CHAPTER XXXIX. BISHOP ASBURY—CHARACTER AND HABITS.

As I traveled with Bishop Asbury longer than any other man, and knew him more intimately than any who survive, it will be expected that I notice his character and habits more fully than in the preceding chapters. Hundreds of questions have been asked me respecting his appearance, size, dress, personal character, etc.

Bishop Asbury was five feet nine inches high, weighed one hundred and fifty-one pounds, erect in person, and of a very commanding appearance. His features were rugged, but his countenance was intelligent, though time and care had furrowed it deep with wrinkles. His nose was prominent, his mouth large, as if made on purpose to talk, and his eyes of a blueish cast, and so keen that it seemed as if he could look right through a person. He had a fine forehead, indicative of no ordinary brain, and beautiful white locks, which hung about his brow and shoulders, and added to his venerable appearance. There was as much native dignity about him as any man I ever knew. He seemed born to sway others. There was an austerity about his looks that was forbidding to those who were unacquainted with him.

In dress he was a pattern of neatness and plainness. He could have passed for a quaker had it not been for the color of his garments, which were black when I traveled with him. He formerly wore gray clothes. He wore a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, a frock coat, which was generally buttoned up to the neck, with straight collar. He wore breeches or small clothes, with leggings. Sometimes he wore shoe-buckles. Indeed all the preachers, and I among the number, wore breeches and leggings till 1810, and then several left them off, which Bishop Asbury heartily disapproved.

Bishop Asbury had great administrative ability. He was wise and far-seeing, and kept his work planned and mapped out beforehand. The mass of the appointments were arranged before conference, so that but few changes needed to be made. He often talked to me freely about the appointments of the preachers, and sometimes consulted me. I used to transcribe them for him before they were read out. The preachers tormented me to know where they were going; but I was silent, for secret things belonged to the bishop, revealed things to the preachers.

He had an almost intuitive knowledge of men. He would sit in conference and look from under his dark and heavy eyebrows, reading the countenances and studying the character and constitution of the preachers. He also kept a record of his observations upon men for his own private use. The bishop not only read men for the sake of the Church, but for their own sakes. He would say to me, “Henry, Brother A or B has been too long in the rice plantation, or on the Peninsula; he looks pale, health begins to decline; he must go up to the high lands.” The preacher would be removed and know not the cause, and the next year come to conference with health improved and constitution invigorated, and not know to whom he was indebted for the change; for the bishop assigned few reasons, and made but few explanations for his conduct.

It has been supposed that he was an inferior preacher, though superior as a governor. But this is a mistake. I have heard him over fifteen hundred times. His sermons were scripturally rich. He was a well-instructed scribe, “bringing out of his treasury things new and old.” He was a good expounder of the word of God, giving the meaning of the writer, the mind of the Spirit. He was wise in his selection of texts. There was a rich variety in his sermons. No tedious sameness; no repeating old stale truths. He could be a son of thunder or consolation. There was variety both in matter and manner. He was great at camp-meetings, on funeral occasions, and at ordinations. I have heard him preach fifty ordination sermons, and they were among the most impressive I have ever heard.

In preaching he depended, like the fathers, much on the divine influence. He knew it was “not by might or power, but by the Spirit of the Lord.” He once took hold of the arm of Rev. Samuel Thomas, when he rose in the pulpit to preach, and whispered to him, “Feel for the power, feel for the power, brother.” He often felt for the power himself, and when he obtained it he was a kind of moral Samson. When he did not he was like Samson shorn of his strength.

Speaking of his preaching in his journal, he characterized it according to the influence that accompanied the word. He would say “he was much assisted;” at another time, “had some life;” again, “found himself much shut up,” “had some liberty in speaking,” “I was assisted in preaching,” “had enlargement of heart,” “I had the presence of God in speaking,” “had an open time,” “a flat time,” “but little liberty,” “I had not freedom,” “had a feeling time,” “I had great assistance,” “I had some light in preaching,” “had but little life in speaking,” “had a melting time.”

