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PREFACE

INTRODUCTION 9

BISHOP W. M. WEEKLEY

W. M. WEEKLEY AT TWENTY YEARS OF AGE

W. M. WEEKLEY AT THIRTY YEARS OF AGE

TRAVELING A DISTRICT

HOUSE WHERE BISHOP FIRST WENT TO HOUSEKEEPING

Introduction

The past lives through the printed page. The ages would be blank if books were not made recording the events and achievements of men. No form of history is more interesting and profitable than that which recites the career of those who, obedient to their divine commission, proclaimed to fellowmen the sweet message of Christ's redeeming love. The completeness of their consecration, their undaunted courage and persistency in the face of many difficulties, and their marvelous success evidence in them the presence of superhuman power. It is the genius of Christianity to inspire and develop the unselfish and heroic in men. The splendid specimens of self-sacrifice and moral courage, which adorn the pages of Christian literature, charm the reader and inspire him to more Christlike endeavor. These life-stories constitute a rich, priceless legacy for present and future generations.

In this admirable volume, Bishop Weekley has modestly removed the curtain from twenty years of his own strenuous ministerial life spent in the mountains and valleys of West Virginia, and given the reader a conception of what it meant to lift up the Christ and extend his kingdom in that rugged region. The book is biographical in character, but since "biography is the soul of history," it is history in reality. The scenes and events which he presents suggest the character of the work which others had to do in laying the foundations of our Church in those sections.

It would be difficult to find more striking examples of Christian altruism and heroism anywhere in this country than the godly men who preached the gospel among the mountains and in the valleys of the Virginias in the early years of our denominational history. These men embodied those elements of character and graces of the Spirit which are essential to success in Christian work anywhere. Having heard the call of God, and having felt the spell of the divine spirit, they yielded themselves unreservedly to the gospel ministry. They possessed strength of conviction, singleness of aim, earnestness of purpose, and concentration of effort. As a rule these pioneer preachers had but one business--that of the King. They were so absorbed in the saving of men and women, and in extending the kingdom, that they gave but little attention to present physical comforts and future needs. Many of them were without property, and when they sang,

"No foot of land do I possess, No cottage in this wilderness,"

there was a literalness about it which would have dismayed men of less faith and consecration. Without seeking to enrich themselves in material things they labored earnestly to bring the spiritual riches of heaven to the hearts and homes of others.

They were busy men--men of action. They omitted no opportunities to do good. Intervals of rest were few and far between. The modern minister's vacation was to them unknown. They met their "appointments" with surprising regularity. Neither storm, nor distance, nor weariness thwarted their plans. Their announcements were always made conditionally--"no preventing providence"--but they never calculated for providence to prevent them being on hand at the appointed place and hour. The strain of toil was constant, but their iron resolution, and the work itself, proved a strong tonic. The success of one service was inspiration for the next. Visiting from house to house, exhorting the people to faithful Christian living, distributing religious literature, and preaching week days as well as Sundays made their lives full of heavy tasks, all of which were performed with happy hearts. They possessed the glowing and tireless zeal of the preaching friars of the Middle Ages, and with many of them the clear flame of their zeal was undimmed until the fire was turned to ashes.

They were men of thought as well as action. Their preparation was made in the college of experience, in which they proved themselves apt students. They studied few books and only the best. They cultivated and practised the perilous art of reading on horseback. They pored over books and papers in humble homes by flickering candle or pine-knot light long after the family had retired. It is remarkable what extended knowledge of the English Scriptures, methods of sermonizing, oratorical style and forceful delivery these men acquired. They knew well, and by that surest form of knowledge--the knowledge born of verified experience--all they proclaimed in message to the people. There was freshness of thought, aptness of illustration, and forcefulness of expression that was native to them. The majestic forms of nature in the regions where they toiled inspired in them the sublimest thoughts of God and his eternal truth. The marvelous results of the sermons of such men as Markwood, Glossbrenner, Bachtel, Warner, Nelson, Graham, Howe, Hott, and others proved them great preachers in the highest and truest sense.

