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 4
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 4
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Watt, of our present Wilmington Conference, the loqua- cious and pugnacious Irishman has mingled efficiently in the itinerant roll, and borne his part bravely in the Methodist division of the great battle against sin and the Devil.
To do justice to all the noble Irishmen who, through the century, have toiled to build up and strengthen Peninsular Methodism, would require at least a large volume. By the plan of the present work, this phase of our history must be compressed into the limits of a single chapter; and out of the many striking characters, standing out in bold relief amid the stirring scenes that loom up before us, a very few must needs be selected as representatives of their class.
No Irishman perhaps, ever so strikingly impressed himself upon the Methodism of the Peninsula as William Barnes. He was generally known, and generally pre- ferred to speak of himself as "Billy" Barnes. He died a few years ago in a good old age, and his memoir can be seen in the archives of the Philadelphia Conference. Many of his earlier years in the ministry, were spent riding the large circuits of Delaware and Maryland; and even after he had reached the zenith of his fame, he received an occasional appointment within the Penin- sula; the last being to Union Church in Wilmington, Del., but a few years before the last division of the Philadelphia Conference. While many familiar faces were missed, on the first assembling of the Wilmington Conference, the absence of none was more generally
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regretted than that of Billy Barnes. His presence would have saved any assembly of men from being considered common-place. No debate or routine of business, in which he took a conspicuous part, could possibly become dull. He was the comical point in the conference picture; and largely the inspiration and the spice of most of the conference episodes.
Billy Barnes was such an Irishman-so unique in his facial angles; so comical in his natural expression ; so carelessly pitched together and tumbled into his ill-fitting clothes; so heavily bewigged; so almost hid behind the screen of an immense shirt collar, and so fidgety withal-that the very sight of him, even in repose, would have provoked a smile from the most discouraged dyspeptic in the land. His voice and brogue were as remarkable as his face, and his speech was the fitting exclamation point that intensified his grotesque expression. Nevertheless, as a thinker and orator, Barnes was both strong and brilliant-some- times an electric light that dazzled and astonished his audience; and, in his eloquent pulpit addresses, the fantastic and ludicrous were often, for the time, obscured by the vivid flashes of his genius. When fully aroused and overflowing with his subject, his conceptions and sentences rushed along like the rapids of Niagara. Sometimes, under the excitement of some inspiring and favorite theme, such as, "The Lord is a great God; and a great King above all gods;" he heaped up words so rapidly that his ponderous thoughts and glowing
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sentences came down, pell-mell, on his auditors like an irresistible avalanche.
The following incident was related to me by my father, who was present at a camp-meeting prayer service where Mr. Barnes presided. From some unex- plained cause the meeting was dull and uninteresting. Barnes became visibly nervous. Finally, seeming to grow desperate, he suddenly sprang to his feet and thus delivered himself, in rapid and excited utter- ance : " Braithren ; y'er not prayin'. Down with ye on yer knees ; an' pray for life, ivery one of ye." And, turning towards his wife, who was seated in the audi- ence, he called out, "Mrs. Barnes ; lade us, an' pray mightily. Good Lord; strike a spark from atarnal steel ; set afire the magazane of sin, an' blow up the works of the Daivil!" The "Daivil," being unpre- pared for so furious an onslaught, and that, too, with his own fiery weapons, was vanquished; and the battle ground was held by the rejoicing victors.
As another specimen of this sulphurous phase of the fiery Irishman's eloquence, I give the concluding sentence of his terrific and scathing appeal on repentance, delivered on a Delaware camp-ground many years ago. It is said he once startled the sinners of the city of Columbia, Pa., with substantially the same fearful utterances. The sermon was on the text: "The times of this ignorance God winked at ; but now commandeth all men, everywhere, to repent." The discourse through- out was a Vesuvius on fire; whose red-hot streams of
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molten and seething truth swept away every "refuge of lies," and left the impenitent without even the semblance of excuse. Reaching the application, he delivered his grand climax in the following fiery tornado : "Now, ye ungrateful, wicked rebels; it's yer douty to repant. If ye don't repant ye'll be damned. If ye won't repant, ye ought to be damned. And if I were in God Almighty's place, a ridin' on the Gospel locomotive on the salvation railroad; an' ye were on the track an' wouldn't repant, I'd run over ye an' niver blow anaither whistle!"