I am a witness to the struggles, the sighs, the tears, the prayers of Bishop Asbury for divine influence, that he might wield with success the sword of the Spirit.

The bishop was peculiar in adapting his subjects to times and circumstances. When with him in Kentucky in 1810 there was a great drouth, and Father Asbury preached from, “If the Lord shut up the heavens that it rain not,” etc. Again, when showers were descending, he preached from, “As the rain cometh down from heaven,” etc. To a company of women, he preached on the “duties of women professing godliness,” or “Mary has chosen that good part.” To soldiers, “And the soldiers came and inquired, And what shall we do?” etc. Preaching in a court-house, where there were lawyers and judges, and where one man had just been sentenced to death, he dwelt upon the solemnities of the final judgment—the court from which there was no appeal—from “knowing therefore the terror of the Lord, we persuade men,” etc. At a certain place where he was expected they announced him in the newspapers to preach on a special subject. He knew nothing of it before his arrival, and that was just before the service commenced. To their astonishment he read this text, “I speak not by commandment, but by reason of the forwardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of your love.” I was often startled, when I heard him read his text and announce his theme, at his power of adaptation.

The bishop’s lectures in families were full of instruction. He would dwell upon the domestic relations, that of husband and wife, parents and children, and the duties they owed to each other; on their deportment to each other and to their neighbors, and duty of exemplifying the Christian character throughout; on family prayer, order, and cleanliness; which he always recommended as “next to godliness.” Indeed the bishop was “instant in season and out of season.” Like his Master, he “went about doing good,” and lost no opportunity to benefit his race. I am sure he will get one blessing if no other: “Blessed are they that sow beside all waters.”

In his public exercises—in preaching, in administering the ordinances, in ordaining—there was a peculiar solemnity. Those who heard him never forgot it. But sometimes in private circles he would unbend, and relate amusing incidents and laugh most heartily. He said “if he was as grave as Bishop M’Kendree he should live but a short time.” He would often indulge in a vein of innocent pleasantry. When engaged in business or study, however, he did not like to be interrupted, and he would sometimes appear a little short; and we cannot wonder when we remember the many interruptions to which he was subject.

He was fond of singing. He had a full base or organ-like voice, and would often set the tune in public worship, for choristers and choirs were scarce in those days; but if the people did not sing scientifically they sang in the spirit. The bishop sang as he walked the floor, and this he often did when in deep meditation. He was a great admirer of Charles Wesley’s hymns, and not only loved to sing them, but esteemed them highly as a body of divinity.

He diligently read the Bible. He was in the practice of reading on the Sabbath the message to the seven Churches of Asia. He said it was revealed and written on the Lord’s day, and it gave excellent counsel to the Churches. Stimulated by his example, I have been in the practice of doing the same thing for over fifty years. He was one of the best readers of the Scriptures I ever heard. There was solemnity and dignity in his manner, and correctness in his emphasis and accents.

He was often very laconic in his replies. In 1808, while traveling with him, in company with John Sale, in Ohio, we were just entering the prairies when we met a gentleman who abruptly inquired of the bishop, “Where are you from?” Mr. Asbury replied, “From Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, or almost any place you please.” This was literally true. The man looked astonished and rode on, while Brother Sale and I smiled, but neither spoke, and the bishop was silent, and onward we pursued our journey.

He was a great redeemer of time. He knew its value, its brevity, its relation to eternity, therefore he kept that rule in the Discipline, “Be diligent; never be triflingly employed.” He was a great scholar considering he was a self-taught man. He read Hebrew, and his Hebrew Bible was his constant companion. The bishop read a great many books while I was with him. The moment we were in the house, after having laid aside his saddle-bags and greeted the family, then he began to read and write.

