USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 27
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Mr. Pennyman, who was now some thirty-five to forty years of age, tall, raw-boned, and angular, was an honest but close-fisted farmer, and widely known as passionately, yea, almost extravagantly, fond of music.
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Much as he loved money, and almost miserly as he was in his habits, yet he would in some measure neglect his farm, everything, to teach a "Singing School." He would ride long distances, undergo fatigue and exposure, without fee or reward, -if necessary,-for the sole purpose, as he expressed it, of " disseminating a knowledge of psalmody." His knowledge of music was considered by most of the rude country boys and girls -- and by many of the old folks as well-as some- thing wonderful ; for it was not necessary for him to "bear a tune" in order to learn it, but he could " sing it off at once, from the dots and dashes in his psalm- book,"-some of which he always carried about with him for sale at a reasonable price.
Mr. Pennyman had at one time, perhaps, a good voice, but from some cause or other-perhaps over-use -it was now a little cracked ; but it possessed consid- erable compass, and he had much skill as a leader in keeping a mixed congregation in unison. And so often had his services, at meetings like this, been called into requisition, that now, although he was a compara- tive stranger in the Hurricane neighborhood, he at once assumed the position of leader. We should add that Mr. Pennyman was a member of the Baptist Church, whereas the Rev. Simon Wright was a Meth- odist ; but they had been friends in boyhood, and Mr. Pennyman had ridden that morning a distance of about fifteen miles to hear his old friend, who had become so distinguished as a preacher.
The opening hymn on this occasion was that begin- ning :
" Come, Holy Spirit, Heav'nly Dove,
With all Thy quick'ning powers,"
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and scarcely had the first line been sung, when the shuffling of feet and the moving of benches ceased, and quiet, other than the singing, reigned ; for a female voice of such wonderful clearness, sweetness, and mel- ody joined in the singing that all eyes were at once turned towards the young lady who sat beside Colonel Lovell. Mr. Pennyman's face brightened up, and he sang to suit and accompany that voice. Even the min- ister looked down from the pulpit to see who was giv- ing utterance to such sweet notes. Yet all unconscious of the notice she was attracting, Laura Howard sang on until the last line of the hymn died away in melody.
Then the minister rose and said, " Let us pray." At first the transition from the sweet notes of the singer to the harsh voice of the minister was almost painful. But, as the prayer ascended, all ears were soon atten- tive. It was in the ordinary phraseology of the people ; was addressed not to the people, but to the Great Father for His children, and for light and wis- dom from above that he-" the servant "-might speak aright to those present. Then came the reading of a short lesson from the Old and one from the New Testa- ment ; afterwards the minister said : " O come, let us again sing ; let us heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation. And," he added, " I will ask brother Pennyman to lead us in singing the hymn commencing
" There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Immanuel's veins."
Mr. Pennyman, thus addressed, knew that his former friend had recognized him. It was a proud and happy moment for Mr. Pennyman. He was no longer the mere leader ; he was now the precentor ; and rising
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from his seat, and facing, as well as he could from his position, the congregation, and casting a glance at Miss Howard, whom he knew, as if appealing to her for assistance, he began. And again that clear, sweet voice joined in ; and there were other good voices, male and female, that helped to swell the volume of praise. The effect was thrilling ! Mr. Pennyman was never better pleased ; the enthusiasm of the moment had helped him-he had surpassed himself, and Miss How- ard had more than seconded his efforts.
Then came the sermon. The preacher was now about forty years of age, tall, erect, large-framed, and muscular. His bushy hair and heavy eyebrows, his wide forehead, deep-set eyes, and square jaws, at once reminded Adair of the striking likeness of the son to his father, Elijah Wright. Mentally and morally, Simon Wright was a masculine reproduction of his noted mother-the old pioneer, Polly Wright.