They were men of tact as well as thought, and adjusted themselves to the conditions. They preached wherever the people would assemble--in leafy grove, by the river bank, in the humble home, in the log schoolhouse, in the village hall, in the vacant storeroom, and in the unpretentious church-house. They did not always have the exhilarating and inspirational effect of great crowds, but they preached "in demonstration of the Spirit," kindling the deepest emotions in their hearers, often arousing them to tremendous intensity and causing waves of overpowering feeling to sweep over them. Saints shouted the praises of God and penitents pleaded for mercy. These heralds of the Cross employed none of the familiar devices of modern times for securing crowds and reaching results. There were no specially-prepared and widely-scattered handbills, no local advertising committees, no daily newspapers with flashing headlines and portraits, no great choral or orchestral attractions. What made these fallible men so forceful and successful in winning others? The explanation lies in the fact of their spiritual enduement. They wrought in the name of Christ and under the influence of the Holy Spirit.

In no portion of our Zion have ministers made stronger and more lasting impression upon the people. Whenever present in a home they were the guests of honor. Their strong personalities and noble traits of character, as well as their calling itself, won for them the esteem of old and young. Parents named their children after them, and exhorted their sons to find in them their models for manhood. In thus honoring these noblemen of God they exalted the work of the ministry in the minds of the young, and prepared the way for the Lord to call them into his service. This may account, at least in part, for the great number who have gone into the ministry from these mountain districts.

Let no one fancy that somber shadows rested continually upon the pathway of these ministers. There was a joyous side to their ministerial life. When together as a class, or among their parishioners, their stories and jokes were abundant, spontaneous, and of the purest type. When they met at institutes, camp-meetings, and conferences they enjoyed one round of good cheer and solid comfort. Their services of song drowned all dull cares. Their lives had shadows, but they refreshed themselves in the rifts and glorious sunbursts.

The people to whom these men of God proclaimed the gospel were not, as a rule, rich in material things, but they possessed great hearts, in which love and kindness flowed as pure and refreshing as the streams of water that rippled down the mountain side.

We rejoice that Bishop Weekley has given to the Church this book. Many aged ministers, who once toiled in the Virginias, will live over again the scenes of their lives as they read these pages. Young men will be stimulated to more earnest endeavor as they learn of the hardships and complete consecration of God's servants in pioneer days. No one will weary in reading this excellent volume. The good Bishop has written in harmony with an established sentiment in book-making--"it is the chief of all perfections in books to be plain and brief."

W. O. FRIES.

"Old Virginia" was, in part, the field chosen by Otterbein himself, and by his devout colaborers. This was more than a hundred years ago. In 1858 the Parkersburg, now West Virginia Conference, was organized out of that part of the mother conference lying west of the Alleghanies--a territory three hundred miles long, roughly speaking, by two hundred in width. In its physical aspects the country is exceedingly rough, and difficult of travel. But the people, though mostly rural in their customs and mode of living, and many of them poor, so far as this world's goods are concerned, are warm hearted, genial, and hospitable. When a preacher goes to fill an appointment among "mountaineers," he is not troubled with the thought that perhaps nobody will offer him lodging, or willingly share with him the bounties of his table. I have found things different in other parts of the country.

The new conference was organized at Centerville, in Tyler County, by Bishop Glossbrenner, in the month of March. Only a few ministers were present, but they were brave and good, ready to do, and, if need be, to die for their Lord. Five miles from this historic place the writer was born on the eighteenth day of September, 1851.

My parents, though poor, were honest and honorable, and toiled unceasingly to provide for and rear in respectability their ten children, of whom I was the oldest.

The neighborhood was far above the average in its religious life and moral worth. A man under the influence of liquor was seldom seen, and a profane word was hardly ever heard. The United Brethren Church was by far the leading denomination in all that country. The old log church in which we all worshiped stood on father's farm, and our home was the stopping-place not only of preachers, but of many others who attended divine service. At times our house was so crowded that mother was compelled to make beds on the floor for the family, and not unfrequently for others as well. But to her it was a great joy to perform such a ministry for the gospel's sake. Her loving hands could always provide for others, no matter who they were, or how many. For the third of a century father was the Sunday-school superintendent in the neighborhood, and, for a longer period, teacher of the juvenile class. Thus he saw little children pass up into other and older classes, and finally to manhood and womanhood, when by and by their children came in and were given a place in "Uncle Dan's" class.