On account of Mr. Barnes' dress-especially his flowing wig and immense collar,-he was unfavorably criticised by the uncharitably disposed ; who charged him with undue pride, and with being largely deficient in spirituality. Having been informed of this murmur of discontent and criticism, among the people at one of his Sussex County, Del., appointments, he improved the occasion of his next visit to preface his sermon with this utterance: "Braithren ; I understand some of ye are disposed to judge Billy Barnes' tree by its laves anstid of its fruits-by what I've got on me anstid of what I've got in me; an' ye think I'm proud an' got no relagion. Now I want to say before ye all, I think so highly of my blessed Master, that if I was a goin' to atarnity to-day, I'd dress up in the very best clothes I could find in all Philadelphy, in which to make my bow on the occasion of my introduction to the great, atarnal King of Glory !"
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An aged Methodist of Sussex, Del., once heard Mr. Barnes preach at a camp-meeting in that county, where it was his misfortune to be seated by the side of an ill- natured brother ; who, during the earlier part of the discourse, annoyed those seated near him by growling out his discontent at the height and general dimensions of the preacher's collar. The speaker's nervous habit of pulling up his linen, whenever he began to grow excited in discourse, only intensified this listener's dis- satisfaction, who continued his snarling, saying: "Yes; you've got more sail than you kin well carry-entirely too much canvass for a heavy blow-you'll capsize sartin-ought to take two or three reefs in it-can't preach fit for nothin' with no sich collar as that!" After a time, however, he became silent and attentive; and finally, at the conclusion of one of Barnes' grand climaxes, surprised everybody and convulsed those who were in a position to take in the full situation, by crying out lustily : "Halleluyer! God bless the preacher! I don't care now if his shirt's all collar !"
A ludicrous scene occurred, once on a time, on a very sandy road called "Featherbed Lane," near Concord, Delaware. While on his way from the above place, where he had preached in the morning, to his afternoon appointment, Mr. Barnes' horse, seized with a sudden impulse to do what he could in the way of spreading the Gospel, ran away. After breaking the reins in his frantic efforts to stop the excited beast, and exhausting his Irish vocabulary of soothing and coaxing terms in
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vain ; he hit upon the happy expedient of the influence of sacred song, and lustily poured forth the melody of Balerma to the words:
" Must I be carried to the skies On flowery beds of ease ?"
and, by the time he had finished the stanza, the melo- dious charm, expressed in the brogue of Erin, together with the depth of the sand, had soothed the erratic animal down to a dignified and becoming ministerial equine gait ; and, save for a good dusting and a terrific scare, Billy Barnes was in statu quo ante terrorem.
A more critical adventure, in which Mr. Barnes was the central figure, occurred in the old Zion Church, near Milton, Delaware. I give it substantially as related by an eye witness, Brother Atkins, of Georgetown, Dela- ware, father of Rev. E. C. Atkins of the Wilmington Conference. It was on a pleasant Sunday afternoon in autumn ; and the heat from the first fire of the season brought out a myriad of wasps from the crevices where they had taken up winter quarters, who sallied forth in quest of spring-time game. It was Billy Barnes' appointment to preach. The hymn had been finished, and his reverence devoutly said "let us pray," and pro- ceeded with a few high sounding opening sentences ; when one of these belligerent insects accepted the invi- tation to prey, by unceremoniously alighting between Mr. Barnes' huge collar and the back of his neck.
The half expressed petition, upon the poor man's
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lips, terminated suddenly in a somewhat suppressed Irish grunt ; attracting the attention of the congrega- tion, and fixing upon him the gaze of that part of the audience within range to see behind the pulpit breastworks. With a look of expectant terror upon his countenance ; but with a coolness and steadiness of nerve that would have done credit to William Tell ; he proceeded quietly to divest himself, first of his coat, then of his vest. Next, the extensive necktie was unreefed, and the projecting collar removed. Mean- while his waspship had descended below the neck-band of his shirt, and was exploring the dimensions of the preacher's back. It was a critical moment. In the desperate extremity, but one thing could be done; and while great beads of perspiration gathered on his livid face, the preacher carefully took off the garment next in order. To this, fortunately, the persistent insect was clinging ; and, with a grunt and a "now, then !" that fairly hissed from between his teeth, the outraged Irish- man planted his foot upon his enemy, and he was hors du combat. Mr. Barnes then proceeded, with the utmost nonchalance, to resume his apparel; and, beginning where he had been interrupted, he finished his prayer, in which he thanked God that he had been "delavered from that nasty wasp-the ammissary of the Daivil." He then proceeded with the sermon.
