USA > Delaware > Methodism of the peninsula, or, Sketches of notable characters and events in the history of Methodism in the Maryland and Delaware peninsula > Part 3
USA > Maryland > Methodism of the peninsula, or, Sketches of notable characters and events in the history of Methodism in the Maryland and Delaware peninsula > Part 3
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The following interesting incident is related of Mr. Harry Ennalls, one of the prominent early Methodists of Dorchester county, Maryland. He was probably the same man from whom the historic Ennalls' Spring camp- ground derived its name. On one occasion, Mr. Bohm and other ministers were at Mr. Ennalls' house, in com- pany with Governor Bassett, of Dover, and the elder James Asheton Bayard, United States Senator of Dela- ware. For some unexplained reason, at evening family worship, ignoring his ministerial guests, Mr. Ennalls himself led in the devotions. He made the service the occasion of a special and very fervent prayer in behalf of his distinguished senatorial guest. At the conclu- . sion, Mr. Bayard, apparently much agitated, paced back and forth across the parlor floor for a time; and then, turning to Mr. Ennalls, inquired with some severity : "Harry, what did you mean by shaking your brim- stone bag over me that way?" "To save you from hell, sir," was the prompt response. The narrator informs us that the Honorable Senator seemed visibly impressed, and was silent and apparently thoughtful throughout the evening. Was that honest, brave seed- sowing of Harry Ennalls harvestless? The gathering of the angel reapers in the day of eternity shall reveal the answer.
Mr. Bohm was accustomed to act as amanuensis for Bishop Asbury, when engaged, with his Presiding Elders, in making the appointments. On such occasions, not infrequently the anxious preachers were disposed to
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importune him to ascertain, if possible, what was likely to be their fate. The humorous reply with which he was accustomed to effect his escape when thus waylaid, was: " Secret things belong unto the Bishop; but those things which are revealed, belong unto the preachers and to their children." In those days the propriety of an appointment was supposed to hinge largely upon the condition that both preacher and people were kept in profound ignorance of it until the awful hour of its ex cathedra promulgation. Now, sometimes, both preachers and people are wont to reveal some very curious and interesting secrets, on the question of appointments, to the Bishop !
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As already stated, camp-meetings were introduced within the Peninsula in 1805. Two were held that year on Dover circuit, which embraced at that time, fully one- half of Kent county, Delaware. The first was held in a grove about three miles south of Smyrna, on the Dover road ; and the second at a place called Miller's Mill, a few miles west of Dover, and not far from Union Church on the present Wyoming circuit.
Modern Methodists are very orderly and quiet-per- haps even cautiously undemonstrative in their camp- meeting worship. In fact it is not impossible we have cultivated the comely flowers of decency and order so industriously as to materially shorten the crop of wheat. But there was ofttimes a quaint fervor and heartiness- a holy and boisterous enthusiasm, in the conduct of these early camp worshippers, contrasting somewhat strangely
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with our present polished manners and good behavior. We whisper our prayers, if not in the
"Holy awe, that dares not move ; And all the silent heaven of love; "
at any rate, in the exercise of our æsthetic good taste; and the accommodating leader of the camp prayer- meeting thoughtfully sings the Doxology to announce the occasional conversion at the serene altar of sacrifice. But at the old time camp-meetings, the cries of the stricken penitents, and the shouts of the liberated pris- oners were often distinctly heard at the distance of three miles ! The powerful presentation, by our Methodist fathers, of the "glorious Gospel" from the then novel but truthful standpoint of Arminianism, was new, striking and mightily effective in the production of overwhelming awakening, and a corresponding anguish of repentance. The glorious relief of conscious salvation was also proportioned to the burden of terrible conviction. The numbers involved in the sweep of these great spiritual tornadoes would likewise naturally add to the excitement of the individual participants; and altogether it is not at all wonderful that the noise of the primitive camp-meeting was ofttimes like the "sound of many waters." This will appear even the less remarkable when we read the salvation statistics of these meetings." The young itine- rant, Henry Bæhm, was the first secretary of the first camp-meeting association ; and was charged with the spiritual book-keeping of the meetings, so far as tangible
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and visible results were concerned. The following is a summary of his record for the first meeting near Smyrna :
On the first day, there were 47 persons converted and 9 wholly sanctified. The results of the second day were 100 converted and 75 wholly sanctified. The next morning there were 62 converted and 53 wholly sancti- fied. In the Pentecostal tornado of Sunday and Sunday night, there were 420 converted and 190 wholly sancti- fied. And during the entire meeting there were 1100 persons converted and 600 wholly sanctified. At the second meeting, near Dover, "so mightily grew the word of God, and prevailed," that there were 1320 professions of conversion, and 916 of entire sanctification! When we consider the disparity between the population of these rural districts and that of Jerusalem at the solemn festive gathering of Pentecost ; when we remember the super- natural advantages attending the Apostolic ministry, and their nearness to the startling events of the redemption they proclaimed; we are constrained to the declaration that the spiritual results above given, have never been exceeded in the history of the Christian Church.