Asbury studied medicine, which was a necessity both for his own benefit and that of others. He traveled in unsettled parts of the country, where the people were often sick, and medical aid at a great distance. He was often very successful in removing pain and healing diseases; sometimes he would doctor the landlords where we were entertained, for which he received many thanks.

He was remarkable for his temperate habits. One day a lady set a brandy bottle on the table, and he gave her a gentle reproof. Said she, “Bishop, it is good in its place.” He removed it from the table and placed it in an old-fashioned cupboard, and closing the door, said, “Now it is in its place; let it remain there.” Although a man of great courage, there were, he said, “two classes of men that he was afraid of: crazy men and drunken ones.”

As we traveled on horseback we had to be careful not to be overburdened. The bishop used to say that the equipment of a Methodist minister consisted of a horse, saddle and bridle, one suit of clothes, a watch, a pocket Bible, and a hymn book. Anything else would be an incumbrance. I assure the reader our saddle-bags were stuffed full of clothing, medicine, books, journal, etc.; it was astonishing how much we could crowd into them. He used to say, “Henry, we must study what we can do without.” My old saddle-bags, on which I rode so many thousand miles with the bishop, I have carefully preserved. I think as much of them as the returned soldier does of his arms, which he has no more use for, but which remind him of former battles and victories. It used to be said that “Methodist ministers kept house in their saddle-bags.”

Mr. Asbury’s powers of endurance were great. If they had not been he would have fallen long before he did. Winter’s cold and summer’s heat he could endure. He was not afraid to set out in a storm, but would say, “Let us journey on, we are neither sugar nor salt; there is no danger of our melting.” And yet I have no doubt but these exposures did his feeble constitution a vast injury.

He married a great many. Multitudes were baptized by him. In 1811, when traveling with him near Xenia, Ohio, we were kindly entertained by a family named Simpson, and Bishop Asbury baptized a little infant and called him Matthew. I little thought that infant, when grown to manhood, would become a bishop. His fame is now world-wide, and his praise in all our Churches. He dedicated many churches. Some were completed, some half done, and some had not the roof on. Some of them were called after his name. He did not approve of this, and called it folly; neither did Mr. Wesley like to have any building named after him. He drew up many plans for houses of worship, and in some instances secured sites for them. He was ever intent on good, and very solicitous that we should “stretch ourselves beyond ourselves.”

The bishop was very fond of children, and they of him. They would run to meet him and then receive his blessing; they gathered around his knees and listened to his conversation. He would sometimes place them on his knee, and teach them the following lesson:

Then he would show the benefit of learning these lessons. “Learn to read, to make you wise; learn to pray, to make you good; learn to work, to get your living; learn to obey, that you may be obeyed.” One day we were approaching a house, and a little boy saw us coming. He ran in and said, “Mother, I want my face washed and a clean apron on, for Bishop Asbury is coming, and I am sure he will hug me up.” The bishop loved to hug the children to his heart, which always beat with such pure affection toward them. In this respect he strikingly resembled his Master, and was a fine model for ministers to follow.

His conversational powers were great. He was full of interesting anecdotes, and could entertain people for hours. He could make himself at home in a splendid mansion or in the humblest cottage. His powers of observation were great; nothing escaped the notice of his piercing eye. He would refer to incidents that occurred when he passed through certain places such a year, and the changes that had taken place during his absence.

At times he appeared unsociable, for his mind was engrossed with his work. When traveling from Wilmington, North Carolina, in 1809, we came near a pond. As we rode along nothing had been said for some time by either of us. The frogs were croaking, but as they heard the sound of our horses’ feet they were still. I said, “Mr. Asbury, you see the very frogs respect us, for they manifest it by their silence.” Mr. Asbury laughed, and said, “O Henry, you are full of pleasantry.” And the reverie being broken, he was very sociable as we rode along, and his conversation was full of interest. My object was to break the spell, and I succeeded.