During this perilous adventure, the congregation, of course, while somewhat alarmed, was inexpressibly tickled; and, as one after another was enabled to take 3*
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in the situation, attack after attack of hysterical convul- sions set in, until the church was filled with the hissing of illy suppressed laughter ; and throughout the service, the sailing of a wasp near the preacher's dodging head, was the signal for renewed merriment. At his next appointment, four weeks later, poor Barnes picked up the hymn-book with a nervous jerk; tugged uneasily at the corners of his collar ; gave a timorous look around and upward toward the ceiling; and again upset the gravity and decorum of his audience by the anxious inquiry : "Braithren ; has the abominable old Daivil sent any of his nasty wasps here to-day?"
William Barnes was a great bundle of nerves. His nature was intense to the last degree. As a result, when mightily impressed with a sense of the honor and blessedness of his mission, he was a torrent of enthu- siasm that must have vent or disaster was likely to be the result. At a Maryland camp-meeting, being appointed to preach, Mr. Barnes retired to the solitudes of the grove to pray and meditate upon the subject of
his message. While here, he became mightily moved with the Divine afflatus; and came into the preacher's tent, scarcely able to restrain his glowing exclamations from the notice of the swarming multitudes without. On inquiring the time, he was informed it was halfpast 9 o'clock. He paced the floor, back and forth, like a caged lion, for a few minutes, and again restlessly inquired : "Braithren ; aint it time to blow the hairn?" Being answered in the negative, his nervousness in-
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creased, until finally he astonished his brethren by the peremptory command to the preacher in charge : " Braither; go blow the hairn : I shall bust !" It is · needless to add that the trumpet was, at once sounded for preaching ; the safety valve of the intense nature was thus opened, and the threatened calamity averted.
But while thus high-strung, and sometimes appar- ently the victim of enthusiasm run wild, Mr. Barnes was not oblivious to the proprieties arising out of pecu- liar and exciting circumstances. He never forgot to exalt Christ; or that the chief end of the Gospel minister's message is to save souls, as the following inci- dent will illustrate. At a great camp-meeting held near Principio, in Cecil County, Md., Mr. Barnes was given the Sunday morning appointment, an opportunity in which his very soul delighted. He was never in better trim or more completely filled with his message. As was his wont, after a brilliant introduction, in which he laid a broad and deep foundation; he announced three great propositions which he promised to discuss; and told the people that, by God's help, he would "blow the very heavens away from over the lying infidal's head, and by the airthquake of God Almighty's everlasting proclamations, tear away the yawning ground from beneath his iniquitous feet, and show him to himself and the whole universe, hair-hung and braze-shaken over the stormy lake of endless hell !"
During the discussion of the first proposition, he gained the attention of all the thousands in the audi-
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ence; and by the time he had finished the second, the assembly was moved as if by a mighty tempest. Tears flowed in wonderful profusion; and beneath the tri- umphant halleluia-chorus that thrilled the encampment, was heard an undertone of penitential agony from all parts of the vast concourse, that finally reached the ears of the exultant preacher. Though riding gloriously on the crest of so great a wave of triumph; and although his final proposition was climactic, and urgently invited him on to the grand conclusion ; Mr. Barnes saw that now was the opportunity of this great occasion to har- vest souls ; and leaving thirdly to take care of itself, stepping to the good local preacher who was to fol- low him, he tapped him on the shoulder and said : " Braither; give ye'r invitation, an' let the poor, lost wretches come at once an' seek salvation !" The brother addressed, slowly arose; and, restating Barnes' third proposition, began deliberately to discuss it; when the indignant herald sprang to his side and arrested him with : "Braither ; that won't do. I want ye to under- stand that Billy Barnes is fully competent to discuss the third proposition, and would do so if the Lord God Almighty wanted it discussed. But He don't: He wants to save souls. Give the invitation quick, braither ; or I'll do it meself!" But no further invitation was necessary. The first intimation of a chance was accepted by multitudes; and scores were that day converted.
