middletown, Pa., and took dinner with our old friend Dr. Romer. A number of the neighbors heard of the bishop’s arrival and came to see him, and urged him to preach; but he had only time to pray with them, and say “farewell.” But it was very refreshing, after having for so long put up at miserable taverns, and been among strangers, and through such perils, to meet with so many familiar faces and kind friends.

In the afternoon we journeyed on to my father’s. My aged parents embraced me with joy, while I felt “there is no place like home.” Bishop Asbury and my father gave to each other the kiss of affection, and mutually encircled each other in their arms. That day we rode fifty miles. From Charleston to my father’s house we had traveled two thousand two hundred and twenty-five miles. The bishop preached on Saturday evening at “Boehm’s Chapel.”

His letters were generally sent to the care of my father, and at his house he answered them, so he was generally busy with his pen after our arrival home. He found fifteen letters waiting this time, and he answered them all on Saturday.