Surrounding circumstances were enough to arouse the preacher's enthusiasm. He was in his native county, from which he had been absent-except an occasional short visit-for many years ; he had in the last day or two met some friends whom he had known in his boyhood, but much the greater number of those he had then known had been mown down by the Grim Reaper ; he had that morning stood by the lone grave of his mother on Bizzell's Mount, and had parted from his aged father whom he never expected to see again this side of the grave. These things had depressed the human heart of the man, and he knew he could best find relief in the glorious work of his office. And there, before him, was James Wilson ! whose character he well knew ; he knew, too, the reputation of the
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neighborhood-of the Cave and its reputed band of outlaws, several of whom might be present ; and his heart, like that of his Divine Master, was moved with compassion, not only for the law-abiding, but for the depraved, the outcasts. All this was enough, and more than enough, to arouse him ; and, as there was much more of the lion than of the lamb in his nature, he girded himself as for a mighty contest.
As the preacher progressed in his sermon he seemed to grow taller and taller ; his massive chest seemed to expand ; his voice, at first somewhat harsh, soon became clear, full, and sonorous ; his enunciation was distinct, and his gestures natural and expressive. There was no apparent effort at oratory-or mere effect, no persuasion, little pathos. It was a giant aroused and in terrible earnest, struggling against the great Enemy and for Man.
When the sermon was ended, the preacher descended from the pulpit, and, standing upon the floor in front of it, said :
" In a few hours I must resume my journey ; leave this my native county and State for the distant field of my labors. I would be greatly rejoiced if, before leav- ing, I could know some wanderer wished to enter upon the 'way '-the ' path '-which I have commended. And now," he continued, " if there are any present who wish to avail themselves of this 'accepted ' mo- ment-to ' choose' now whom they will serve, and to ' confess,' before others present, their need of a Sav- iour, let them show their honesty and sincerity-make their public confession, by coming forward and kneel- ing at this bench, our altar. And when we have prayed with and for them the congregation will be dis-
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missed. And I would again request Brother Penny- man to lead us in singing the hymn commencing
" Alas, and did my Saviour bleed, And did my Sovereign die?"
And while this hymn is being sung, let any one who would surely escape the hurricane of God's wrath, and follow the path blazed by our Guide and Saviour, come promptly forward."
There was a moment of silence. Then the hymn was begun ; and the voice of Mr. Pennyman was at its best, and that of Laura Howard was touched with a tenderness and pathos it had rarely, if ever, known. Fewer persons joined in the singing, preferring rather to drink in the sweet sounds and look on and see who would approach the altar.
The astonishment-the thrill of excitement which ran through the congregation can scarcely be imagined when it was seen that Miss Wilson was the first to arise, and, after walking slowly and calmly to the altar, kneel down. And behind the daughter walked her father, the notorious and dreaded Jim Wilson ; but he knelt not ; he stood near his daughter, looked alone at her as she knelt, his arms folded across his broad chest, which slowly rose and fell as if moved by a mighty tide ; but no sigh, no groan, no tears escaped him. A moment later, and a half dozen or more knelt at that rude altar. Then, whilst yet the hymn was being sung, the minister, observing Mr. Wilson, stepped to his side, and, placed his hand gently upon the father's shoulder :
" And you, James Wilson," he said in a low voice,
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"is it not time that you, too, should kneel there- beside your daughter ? "
There was a sudden flash of Wilson's eye, but he replied in a calm, low voice, "No, sir ; not yet ! I have one more settlement to make !"
Alas, alas, for the delay !
The singing soon ceased. Then there was a prayer -and such a prayer as few in any congregation ever listened to, and many hearty " Amens " ascended as it closed.
Before dismissing the congregation, Mr. Wright, after a few words with Colonel Lovell, announced that he was pleased to learn a ministerial brother, of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, the Rev. Richard Freeman, was present, and would preach for them at three o'clock that afternoon ; that there were on the grounds ample provisions for a luncheon for all who chose to remain, and he hoped all would do so who could.
Then the benediction, and the congregation slowly retired ; Miss Wilson leaning on the arm of her friend, Laura Howard.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Basket Dinner-Joseph Adair and Simon Wright-Rev. Mr. Freeman-Adair and Miss Laura on their Return-The Story he Told her-Long-Delayed Confessions-True Love.