He was very fond of horses, which he generally petted, and had names for them. One he sold to Bishop Whatcoat he called “Brunswick.” Another was “Jane;” she was as fleet as a deer. Another was “Fox;” he was as cunning as his namesake, and a most beautiful animal. He took the bishop over the ground with great ease and rapidity; but he had one prominent failing, he would get frightened occasionally and start and run, and as the bishop did not consider him safe he disposed of him. The horses frequently broke down by such extensive traveling, and the bishop parted with them with a sigh, and sometimes with a tear. When we parted with one in Wyoming the bishop said, “He whickered after us; it went right through my heart.” The bishop was a good rider, and he looked well on horseback. When we remember how many thousands of miles he traveled on horseback annually we cannot wonder at this, if there is any truth in that old adage, “practice makes perfect.” He always preferred riding on horseback, but there were times when he was so infirm he was obliged to ride in a buggy.

Bishop Asbury had his favorite stopping places where he felt the most at home: among others, at Governor Bassett’s, of Dover, Delaware; Mrs. Dickins’s, Baltimore; Harry Gough’s, Perry Hall; Mrs. Mills’s, Widow Grice’s, and George Suckley’s, New York City; Bishop Sherwood’s, Governor Van Cortland’s, Freeborn Garrettson’s, Rhinebeck; Father Bemis’s, at Waltham; Father and Mother Boehm’s; John Renshall’s and Thomas Cooper’s, Pittsburgh; further west, Dr. Tiffin’s, Governor Worthington’s, Philip Gatch’s, Peter Pelham’s, White Brown’s; in the South, General Rumph’s, James Rembert’s, and others. Many others might be named, but space fails. These homes were indeed the pilgrim’s rest. They were like an oasis in the desert. What hearty greetings and welcomes have I seen the bishop receive. But the reader must not infer he always put up in palaces. Cottages, log-houses, huts, dirt, filth, fleas, bed-bugs, hard beds, hard fare, these the bishop was familiar with, and so was his traveling companion.

The bishop was often in perils: perils on the land, perils on the water, perils among false brethren. I have often wondered that he was not suddenly removed when I think of the many hairbreadth escapes he had. We often rode at night over rough stony roads and stumps, where it was exceedingly dangerous; sometimes on the side of a mountain near a river, under such circumstances that a few feet, or even a few inches, would have been sudden destruction; sometimes when it was so dark I had to go before to feel the way and lead the horse. Several times he was in danger by his horses running away, or by their sudden starting, then by the upsetting of his carriage. This happened several times and in dangerous places, and yet he was almost miraculously preserved; not a bone was broken. He was often in danger in crossing the rivers and streams, to say nothing of swimming horses or crossing over on logs and trees, where, if he fell off, he would be greatly injured, but particularly in crossing the ferries. He often crossed in “old flats,” and “scows,” and canoes, with horses, and sometimes wagons. Many of these boats were old and leaky, and sometimes poorly manned, and at other times unmanageable. We often waited for hours, and even days, at a ferry. The streams would be swollen and dangerous, and we had to wait till the water fell. When we remember that the bishop crossed the highest mountains, the widest and most rapid rivers, at all seasons of the year, we can estimate the danger to which he was exposed. Twice he was in great danger of being drowned. But he hardly mentions the perils to which he was exposed. None of these things moved him, neither counted he his life dear unto him, so that he might finish his course with joy, and the ministry which he had received of the Lord Jesus to testify the Gospel of the grace of God.

Bishop Asbury has been represented as rough, unfeeling, harsh, and stoical. Those who make such assertions are entirely ignorant of his character, and do great injustice to one of the noblest men that ever blessed the Church or the world. I grant he had rather a rough exterior, that he was sometimes stern; but under that roughness and sternness of manner beat a heart as feeling as ever dwelt in human bosom. The bishop was “born to command,” and he had a commanding way with him; but he was as far from being a tyrant as possible, and yet I have heard him accused of tyranny by those who never knew him. If he injured the feelings of a brother he would encircle him in his arms and ask his forgiveness. Here was true manliness, genuine greatness, real dignity. This I have known him to do to a brother when convinced he was in error.