At the age of fourteen I was born the second time, and united with the Church. The occasion was a great revival held by Rev. S. J. Graham, of precious memory. Seeing my oldest sister, Sarah, bow at the altar, greatly moved my young heart. A few moments later I observed father coming back toward the door, and thinking perhaps he was wanting to speak to me on the subject of religion, I immediately left the house. My state of mind became awful. The next evening I saw mother pressing her way toward me through the standing crowd. I knew what it meant, and sat down with the hope of concealing myself from her; but how vain the effort! What child ever hid himself away from a mother's love? Putting her hand on my head, she said, "William, won't you be a Christian?" I made no reply, but said to myself, "I can't stand this; I must do something." How her appeal, plaintive and tender, made me weep! It was really the first time she had ever come to me with such directness and warmth of heart. To this very moment I can feel the touch of her hand and hear her loving appeal. The next day I talked with other boys who were with me in school, and asked them to accompany me to the "mourner's bench," which they did.

At that time the class, though in the country, numbered one hundred and seventy souls. Three months later, I was appointed one of its stewards, and with this office came my first experience in raising money for the Church.

The next year I was elected assistant class-leader, and though young and inexperienced, I rendered the very best service I possibly could.

My educational advantages up to this time had been only such as the common schools afforded, with the addition of a close application to study at the home fireside, aided by the historic "pine torch" and "tallow candle."

When seventeen I preached my first sermon, or, perhaps I should say, made my first public effort. It was in an old log church on Little Flint Run, in Doddridge County. Brother Christopher Davis, a local preacher, was holding a meeting, and at the close of the morning services announced that I would preach at night. What a day that was to me! How I tried to think and pray! When I reached the church I found it full, with many standing in the aisle about the door. I felt so unprepared--so utterly helpless--that I immediately retired to a secret place, where I again besought the Lord for help. Returning, I started in with the preliminaries, but was badly scared. No man can describe his feelings under such circumstances. Many a preacher who scans these pages will appreciate my situation. I spent a good part of the first fifteen minutes mopping my face. I seemed to be in a sweat-box; but by the time I reached my sermon, or whatever it might be called, the embarrassment was all gone. I still remember the text: "And I will bring you into the land concerning the which I did swear to give it to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob; and I will give it you for an heritage. I am the Lord." It was immense; but the most of young preachers begin just that way. At this distance from the occasion, I do not recall anything I said, and am glad I cannot. However, there was one redeeming feature about the effort, and that was its brevity. In twenty minutes I had told all I knew, and perhaps more. I have never been able to understand why the people listened so patiently. They really seemed to be interested, but why, or in what, I have never known. I have not tried that text since, and I do not think I ever shall. It is too profound to even think of as the basis of a discourse to common people.

Dr. J. L. Hensley, when pastor of Middle Island Circuit, early in the sixties, had a somewhat singular experience in this same log church. While preaching one Sabbath morning in midsummer from the text, "The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head," the people at his left suddenly became excited, and looking around quickly for the cause, he observed a snake, about two feet long, crawling in a crevice of the wall near the pulpit. Reaching for his hickory cane, which he always carried, he dealt the wily creature a blow which brought it tumbling to the floor, remarking at the same time, "The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head." Thus in the midst of his discourse he was furnished an illustration which made a profound impression upon his hearers, and aided greatly in bringing the truth home to their hearts.

The presiding elder, Rev. S. J. Graham, my spiritual father, by authority of a quarterly conference held at the Long Run appointment, October 23, 1869, gave me a permit to exercise in public for three months. Shortly after this I was prostrated with lung fever, which soon developed the most alarming aspects. Though the ailment was outgeneraled, the process of recovery was slow. In fact, one of my lungs was so impaired that consumption was feared. A noted physician, after carefully diagnosing my case, frankly told me that nothing could be done for my lung; but I did not believe a word he told me. I had decided that I would make preaching my life work, and believed that God would give me a chance to try it. It might be noted here that ten years later this same doctor was in his grave, while I was a better specimen of physical manhood than he ever was.

"Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass." What will he bring to pass? The right thing, and in the right way. Such has been my observation and experience in all the years that have come and gone since the hand of affliction was so keenly felt.

When the Stationing Committee reported, my name was read out as the junior preacher for Philippi Circuit, with Rev. A. L. Moore, pastor in charge. This appointment was given, as more than one assured me in later years, simply to satisfy my mind. No one expected me to go to it. As the field already had a man, my failure to reach it would make no difference in any way.