IN half an hour, or less, after the services of that Sab- bath morning had closed, the Big Spring, which was but a short distance from the Meeting-house, was surrounded by groups of men, women, and children. Many were seated upon benches brought out of the School-house, which was near by, and others upon the grassy ground ; and before them were spread, upon clean white cloths, such an abundance of cold pro- visions that all could be supplied. There was corn- bread, light bread, and biscuits, broiled and boiled ham, broiled chickens, dried beef and venison, dried peach and apple pies, pickles, etc. In fact, the company seemed to be having a most sociable and enjoyable picnic. 1
Miss Wilson and Miss Howard, after leaving the Meeting-house, passed some time alone, conversing tenderly of what had just transpired around the altar, and then joined Mr. Wilson and Mr. Adair. The four lunched together and had something to share with others out of the contents of the basket Mrs. Howard had provided. Colonel Lovell had invited them to
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lunch with him, but he had the two ministers and Mr. Pennyman with him ; besides, many others who were unprovided flocked around his bountiful spread, which was free to all comers.
It was soon found that nearly all of the company intended to remain until after the afternoon service. Mr. Pennyman, although he lived at such a distance, had determined to remain, and it was apparent, from the remarks of several, that the main inducement to remain was not so much to hear the young stranger preach as to hear the singing.
Adair and his party had about finished their luncheon, when Colonel and Mrs. Lovell and the two ministers were seen approaching, and introductions, so far as required, soon took place.
Mr. Wright, after some conversation with Mr. and Miss Wilson, turned to Miss Howard and said : “I have already thanked my old friend, Mr. Pennyman, and now I must thank you, Miss Howard, for contrib- uting so much to the pleasure of our services this morning. Such a voice as yours is a precious gift, for which you should be, and no doubt are, truly thank- ful."
" Thank you, Mr. Wright," was her modest reply.
Then, after a general conversation which lasted for several minutes, Mr. Wright arose and taking Mr. Adair by the arm, said : "Come, Mr. Adair, time presses, and as I wish a few words with you in private, I am sure our friends here will excuse us for a few minutes."
" Mr. Adair," said Mr. Wright when they had walked a few steps together, "I have just returned from a visit to my father, Elijah Wright ; from whom, and my sister, the widow Kent, I learned of your kind-
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ness to the family in paying off that debt to Mr. Keep, for which I desire to return you my sincere thanks. But you may greatly need the amount, and, if so, I can easily arrange with James Wilson to let you have it. I need scarcely tell you that I, a Methodist preacher, am unable to pay the debt myself, or I would do so."
" No, sir," replied Adair, "let the debt stand just as it is. I am sure I have made a good and safe invest- ment. Besides, a most happy result has already, apparently, grown out of that little transaction, which I feel at liberty to tell you of, since I am sure you will be pleased to hear it."
Adair then briefly told of his visit to Mr. Wilson's the day after he, Mr. Wright, had left ; of his mission as regards Mr. Duncan and Miss Wilson ; and of his con- versation with the latter, and his subsequent interview with her father. "And," said Adair in conclusion, " Mr. Wilson did 'treat me right,' as you requested ; and the whole matter was most happily arranged, and the marriage of Miss Wilson to Mr. Duncan, my friend and partner in business, will probably take place in a few weeks."
" Thank the Lord !" exclaimed Mr. Wright, heart- ily. "I am glad of it-glad of it ! And now, my friend," he continued, " don't you see that the seed of charity you planted at my father's house has sprung up in a wonderful manner, and has already borne good fruit ? And how much more it will bear eternity can only reveal. And this is the Lord's doing ! Besides, you did not know, when you planted that seed, -but you soon found out, -that you had aided an old Revo- lutionary comrade and friend of your own father."
"Even so," replied Adair. "And not only were
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our fathers comrades and friends, but your father once saved my father from being taken a prisoner by the enemy."