Billy Barnes was as generous and liberal as he was witty and impulsive-always ready to respond to every
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appeal of philanthropy or Church progress, according to his ability. At a session of the Philadelphia Con- ference, where a subscription was taken in aid of Dickinson College, he arose in his usual nervous man- ner; tugging at his ever offending collar; and, in his irresistible brogue, thus addressed Bishop Waugh : "Mr. Prasident; you may put Billy Barnes down for fafty dollars anyhow; and, Bishop, if you give him an appintment where the ecclasiastical nubbins grow long enough, he'll give fafty dollars more at the end of the year."
When stationed at Snow Hill, Md., Mr. Barnes suf- fered an attack of malarial illness, so very severe that his physician, Dr. Pitts, despairing of his recovery, deemed it his duty to inform him of his critical con- dition. At the conclusion of his tender and solemn announcement, the doctor said : "Brother Barnes, should you be taken from us, what word have you for our encouragement?" His reply upset the gravity of those in attendance, and convinced the good doctor that his patient was not yet quite ready to take the angelic degree. "Well, doctor;" said the irrepressible Irish- man, "I once sarved the Daivil ; an', these many years, I've been sarving the Lord Jasus Christ ; an' now, sir, whichever has the best right to me can take me!" But, evidently, at no time after his conversion, was Billy Barnes on friendly terms with his Satanic majesty. He seldom preached a sermon or made a prayer, that he did not take occasion to pay his respects both to Beelzebub,
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and the Roman Pontiff whom he considered Satan's great lieutenant on earth. A young minister related to the writer, that, while Mr. Barnes was pastor of Union Church, Wilmington, he, being present one day, was invited into the pulpit to make the closing prayer. As he was about ending his brief petition, Billy tugged at his sleeve and whispered : "Braither; don't forget the Pope and the Daivil !"
It was during the same pastorate, that, having heard of some ill-natured criticism on account of his curly and flowing wig; he prefaced his sermon, one Sunday morning, with the following dramatic and irresistible performance : " Braithren ; I understand ther's some of ye that don't like it because I wear a wag. Now, I've made up my mind to wear it or not, jist as the congre- gation says. Here I am : look at me. This is Billy Barnes with the wag. And this"-at the same moment snatching the offending wig from the top of his bald pate-"this is Billy Barnes without the wag! Which way will ye have him?" In the roars of laughter and vociferous responses-"Brother Barnes with the wig!" --- that ensued, the wig critics of old Union were utterly discomfited.
Perhaps but one such man as William Barnes has ever lived. God had a purpose and a work for him in his day, and nobly did he fulfill his Master's designs. The stamp of his fervent soul, his brilliant intellect, his fiery zeal, his apostolic heroism made its enduring impress on the Peninsular Methodism he helped to
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build. He rests from his labors ; but his works follow him ; and, like faithful Abel, "being dead he yet speaketh." If some abler historian, to whom the annals of his singularly interesting and useful life are accessi- ble, should be moved to weave them into a biogra- phy becoming the worthy subject, he would render the church a valuable service. May this little sketch inspire the preparation of a "Life of Billy Barnes."
Another Irishman, who figured largely in the history of Peninsular Methodism, was Rev. John Henry. Mr. Henry was reputed to be a thorough theologian, and a very able preacher. His mightiest appeals were to the reason. He lacked the intensity of William Barnes ; and, while his ministry was a steady glow and a fair, strong breeze, it never, like that of Barnes, exhibited thunderbolts on the rampage or the tornado in a frenzy. Neither was his person so imposing, nor his appearance and manner so striking, as those of Billy Barnes. He was low of stature; stoop-shouldered ; unsophisticated -almost verdant-in appearance; and rushed through the world and his work at a pace that insured him the distinction of being the constant butt of amusement to his brethren, without the least suspicion thereof on his part. His speech was ofttimes as awkward as his gait; constraining the conviction that he must have been near akin to his fellow-countryman, who said of himself : " An' shure, I hardly iver open my mouth, but I 'put my foot into it.'"