Returning home I told father what had been done, and that I must have the necessary outfit for a circuit-rider; namely, a horse, a saddle and bridle, and a pair of saddle-bags. No matter what else a man had, or did not have, in those days, these things were essential to efficiency among the mountains of West Virginia.

At once I began preparations for leaving home. Mother was thoughtful enough to make me a pair of leggings which buttoned up at the sides and reached above the knees. No one article made with hands was ever more valuable to a Virginia itinerant than leggings.

Philippi Circuit was seventy-five miles distant among the mountains, and would require, owing to the bad roads, two and a half days of hard travel on horseback to reach it. At the appointed time, April 11, 1870, early in the morning, I rode out of the old lane and up the hillside. All I had of earthly possessions was in my saddle-bags. One end contained my library, while in the other was stored my wardrobe, scant and plain. When far up on the side of the hill I looked back and saw mother standing on the porch. She had not ceased to watch me from the moment I started. Tears unbidden filled my eyes, and with these came an appreciation of our home that I had never experienced before. The home had been humble, to be sure, but it was Christian. We had a family altar, from which the sweet incense of prayer ascended daily to God. I could truthfully say:

"Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow thee."

A mile distant I joined, by a prearranged plan, Rev. G. W. Weekley, my uncle, and Rev. Isaac Davis, both of whom were also en route to their distant fields of toil.

At the end of the second day we reached Glady Fork, on Lewis Circuit, where my uncle lived. How weary after so long a ride! At that time my health was still so precarious, and my strength so limited, that I could not walk a hundred yards up grade without resting. To dismount from my horse, open and close a gate, and then get back into the saddle, exhausted me. Remaining over a few days with my uncle, I tried to preach on Sunday morning, but found myself exhausted at the end of twenty-four minutes. In a few days, however, I was sufficiently rested from my long ride to journey on to my own circuit, where I soon found the preacher in charge, and plans were discussed for the year's work. This was historic ground. It was an old United Brethren field, having been traveled by Statton, Stickley, Warner, Hensley, and others, in the late fifties and early sixties, when it included twenty or more preaching-places, spread over portions of several counties.

Philippi Circuit contained at this time the following appointments: Romines Mills, Gnatty Creek, Peck's Run, Indian Fork, Mt. Hebron, Green Brier, and Zeb's Creek. Later I added two more--one on Big Run, and the other on Brushy Fort, at the home of "Mother" Simons. Two of the preaching places lay "beyond" the Middle Fork River--a rolling, dashing stream, fresh from the mountains, and at times dangerous to cross. It was so clear that a silver piece the size of a quarter could be seen at a depth of several feet. The first time I attempted to ford it I put my life in jeopardy. Because the bottom could be seen distinctly, I imagined it was not deep, but after a few paces I was in mid-side to my horse, and going deeper every step. Perceiving the danger I was in, I tried to turn my horse about, and did so only after the greatest effort, owing to the almost irresistible current which was gradually bearing horse and rider downward. Going to a house near by I made some inquiry about the stream, and was told that if I had gone ten feet farther I should have been swept away by the swift running waters. How grateful I was to God for the deliverance. During the following winter my life was endangered by floating ice at the same crossing-place. Brother Moore about the same time, perhaps a little later, seeing he could not ford the stream, decided to lead his horse across the ice at a point below the regular crossing, where there was but little current; but when twenty feet from the shore toward which he was headed, the ice gave way, and the faithful animal went under. Having hold of the bridle rein, however, he managed to keep his head above the water until a passage way was broken through to dry land.

One instinctively shudders as he recalls the dangers which at times thrust themselves suddenly across the pathway of the early preachers of the Virginia and Parkersburg conferences when the fields were so large and travel so excessive. Brother Moore informed me, as we looked over the charge, that I would have to take the "outsiders" for my support, as the circuit only paid 0, and he could not get along on less and pay rent. It struck me that he was about right, so I readily agreed to his proposition. Then what? Well, at each preaching place I found a "sinner" who agreed to serve as my steward, and these men did well, everything considered. For the year I received , including an overcoat and several pairs of yarn socks.

At one of the appointments an unfortunate episode occurred over my salary. The steward one day stepped over the line, and got after some of the church-members for money. He very well knew they were abundantly able to help, but they flatly refused. This so upset him, so I was told, that he expressed his opinion of them in language far more vigorous than polite. It is a joy, however, to note in this connection that some of these stewards soon became Christians, and active helpers in the Church.