Bishop Asbury stoical! See his sympathy for the suffering. Look at him with his mite subscription—always heading it himself—to raise money for necessitous cases among the preachers; see him wandering among the tombs and weeping at the graves of his friends; visiting the widow and the fatherless and weeping with them, and commending the one to the widow’s husband, the other to the orphan’s father. He used frequently to mention his mother, and as he did so the tear would fill his blue eye. At one time he thought of her coming to America, but concluded it would not be best. His correspondence with her was very frequent. Out of his small salary he sent money to supply the wants of his parents before his father died, and then afterward to his mother when she was left a widow. In a letter to his mother he says, “My salary is £14 10s. sterling, [sixty-four dollars.] I have sold my watch and library, and would sell my shirt before you should want.” He added, “The contents of a small saddle-bag will do for me, and one coat a year.” He also made arrangement with Richard Whatcoat that if he died first Mr. Whatcoat was to see the wants of Mrs. Asbury supplied. What an example of filial regard!

There are many reasons why he did not marry; he has assigned them in his journal; but he always believed every man should support one woman. He maintained his mother while she lived, and then the widow of John Dickins. He not only supported Mrs. Dickins while he lived, but left provision in his will that she be paid eighty dollars a year till her death. This sum I paid her annually, as his executor, till she died.

It is needless to say that Bishop Asbury was a true patriot. Though he loved the land of his birth, yet he loved most ardently the land of his adoption. He showed this by remaining here when the other English preachers returned home. He loved Washington and the constitution of this country. When I was with him in Canada he said to me, “England always had the wrong foot foremost in regard to America.” This country is under great obligations to Francis Asbury: he accomplished for her a mighty work, and yet not one of our historians name him.

The bishop was well known on most of the great thoroughfares in the country, and to most of the landlords and public houses. They seemed to reverence his age, his office, and his character. On one of his western tours we came to a small tavern where there was quite a gathering. The company were noisy and profane, and it seemed as if we should get no sleep that night. When the hour came at which the bishop wished to retire, he went to the landlord and proposed having prayer. The landlord said, “My house is at your service, sir.” Then the bishop said, “Gentlemen, we are going to have prayer, and should be happy if you would join us.” His manner, as well as his patriarchal appearance, pleased them; and after prayer they soon retired, and left us to sleep sweetly till morning undisturbed. This had a better effect than severe reproof. Indeed it was reproof of the most effectual kind.

The bishop was a man of universal philanthropy. Wherever there was a door open for doing good he entered it. Passing through Ohio, we came to a place where the cow of a widow woman was about to be sold for debt. The bishop’s heart was touched, and he was determined the widow’s cow should not be sold. He said, “It must not be;” and giving something himself, he solicited money from others who were present, till in a few minutes sufficient was raised to satisfy the claim against her. The widow expressed her gratitude not only with words but tears as she started to drive her cow home. I have named this to show what kind of a heart beat in his bosom; that, like his Master, he went about doing good.

His benevolence was unbounded; selfishness had no place in his soul. He would divide his last dollar with a Methodist preacher. He had considerable money given him. Brother Rembert, at Black River settlement, South Carolina, frequently gave him one hundred dollars, and others gave him considerable sums. He was restless till it was gone, so anxious was he to do good with it. I was the treasurer. He would give most of it away at the next conference for the most necessitous cases, reserving only enough for our traveling expenses.

