CHAPTER VII. MY SECOND CIRCUIT, ANNAMESSEX, 1802.

Bishops Asbury and Whatcoat visited my circuit previous to the Conference of 1801, which was held in Philadelphia. We had then but two houses of worship in that city, St. George’s and Ebenezer.

There was great political excitement at the time. Federalism and Democracy ran high, and Jefferson and Adams were talked about everywhere. Such was the excitement that it separated families and friends and members of the Church. I was urged on every side to identify myself with one political party or the other, or to express an opinion. I felt sad to see what influence this state of feeling was producing in the Church. I consulted Bishop Whatcoat, who said that our different political sentiments should never affect our Christian fellowship and affections; that each had a right to his own peculiar views, and we should make no man an offender because his views of politics were different from ours.

At this Conference I was not received on trial, because my recommendation from Dorchester circuit, by some mistake, was not brought to the Conference. I was received virtually, but not formally. The next year, to the question in the Minutes, “Who remain on trial?” the answer is, “Henry Boehm;” and at the end of the following year I was admitted into full connection and ordained. The Minutes and Dr. Bangs’s History make me one year younger in the traveling ministry than I am. I date from 1801, the same year as Dr. Bangs and Bishop Hedding.

At the Conference of 1801, William Colbert was appointed to Annamessex Circuit, and Thomas Ware, the presiding elder, employed me to labor with him. Mr. Colbert had charge also of Somerset Circuit, on which Daniel Ryan and Edward Larkins traveled.

The introduction of Methodism into this circuit was providential, and in it we can see the hand of God. A Methodist preacher, whose name I have forgotten, was on his way from the Line Chapel to Accomac, Virginia. (It was so called because on the line between Delaware and Maryland.) The preacher being a stranger, inquired the best way to Accomac. He was directed into the Cypress Swamp, which extended for many miles.

Supposing it was the direct route, the unsuspecting stranger entered, to learn, by sad experience, that he had been deceived. After wandering about for a long time in the mud, bogs, and water, where he was in danger of sinking, he came out of the swamp near the house of Jepthah Bowen, on the east side of the Pocomoke River. His preservation was very singular, equally so that he should have come out at the right place. Mr. Bowen took the stranger in and gave him a hearty welcome. He was a member of the Church of England, and learning his guest was a minister, proposed prayer. The preacher prayed with so much power that he was invited to preach at Mr. Bowen’s house. On his return from Virginia he did so, and the people were so pleased with his sermon that Mr. Bowen’s house became a regular preaching place. Thus Methodism was singularly introduced in that section of the country.

Jepthah Bowen was converted and many others, and a society was early formed at his house. He lived long enough to see the frame of a new house of worship erected that bore his name, Bowen’s Chapel. This led to the formation of several societies in that region, and to the conversion of multitudes. Mr. Bowen’s was the first house opened for Methodist preaching in Worcester County. In after years I was entertained by his aged widow at the old homestead. His children and children’s children were blessed, being the descendants of those who entertained the Lord’s prophets.

The Rev. Freeborn Garrettson was lost in this swamp in 1779. After wandering for a long time, night overtook him. It was quite dark, and to add to the gloom, the rain descended in torrents. He was about to take lodgings upon the cold, wet ground, when, to his great joy, he discovered a light at a distance, and following it, he found a house where he was kindly entertained. The man with whom he stayed thought his guest was an angel, and he surveyed him from head to foot, and then inquired, “What are you, and who are you? for I am sure I never saw such a man as you appear to be.” Mr. Garrettson answered, “I am a follower of our blessed Saviour.”

The woman of the house had been peculiarly afflicted for sixteen days; she had neither eaten nor drunk. There were many who went to see her die, when she suddenly rose in the bed and exclaimed, “You thought mine a disorder of the body, but it was not; now I know my Maker loves me.” She was very happy, and said she knew Mr. Garrettson was a man of God, one whom the Lord had sent to reform the world. His visit to the family at that time was a great blessing.

Another anecdote related by Mr. Garrettson will illustrate the ignorance of some of the people. He met a man in the region of the Cypress Swamp, and asked him if he was acquainted with Jesus Christ. “Sir,” said he, “I know not where the gentleman lives.” Mr. Garrettson, supposing the man misunderstood him, repeated his question, and to the astonishment of Mr. G. he replied, “I don’t know the man.”

I was glad to travel with my friend William Colbert, who had been so often at my father’s house. He was an eminent revivalist. Our circuit was nearly two hundred miles round. There were several houses of worship: Bowen’s Chapel, Miles’s Chapel, Curtis’s Chapel, St. Martin’s Chapel, and Sound Meeting-house. I have a record of all the members. Nathaniel Bowen, a descendant of Jepthah, had thirty-one members in his class, five by the name of Bowen.

We preached against slavery, and persuaded our brethren and those who were converted to liberate their slaves, and we were often successful. There was a revival both among the white and colored. Many slaves were made “free” by “the Son,” and they enjoyed the liberty of the soul.