We had some good revivals that year. Ninety-nine were received into church fellowship, while many more were converted. At Indian Fork we held meeting in a little log cabin, about twenty feet square, with a great fire-place in one side. It is surprising to see how many people can be crowded into so small a place when they are anxious to attend a revival. Night after night for weeks this little room was packed like a sardine case. But the outcome was glorious. Some of the best citizens of the community were reached and won to Christ.

After a few services were held, and it was seen how insufficient the little room was to accommodate the many who wanted to come, we put on foot the project of building a church, and immediately set about the work. The plan was so unique that the whole neighborhood became interested. Some felled trees; others "scored and hewed" the logs; those who had teams volunteered to haul them, while others still made shingles, or helped with the foundation; "for the people had a mind to work." Before the meetings closed the house was up and ready for use--an edifice which served as a place of worship for many years.

The people all over the circuit were kind and forbearing, and greatly encouraged me by waiting on my ministry, and hearing what little I had to say. I visited all classes of persons, rich and poor, and had all kinds of experiences. In some homes I enjoyed the hospitality offered; in others it was not so highly enjoyed, but keenly appreciated. At one of the preaching points a certain brother insisted upon my going home with him for dinner after the morning service, which I consented to do. It was a rainy day. He lived in a cabin of one room on the hillside. On either side of the dwelling was a shed. Under one of these he kept his corn; under the other, where we entered the house, the hogs slept and the chickens roosted. His only piece of regular furniture was a chair. As to where and when he got it I did not inquire. Long poles reaching across the room and fastened to the walls, with a forked stick under them in the center, constituted a kind of double bedstead. When I entered the door I observed a large "feather tick" piled upon these poles. Finally, something moved under it, and then a boy of ten or twelve summers, almost suffocated, crawled out and made for the door. His purpose, no doubt, was to hide from the preacher when he saw him coming, but finding he could not get his breath, decided to retreat to another place of concealment where there was more fresh air. I did not eat much dinner. I told "mine host" that I was not hungry, and, in fact, was not. They had only a broken skillet in which to bake bread, fry meat, and "make gravy." As soon as possible I excused myself, and started for my next appointment. Indeed, I was glad I had another one that day.

Many other amusing incidents occurred during the year. These always find a place in the itinerant's life, and it is well, perhaps, that they do, as they offset in a measure his somber experiences. I am frank to confess that it is easy for me to see the funny side of a happening, if it has one, and to enjoy a joke though it be on myself.

In the early days of the West Virginia Conference, what was known as the "plug hat" was much in evidence among preachers. Such "headwear" was a distinguishing mark, hence no circuit-rider with proper self-respect, or wishing to give tone to his calling, could afford to don anything else. Being young, and somewhat ambitious to hold up the ministerial standard, at least in appearance, I determined to secure one as soon as I could get a few dollars ahead. However, the way opened for the gratification of my wish sooner than I had expected. Brother Moses Simons had one he didn't care to wear, so I bantered him for a trade. It was in first-class condition, but entirely too large for me. Even after putting a roll of paper around under the lining, it came down nearly to my ears. What was I to do? I must have a high-topped hat, but was not able to purchase a new one. At last I decided to wear it, if my ears did occasionally protest against its close proximity to them. It distinguished me from common people for the next two years, and so answered well its purpose.

One day as I was riding up a little creek between two high hills I passed a group of urchins who evidently were unused to preachers. They watched me in utter silence till I had passed them a few yards, when one of them piped out, "Lord, what a hat." No doubt they had an interesting story to relate to their parents when they returned to their humble cabin home.

Not long after this I met a gentleman, so-called, in the road, and bade him the time of day, as was my custom. He returned the salutation with, "How are you, hat?" and passed on without another word. To me this was exceedingly offensive, for I was sure there was something in and under the hat, and any such remark was an uncalled-for reflection upon my dignity and the high calling I represented. I did not know the man, and to the best of my knowledge have never seen him since, but to this day, though removed from the event more than a third of a century, I harbor the thought that if I ever do run across him I shall demand some sort of reparation for the insult.

The annual conference met in Pennsboro, Bishop Weaver presiding. During the year I had improved much in health, owing to my horseback exercise and the great amount of singing I did, which doubtless had much to do with the development of lung muscle.

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