" Yes-yes," responded Mr. Wright. "My father once told me of that. And many a time, when I was a boy, have I heard him and my mother speak of Dash- ing Tom Adair-your father. And he-your father- is yet alive-will soon be at Salem on a visit to you, and you have promised to take him down on a visit to his old comrade, Elijah Wright ! Ah, how I would like to be there and see the two old soldiers meet, and hear them talk ! But," he added resignedly, " duty calls, and I must away."
When the two men, who had been strangers but an hour before, returned to the group, it was evident a bond of friendship had been executed which would never cease to bind them. During their absence, and while Colonel Lovell and Mr. Wilson, and Mrs. Lovell and Mr. Freeman, were engaged in conversation, Miss Wilson managed to say privately to Miss Howard that she thought she knew what Mr. Wright wished to speak with Mr. Adair about. "And," she added, " perhaps you do also ? "
"No," answered Laura, "I have not the slightest idea."
Then followed the little story, by Miss Wilson, of Mr. Adair's kindness to Mr. Wright's father ; how this, coming to her knowledge, had led her to think of getting Mr. Adair to speak to her father about Mr. Duncan, etc. "And," she added, " so he did not tell you that part of his story as you drove down this morn- ing ! Well, it only proves that he is as modest as he is good." 27
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" Yes," responded Laura. " And see how it is ! Good deeds do not sink in the stream of Time, but are kept afloat ; hence we are told to 'Cast thy bread upon the waters ; for thou shalt find it after many days.'"
Very soon Simon Wright, the able and indefatigable pioneer preacher, had bid his friends an affectionate farewell ; and with " God bless you all !" as his part- ing words, mounted his horse and rode away ; for he had, in addition to crossing the Ohio River, yet twenty iniles or more to travel before he could reach the lonely cabin in Illinois where he expected to find food and shelter for the night.
Miss Howard and Miss Wilson then had an oppor- tunity to talk over their affairs ; and pour out, the one to the other, the full measure of sweet confessions. Miss Wilson had never looked so placid, so happy, so full of love and hope ; but, withal, subdued by anxiety regarding her father. She had for some days seen so much of the loving father in his nature that her filial affection had been aroused ; and, bad as he might at one time have been, she felt that he was amending, and she hoped to lead him, or see him led, back into a better " way "-into the " path " blazed by the Great Guide. And Miss Howard ! she was more deeply, passionately in love, if possible, than ever before ; for had not every development, as to the mind and heart of him she loved, raised him up to the high standard of her dreams, her hopes, her aspirations.
At three o'clock the Meeting-house was again well filled, and Mr. Pennyman was again in his glory, and Miss Howard's voice as sweet and musical as ever.
Mr. Freeman, wlien he arose to preach, was evi- dently somewhat embarrassed ; for, be it remembered,
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not only was he young, but he was a stranger. After a brief tribute of respect to the "Brother " who had preached for them in the morning, and referring to his -Mr. Wright's-zeal and abounding labors in the cause of the Master, he read his text and began his sermon in a slightly halting, hesitating manner. His theme was the " beauty of holiness," and the sermon was, in almost every respect, in striking contrast to that of Mr. Wright. Love was the burden of Mr. Freeman's "song." There was no power to startle, but his pleading, pathetic words went home to many hearts. And, when his embarrassment had subsided, when he had dropped or lost sight of his individuality, and become absorbed and carried away by his subject, he was really eloquent-but it was the eloquence of pathos, feeling, spirit. His was not a strictly logical mind-which could scarcely have been expected in one so young,-but it was deeply imaginative, and as he was carried away so were others carried with him, and soon there were many tearful eyes in the congregation. There was then no longer any wonder why the young preacher looked so frail ; the wonder was how so frail a frame could give utterance to such a rush of argu- ments, appeals, and entreaties. And when he closed with tears in his eyes, and trembling from the joint effects of emotion and exertion, there seemed to go up from the congregation a sigh of relief that the ex- hausted man could rest.