Neither the institutions, usages, nor methods of our Church were ever invented or devised; but were rather expedients-the spontaneous outgrowths of newly recog- nized exigencies. For more than three decades from the beginnings by Strawbridge and Embury, no special arrangement was devised for the accommodation of peni- tents seeking pardon. The custom seems to have been for them to pray as best they could, wherever they might
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happen to be seated; or, perchance to kneel in their place; or, if mightily convicted, to fall upon the floor, writhing and wailing in the agony of their penitential sorrow. Probably the first Methodist preacher who ever invited awakened sinners to leave their places in the congregation, and to come forward and kneel at the " altar" or communion rail, was Rev. Dr. Chandler. The innovation was introduced in 1799, at Bethel, near Chesapeake City, then called "Back Creek Church," on Cecil circuit. About a score of persons accepted the novel invitation; among whom was the afterward re- nowned Laurence Laurenson. "That," says Mr. Bœhm, " was the first time I ever saw or heard of mourners being invited to the altar." The result of the experiment proved its utility. The interest became concentrated ; penitents were much more conveniently counselled ; the meetings became more orderly; and thus the unpremedi- tated expedient of this humble but mighty Methodist revivalist, introduced in this little Peninsula chapel, has gradually been adopted throughout Methodism; and indeed, substantially so, by all the evangelical Churches of Christendom; and the Methodist "mourner's bench," once so mercilessly ridiculed by our sister Churches, has, under some form and name, come to be universally recognized as an important factor in the successful conduct of revival meetings.
Some of the older Methodists, who will follow with interest these fragmentary etchings, will perhaps remem- ber a quaint itinerant, known extensively in his day,
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throughout the Peninsula, as "Father Wiltshire." If the writer were asked to paint his ideal of an " innocent abroad," he would at once proceed to draw a sketch of Rev. George Wiltshire.
He was a little, old, shrivelled-up Englishman, about five feet in height, presenting somewhat the appearance of a dilapidated and rusty pair of cast-off scissors; albeit, in fact, he was but one side of a pair of scissors; for he was a stereotyped and helpless old bachelor. His little head was as round as an orange, and as bald as a turnip; and had apparently met with some accident in his juve- nile days that drove it down close between his projecting shoulders. The front side of this quaint little protube- rance, was wrought into a visage very much after the pattern of the face of a screech owl, and would have furnished a first-class study for the celebrated comic artist, Thomas Nast. Nevertheless, it was a face that would beget no painful or alarming misgivings; for it was a truthful index to the solemn honesty of the good man's matter-of-fact naturc.
Father . Wiltshire's ways, movements, conversation, preaching-everything about him; everything he did- was stamped with his own original peculiarity. His hands and feet were generally very much in his way ; hc was forever stumbling into something ridiculous; and whenever his ludicrous oddities of speech or manner would " bring down the house " in a roar of laughter, as was not infrequently the case, his astonished look would betray his utter amazement at the conduct of his auditors
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-for he could never discover anything to provoke merri- ment. Though by no means a censorious ascetic, he was rarely, if ever, seen to smile. His profound honesty and kindness of heart, however, always insured him a wel- come at all the principal Methodist homes of the Penin- sula ; and won to him the sincere esteem of many kindly hearts.
Once on a time, it is said, at a camp-meeting, an impulsive but indiscreet sister, whose hospitality he had sometimes enjoyed, dared to give public expression to her esteem and reverence, by imprinting a kiss on his fur- rowed cheek. Instantly putting himself into the attitude of an insulted tom-cat, and drawing back with clenched fist, he exclaimed : "Sister! If it wasn't for the grace of God, I'd knock you down-knock you down, sister !"