Having grown up in the blessed Isle of Saint Patrick,
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Mr. Henry came to America with little conception, but with holy and intense horror, of " sarpents, lazards and all aither varmints." By reason of his servile fear of these things, he was for the remainder of his natural " life-time subject to bondage." His terror-stricken description of a creature that crossed his path and very greatly alarmed him one day, soon after his arrival in this country, was unique. Calling excitedly to the friend at whose home he was sojourning, he cried out in bewildered alarm: "O, braither, come here ! Run quick : I'm much scair't ! I've seen a great, ugly baste, that's hid himself in the grass that he may crape on me unawares ! He's about as lang as my finger, an' as broad as he's lang ; he's as ugly as Beelzebub ; an' he's all swell't up with his wrath at me; and braither, when- iver he walks he goes steady by jerks !" A. photo- grapher could hardly have taken a better likeness of a toad.
In every Peninsular field where Mr. Henry labored, his singularly faithful pastoral work; his clear, strong pulpit ministrations ; and his ludicrous blunders and innocent Irish bulls, left an impress that lingers pleas- antly to this day in the memories of the old time saints. In 1826, with the renowned elder Cookman as preacher in charge, John Henry travelled Easton circuit, in Talbot County, Maryland, remaining the following year as chief pastor. Wonderful success attended the work of those years. Hundreds were converted-among them many prominent members of the Protestant Episcopal
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Church, the leaven of whose influence still lingers in that communion. As already indicated, Mr. Henry was remarkable for the industry and effectiveness of his pastoral work, which seems to have embraced all classes and colors, and all Churches. It was no unusual thing for him to be out making pastoral calls before break- fast. On one occasion, he routed a family out of bed, breaking up their morning nap, that he might, in passing, have prayers with them. He would rush into a lawyer's office, while he was busy with his clients ; and, after a few words of kind and faithful warning, call attorney and visitors to their knees on the office floor, while he offered his plea in their behalf before the Court of Heaven. And such was his innocent, matter- of-fact honesty of manner, that it was impossible to become offended with the liberty he took. Many a time has the writer heard the celebrated criminal lawyer, Hon. James Lloyd Martin, of Easton, entertain his friends with most humorous but respectful representa- tions of the pointed, personal pastoral work in his behalf, of one whom he affectionately called " Brother Henry."
Hon. John Leeds Carr was also a prominent lawyer of Easton, and a good friend of Mr. Henry. Once, however, their amicable relations were seriously threat- ened. Mr. Carr was the fortunate proprietor of a small but beautiful clover lot, in which he took no little pride. Mr. Henry owned a pet horse, Bob, whom he some- times turned on the "commons" at night; both as a
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means of supplementing the stores of his hay-loft, and of furnishing the animal with a little of the needed spice of variety. On a certain June night, the tempting per- fume of Mr. Carr's sweetly blooming clover proved too much for Bob's moral character, and his equine sense of ministerial propriety ; and, hunting a low place in the fence, he entered into temptation and found himself "in clover." The grass was tender and sweet; and, ere morning, Bob became too full for comfort, or to jump out again. In his anxiety, he tramped, and pawed, and rolled to such an extent, as to spoil utterly the appear- ance of the clover. On beholding this condition of affairs the following morning, Mr. Carr lost control of. his temper, and determined to have redress or cut Mr. Henry's acquaintance. Rushing to. the parsonage, he angrily saluted the parson with : "Brother Henry, your confounded old horse has been in my clover lot all night!" The anxious response: "An' shure, braither ; an' do ye think it will hurt him?" so completely upset Mr. Carr's anger, that he instantly forgave Bob for the sake of his kindly and innocent master; and, to his life's end, used often to amuse his friends by the recital of the clover-lot story.
When stationed in Dorchester County, poor Bob having meantime left his master in bereavement, Mr. Henry borrowed a horse from a Brother Dixon, near Church Creek; who, being aware of his peculiarities, made it a condition of the accommodation, that the preacher engage to take very special care of the animal ;
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as, being young, he would be likely to be injured should he become heated overmuch. What was Mr. Dixon's surprise, a day or two after, when the thermometer was at 90°, to meet the reverend Irishman with his horse in a solid run, and all foaming with sweat and panting for breath ! His excited expostulation was met by the cool and self-satisfied assurance of the philosophic divine, that he was "ridin' fast jist a purpose to git up a good braze for the poor baste !"
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