Bishop Asbury felt a deep interest in the welfare of the preachers, many of whom in those days received but a miserable pittance for their support. While I was with him he started the “mite subscription.” For this he collected during his tours and carried the money to the conference, to be distributed among the most necessitous cases. His last “mite subscription” list is now before me. The preface, which is printed, sets forth that “some of the annual conferences pay but thirty-one dollars to the unmarried and sixty-two to the married preachers, and the children are generally excluded from receiving anything in the settlement.” Can we wonder that under such circumstances so many of our early preachers located, and their services were in great measure lost to the Church? This document is dated April 1, 1815, and signed Francis Asbury. His name and that of his last traveling companion are found in the list of subscribers, which contains the autographs of some of the prominent men and women of Methodism in that day, as well as many persons who were not connected with our Church. Among others are those of Richard Channing Moore, bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Virginia; General Pierre Van Cortlandt, of New York; Governors Worthington and Tiffin, of Ohio. The latest names on the list were from Richmond, Virginia, where the bishop preached his last sermon.⁠[44]

Of the moneys he collected that year he paid to the New York Conference $135 99, and the receipt is in the book of the conference stewards, signed Samuel Merwin, Phineas Rice, and Thomas Drummond. The receipt of $50 27 from the mite subscription, and the donation of one hundred dollars, which was paid over by J. W. Bond, is acknowledged by Daniel Filmore, John Lindsay, and Jacob Sanborn, stewards of the New England Conference, on June 2, 1815. A note is added, that the New England Conference “not being able to raise the salaries of the preachers,” paid “only thirty-one dollars to the single and sixty-two to the married preachers, and children in proportion.”

Marcus Lindsey, John Dew, and Thomas D. Porter, of the Ohio Conference, acknowledged the receipt of $192 from the mite subscription this year. They also record “that all the children of the married traveling preachers who received nothing from the districts or circuits, received ten dollars apiece from Bishop Asbury’s Mite Subscription.” The salaries in this conference were better than in the East, for the single preachers received sixty-nine dollars and the married one hundred and thirty-eight. The stewards of Tennessee Conference gave, on October 27, their receipt for $267 06 “from the mite subscription,” and added that the married preachers received one hundred and ten dollars and the single fifty-five; and that the mite subscription for the benefit of the children, being one hundred dollars, enabled them to give ten dollars to each child. According to this, all the children of Methodist preachers in the Tennessee Conference in 1815 numbered but ten.

The last receipt is that of the Virginia Conference, for the sum of $95 31. This conference met in January, 1816, and was the last that Bishop Asbury attended. He was then reduced almost to a skeleton, and in about two months after he ended both his labor and his life.

Thank God, a brighter day has since dawned on the Church; and though our ministers have even now no superabundance of this world’s goods, it is at least no longer needful that our bishops should beg from house to house to collect “mites” that the preachers might be able to keep soul and body together.

The bishop had commenced his “mite subscription” for the next year with enlarged views. The prelude, which is dated January 1, 1816, and signed Francis Asbury, sets forth that the design was not only to equalize the salaries of the preachers, to relieve the most necessitous, and to provide for the children, but also “to enable us to send out German, French, and Spanish missionaries.” This was years before the formation of our Missionary Society. Like John Wesley, Bishop Asbury was constantly in advance of his age.

For five years I not only traveled with the venerable Asbury, but slept with him.⁠[45] When he was quite ill I would wrap myself in my blanket and lie down on the floor beside the bed and watch till I heard him call “Henry,” and then I would rise and minister to his wants. Being so feeble he needed a great deal of attention. Many times have I taken him from his horse and carried him in my arms into private houses and meeting-houses, where he would sit down, and expound the word of life to the astonishment of all who heard him. I also carried him from the houses and placed him upon his horse. He often preached sitting down, not so much in imitation of his Lord, but because he was unable to stand up.

Bishop Asbury possessed more deadness to the world, more of a self-sacrificing spirit, more of the spirit of prayer,⁠[46] of Christian enterprise, of labor, and of benevolence, than any other man I ever knew. He was the most unselfish being I was ever acquainted with. Bishop Whatcoat I loved, Bishop M’Kendree I admired, Bishop Asbury I venerated.