Who, that was present, can ever forget a scene in which Father Wiltshire was the chief figure, at one of the sessions of the old Philadelphia Conference in the Union Church, Philadelphia? On some unsatisfactory pretext, Rev. D. R. Thomas, M. D., had taken the responsibility of leaving his appointment early in the Conference year, and had settled in New York to the practice of his profession. He now sent a request to be granted a supernumerary relation. There was no little discussion in the case, during which, Rev. A. Manship ventured the opinion that, remaining a single man beyond the time of life at which Methodist preachers ought to be blessed with a good wife, had rendered Brother Thomas peculiar, as was invariably the case under such
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circumstances; and that his old bachelor notions had doubtless made him unacceptable, and led to his deserting his work.
At this moment, Rev. W. L. Gray, in those days ever on the alert to precipitate an episode in the Conference, crept to the side of Father Wiltshire, as he crouched upon the kneeling cushion, with his hand behind his ear, listening intently at Mr. Manship's impulsive and char- acteristic eloquence, and whispered in his ear :
" Father Wiltshire; if I were you, I would resent that insinuation. Manship is whipping you over Thomas' shoulders."
"D'ye think so, brother-think so?"
"Yes; I'm sure of it; and I wouldn't stand it!"
The intense, wild stare of the old veteran showed that he had taken the bait, and was ready for the fray. He poised himself for the onslaught; and the moment the last word dropped from the lips of the unconscious offender, Father Wiltshire sprang to a perpendicular with the promptness and agility of a Jumping Jack ; and electrified the conference and the immense audience with the following deliverance:
"Mr. Bishop; I reckon the dear, good brother who's just fired off, has been a slinging his insinuations at poor, old George Wiltshire. And I rise, sir, to make my defence. It's true, Bishop, I never got married; I'm mighty sorry I couldn't; but I hope that aint no hanging matter. I've always thought, sir, I had good reasons for remaining single. Bishop and brethren ;
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when I was a young man, I thought a good deal about gittin' married, and I prayed over it; but I was poor, Bishop-very poor; and I was afraid I didn't have no right to marry some poor girl or woman, and half starve her to death. So I thought I'd better wait till I got more money. But oh, brethren; my appointments were poor, and kept me poor; and I never felt able to git married. After a while, I begun to grow old, with all the trials and tribulations of a poor, lonely old bachelor; with no particular home, and no wife to darn my stockings, or smooth my pillow when I'm 'under the weather.' And now, Mr. Bishop and friends" (at the same moment casting an imploring look, with out- stretched hands, towards the galleries crowded with Philadelphia ladies), "Now I'm old and ugly; and who'd have me now ?- who'd have me now?" Amid the roars and screams of laughter that ensued, the Bishop's sobriety went by the board ; and Father Wilt- shire sank down to his place, wondering what on earth had happened in the conference.
In the spring of 1853, the conference was held at Harrisburg, Pa. Father Wiltshire had reached the seat of the conference, coming across the country by stage. When the session closed, he concluded to return by rail- road, via Philadelphia. His car was crowded with his brother ministers. He and his capacious old carpet bag, always stuffed with all his most precious worldly possessions, monopolized one of the rear seats. As the train rolled along, the preachers were engaged in good-
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humored conversation ; while Father Wiltshire was engrossed manipulating the contents of his carpet bag, apparently intent on making a complete inventory of all its varied treasures. Suddenly the train darted into a tunnel, whose midnight darkness was rendered the more hideous by the fitful glare of the fugitive sparks from the puffing locomotive. To one unused to such an experience, it seemed as if they might suddenly have come into the weird and doleful regions of Dante's Inferno.
In the comparative silence ensuing, a rustling and scrambling was heard, accompanied by suppressed groans and exclamations of alarm; and when at last the train emerged into daylight, the brethren beheld Father Wiltshire crouching in the middle of the car; while books, papers, collars, handkerchiefs, shirts, etc.,-the contents of the carpet bag-were scattered through the car in ludicrous confusion. Straightening himself slowly, and scanning the situation in every direction, as the look of terror on his countenance faded away into an expression of satisfaction and relief, he convulsed his brethren with the exclamation: "Thank God I'm not in Hell !"