We preached at Snow Hill. It was formerly a wretched place where the traffic in negroes was carried on. The Georgia traders in human flesh came there and bought slaves, and then took them south and sold them. Methodism made a mighty change here and destroyed this inhuman traffic. Snow Hill for years has been a prominent place for Methodism. People often fell under the word. George Ward, a local preacher, who married Harry Ennalls’s sister, resided here. When I was preaching at his house Sister Ward fell under the power. She was a woman of fine intellect, therefore I name it because some think that none but persons of weak minds are thus affected. At Brother Ward’s house we used to preach, and there we formed the first class at Snow Hill. Henry White, so long an honored member of the Philadelphia Conference, frequently a delegate to the General Conference, I had the honor of taking into the Church while on this circuit. I also knew his father, Southy White. He was a good man, and an excellent local preacher. I preached at his house, and was his guest. He died the year I was on that circuit. I knew many of the fathers in the Methodist ministry, and have lived not only to bury the fathers, but many of their sons.

John Phœbus’s at Quantico Neck was another of our preaching places. He was the brother of Dr. William Phœbus, so long known in New York for his talents and his eccentricities. The doctor went out into the ministry from that section of the country.

We preached also at Brother Lazarus Maddox’s, at Potato Neck. His house was an excellent home for a wayworn itinerant. On February 14, while preaching at his house, the power of God came down and Brother Maddox was struck to the floor, and lay for some time under the divine influence. Thrilling were the scenes we witnessed. Indeed the whole circuit had a wall of fire around about it and a glory in the midst. The people got so happy and shouted so loud they drowned my voice, and leaped for joy, and sometimes they would fall, lose their strength, and lie for hours in this condition, and then come to praising the Lord. At several funerals many were awakened, and in several instances loud shouts were heard at the grave. This was something entirely new to me.

We also preached at Devil’s Island, as it was called. Deil’s it should be named. The first time I visited it I preached from “Prepare to meet thy God.” I had spoken but a few words when twelve were struck under conviction. I was so pleased I wrote, “The devil will have to give up his island.”

There was one general revival; the circuit was in a flame. In every appointment sinners were converted. The Peninsula seemed like the garden of God. Scenes took place that gladdened the eyes of angels and thrilled the heart of the Saviour. The Gospel had wonderful power, and the results were glorious, as the records of eternity will reveal.

To show that I have not over-estimated the work, and to record the wonderful works of God in those days, I make a few extracts from letters written by men of God long since in Abraham’s bosom. The first was from Thomas Ware to Dr. Coke, dated Duck Creek, Delaware, September 12, 1802, and published in the Arminian Magazine for 1803:

Ezekiel Cooper, in a letter to Dr. Coke dated Philadelphia, September 7, 1801, says: “I have just now received a letter from Brother Colbert, one of our preachers in Annamessex Circuit. He wrote: ‘Good news from Pocomoke. The kingdom of hell is falling, the borders of Zion are enlarging, and glory to God, the prospect of a greater work than we had last year lies before us. In both circuits, Somerset and Annamessex, the Lord is powerfully at work; our preaching places or houses are too small for the congregations, and, two or three places excepted, too small even for our love-feasts. I believe the Peninsula has never known such a time as heaven now favors us with. Glory to Jesus on high! we have what is the most inviting among us, namely, the Lord in power converting sinners, and the saints feel as if they were sunning in the beams of redeeming love, overwhelmed with the glorious billows. Some fall motionless, and lie for some minutes, others for hours, and some for a great part of the night without the use of their limbs or speech, and then they spring up with heaven in their eyes and music on their tongues, overwhelmed with love divine. O, glory to God! this work makes Pocomoke swamps like a blooming paradise to my soul. If the Lord spares us, I trust that we shall return to the North giving him glory for another thousand members. One thousand joined last year. By grace there is a good beginning. To God be all the praise.’”

Such is the account Brother Colbert gave of the work of God that year I traveled with him.

John Scott’s was one of our preaching places. He lived near Poplartown, Worcester County. He was an active and liberal man. He was also very shrewd; knew how to answer a fool according to his folly. As he entertained the Methodist preachers and their horses some of his neighbors predicted that he would be “eaten out of house and home.” It was a very dry season, and things were parched up. He was a farmer, and had planted one hundred acres of corn. The crop was likely to be cut off. On a certain day a cloud came up from the west and the refreshing rain descended on his fields, but extended no further. His fields were fresh and green, while those of his neighbors were dry. In the fall when they were gathering the crops his neighbors expressed astonishment that his corn should be so much more valuable than theirs. They did not know how to account for it. He replied that he “had fed the Methodist preachers’ horses.” He left his neighbors to infer that this was one cause of his prosperity. I have often noticed those families who were not given to hospitality, and those who have welcomed the messengers of God to their houses, and the latter have prospered far more than the former. A noble man was Brother John Scott.

When I was on Hooper’s Island I put up with a Widow Ruack, who was a member of our Church, and entertained Methodist preachers. She related to me the following anecdote: “Joseph Everett traveled and preach there. One day she looked out of her window and saw Mr. Everett coming. She rejoiced to see the preacher, but was exceedingly mortified that she had nothing in the house to cook for his dinner, and living on the island, it was not convenient to get anything, for stores and markets were scarce. She went out into the door-yard for some wood to make a fire to boil the tea-kettle. Just that moment something fell at her feet. It was a large fresh bass that weighed several pounds. She looked up and saw a large hawk flying over, which had dropped the fish. He had just taken the fish out of the bay, and finding it heavy, had dropped it in the right place. She immediately dressed and cooked it for the preacher’s dinner, and he praised it exceedingly, not having enjoyed such a meal in a long time.”