Mr. Wiltshire's kindness of heart disposed him to give every one a fair show ; and his ignorance of human nature sometimes exposed him to ridicule as the dupe of the foolish. Near Snow Hill, Maryland, lived a young man whose zeal had so far outrun his knowledge, that he proclaimed himself " called to be an apostle," and
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repeatedly, but vainly, sought license to preach at the hands of the pastors of the circuit. Soon after Father Wiltshire's arrival at Snow Hill, as preacher in charge, he was favored with a call by this consequential igno- ramus, who thus accosted him :
"B-brother Willyshire; I think, s-sir, the L-lord's called me t-to p-preach the G-gospel."
"Well, brother," responded the preacher, "If you think the Lord has called you to preach, you shall have a chance-have a chance, brother. I will announce, Sunday morning, that you will preach in Snow Hill Sunday night. Now go home and make your prepara- tion."
Accordingly, after preaching on Sunday morning, the good man made the following announcement: "I want you all to come out to-night-all to come out. A brother's going to preach you never heard before, and may never hear any more-never hear any more."
When the hour arrived, the church was crowded; the people expecting that some distinguished stranger was to address them. At length, to their amazement, the self- constituted herald elbowed his way through the crowd to the pulpit; and the officials who knew him hung their heads in mortification, but still hoped they might be mistaken as to his identity. After blundering through the preliminary exercises, the poor crank announced, with drawling stammer, the words of his text: "Ye shall grow up as calves of the stall," repeating them three or four times. Then he said: "B-breethering;
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I'm not afeered o' the face o' clay," and again repeated his text. He now cleared his throat, scratched his head, and again declared: "I tell you, breethering; I'm not afeered o' the face o' clay !" And finally, after again repeating his text, he concluded his sermon with the announcement : "The subject matter in hand is calves !" As the poor fellow, at this point, discovered his inability to do anything with his "calves," he sat down over- come with confusion. Almost equally embarrassed, Father Wiltshire had gathered up the cape of his great coat about his head, and sought to hide himself behind the pulpit. At this point a leading official approached, while the congregation was vainly endeavoring to man- tain its decorum; and shaking the pastor, said :
"Come, Brother Wiltshire; this brother's broken down, and here's a large congregation expecting preach- ing. Get up, and preach or exhort, or say something!" "Wh-why, brother, what can I say?"
"Oh, I don't know, brother Wiltshire; say what you please."
Instantly the old man bleated out-"Ba-ah !"
Amid the uproarious laughter that ensued, the official expostulated with :
"Oh, Brother Wiltshire ! what made you say that ?"
"Wh-why, brother; what else could I say? The brother's made us out all calves !"
So completely demoralized were both pastor and people, that the laughing multitude scattered, like frolic- some calves, without even the formality of the benedic-
.
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tion. To this day, the older Methodists of Snow Hill, who were witnesses of this disorderly scene, are wont to laugh over the calf sermon, and Father Wiltshire's strikingly appropriate application of its main proposition. The sequel proved the old gentleman's announcement prophetic. The people had never heard the preacher before ; and they never did hear him any more! He was effectually cured of his hallucination.
This chapter may appropriately conclude with some humorous glimpses from the Peninsular drama in which the great Asbury acted a part. Francis Asbury was born in England in 1745, and died in Virginia in 1816. He was licensed to preach at sixteen years of age, and received by John Wesley into the travelling ministry six years later. At twenty-six years of age, he landed in America as a missionary. At the organization of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1784, he was elected and ordained Bishop. In labors he was as abundant as Paul the Apostle, and like him, for his work's sake, he remained unmarried. "He was always poor and always generous." It is estimated that during his ministry in America, he "travelled more than 270,000 miles, visiting every part of the country ; preached more than 16,000 sermons, ordained over 4,000 ministers, and presided at 224 conferences. It is to the labors of this indefatigable apostle, more than to any other human agency, that Methodism in America owes its excellent organization and wonderful growth."
In his "Reminiscences," Father Bohm says of
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Bishop Asbury: "He was five feet and nine inches high, very erect, and weighed one hundred and fifty pounds. In dress he was a pattern of neatness. He wore a low-crowned, broad-rimmed hat. His clothes were always black. He wore a frock coat, with straight collar, and buttoned up to the neck." Instead of pantaloons, he rejoiced in short clothes, or breeches with leggings, and sometimes the ornamental shoe- buckle. His preachers, originally, dressed in the same manner; but, in 1810, some of the more independent and progressive among the ministers began to substitute pantaloons for short clothes and leggings, to the great anxiety of the good Bishop, who imagined he discovered, in these innovations, the sure indication of the prema- ture decay and dissolution of his beloved Methodism. The Church, he feared, was all going to wreck and ruin, because the preachers would wear pantaloons! What would the old hero do-what would he say, should he come back to-day and find the preachers clad in the height of the fashion, and their wives wearing hats, coats and vests ; and, with bangs and bustles, becoming more and more the very antipodes of their godly grand- mothers of his day, with every returning season !
Bishop Asbury was a genial spirit, full of good humor and pleasantry in his social intercourse; but very rarely betrayed anything but the most serious spirit in his writings. The nearest approach to a joke the writer remembers to have discovered in his journal, was his remark concerning the marriage of Rev. Joseph
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Hartley, soon after his release from imprisonment in the Easton, Maryland, jail. On sixty dollars a year-the allowance of a Methodist preacher in those days-it was, of course, impossible to afford the luxury of a wife. Mr. Hartley "married a wife;" and, therefore, like the man in the Gospel, he could no longer "come" or go as an itinerant; and hence, he settled down on a Talbot County farm, and served the Church thenceforth as a local preacher.
Mr. Hartley had, it seems, a very exalted notion of his own ability and importance; and needed something to bring him to a becoming estimate of his mundane relations. Writing concerning his marriage and loca-, tion, Bishop Asbury remarks: "I find the care of a wife begins to humble my young friend, and make him very teachable. I have always thought he carried great sail ; but he will have ballast now !" Poor Joseph Hartley was not the only man who has been thus sobered !
Some very pious friends of the Church are no little distressed, oftentimes, at the fact that some of her min- isters occasionally switch off from the main track of ministerial work, to deliver lectures in the interest of various causes; and, sometimes, to help replenish an empty pocket-book. If such will read Father Bohm's book, they will discover that these brethren, they esteem so erratic, are right in the line of the apostolical succes- sion. He says: "Mr. Asbury lectured at Perden's, and engaged the friends to subscribe 700 lbs. of pork towards
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the erection of the meeting-house at Barratt's." It by no means follows from this statement that the "friends" at Perden's were a hoggish set of people !
April would now be considered early for camp- meeting; but our good old fathers did not stand for the season or weather. On Thursday, April 18th, 1810, the Philadelphia Conference was held in connection with a camp-meeting in a beautiful grove, on the western suburbs of the town of Easton, Maryland. It was a season of great interest, well remembered by some of the old Methodists of that region, who still lingered on the shores of time in the year 1876. As connected with that conference, the following story was told the writer concerning Bishop Asbury and Billy Hibbard: At the conference roll-call, the secretary called, in its order,
the name William Hibbard. There was no response, although Brother Hibbard sat prominently upon one of the front seats. Again the secretary called the name,
and still there was no response. Said the Bishop, somewhat sternly: "Brother Hibbard; why don't you answer to your name?" "I will," said he, "Bishop, when the secretary calls it." "Isn't your name William Hibbard, sir?" inquired the Bishop. "No, sir; my name's Billy Hibbard." "Billy! Billy!" said the Bishop-"Why that is a little boy's name." "Well, sir," replied Billy, "I was quite a little boy when my father named me!" In the roar of laughter that fol- lowed, the vanquished Bishop was constrained to join. 3
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CHAPTER III.
HEROES OF ERIN.
RISHMEN have borne no insignificant part in the history of Methodism. Both across the sea and in this country, their enthusiasm and eloquence have left their lasting impress. The seed sown in New York and Maryland, by Embury and Strawbridge, was afterwards cultivated in part by faithful laborers born in the same green island. Like the Jew, the Irishman is cosmopolitan; and, like the Jew, his tribal traits are so distinct and prominent, that he is instantly recog- nized to the ends of the earth. The instincts of the typical Irishman are aggressive. No army has marched, in modern warfare, in which his sturdy tramp has not mingled. No assembly of statesmen has discussed politi- cal problems, but in which his brogue has been heard. No mission beacon lights the mountain tops of heathen- dom, to which his hand has not contributed its fagot. From the stormy days of 1780-83, when the brave and eloquent William Wright traversed our Peninsular fields and forests, proclaiming the Gospel of the King- dom, till he fell amid the wilds of Annamessex,- through all our heroic century, down to the days of O'Niell, Carroll, Connor, McSorley, MacNichol and
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