Then, after a short prayer, came the parting hymn -that peculiarly pathetic old hymn beginning
" When shall we all meet again ?"-
and then the benediction.
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Slowly most of the congregation retired ; but some went forward near to the pulpit, where the pale young preacher stood, spoke a few words of kindly cheer, and, shaking his hand, said "Good-by " in sympathetic tones. He, the preacher, was to be the guest that night of Colonel Lovell ; and almost the last group at the Meeting-house was composed of Mr. Freeman, Colonel Lovell and his wife, Mr. Wilson and his daughter, Joseph Adair and Laura Howard. Many kind words were spoken ; invitations, yea, urgent requests, for visits to be made ; warm embraces among the ladies ; hearty good-bys all round, and then the separation.
Soon Adair and Miss Laura were slowly driving along the shady road on their return. At first but few words were spoken-the mind of each seemed to be preoccupied. Soon a reference was made to Miss Wil- son having gone to the altar-or, rather, the " mourn- er's bench," as it was usually termed, -and Mr. Adair said that, when the preacher extended the invitation to "Come forward," Miss Wilson, who sat immediately in front of him, at once turned to her father, and asked if he had any objection to her going forward, and that the father's reply was : "No, my daughter, none what- ever ; go if you wish to." Then followed remarks about the two preachers ; how strong and robust the one, and how delicate the other ; how forcible and commanding the one, and how pathetic and persuasive the other.
" And, Mr. Adair," said Miss Laura, " I have heard you refer to your associations, in boyhood, with the Society of Friends, or Quakers. Please tell me the story of those early associations, which appear to have made so deep an impression on your mind."
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There was no resisting such an appeal, and Adair spoke of the death of his mother when he was an infant : of his father having left Hillsboro for the West when he was too young to retain any remembrance of his features : then of his and his brothers' happy home with the three old Quakers ; of the death of the three old men, and his separation from his brothers ; and of his journey West with the family of Mr. Morris.
"Then there came a day," he continued, "when we were journeying along the road which led beside the French Broad River ; the sun was nearly down, and I had gone in advance of the wagons to find a good camp- ing ground and soon came upon some "movers" in camp. As I approached, the gentleman and his wife, who were seated near the roadside, spoke pleasantly to me, and, in reply to their questions, I told them where I came from ; that the family with whom I was travel- ling was but a short distance behind ; and that I was looking around for a good camping ground. The gen- tleman pointed me out what he thought would be a very convenient camp, which was near his own. The lady then asked me two questions, which I distinctly remember : the first, was I 'an orphan' ? the next, had I any 'brothers and sisters' ? I told her what I have just told you of my father and mother ; that I never had a sister, but had two brothers who remained in Hillsboro. 'Poor boy !' she said, ' what a pity you, so young, should be separated from your brothers !' It was not so much the words as something in her tone and look which made me like the lady very much.
"Soon after we had halted at our camp," Adair went on, "the gentleman and his wife whom I had met walked over to see us. The gentleman carried a
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child in his arms, but when he had introduced himself and his wife, and they were seated near Mr. and Mrs. Morris, the gentleman handed the child to his wife, who asked me if I would not like to know the name of her little girl. I told her I would, and that I would like to take charge of her little girl while she was in our camp. She told ine the child's name, but she feared it would not go to a stranger ; but it did, arvl smiled so sweetly, as I walked about with it in my arms, that I thought it very beautiful. The next day (we were yet, I remember, in North Carolina, my native State), I crossed a beautiful little stream which came tumbling down between two mountains and emptied into the French Broad River. Beneath its clear waters I saw many beautiful pebbles and gathered several of them ; but there was one green pebble that was so much more beautiful and brilliant than all the rest that I threw all but it away. I know not why it was, but, as I looked upon my only pebble, I thought of the child that had smiled at me so sweetly the evening before. But, stranger still, as I slept that night with my pebble near me I dreamed the sweetest dream that I had ever dreamed. The child-that little girl-was by my side ; she held the pebble in her hand and pressed it to her lips ; and I could not resist, and took her in my arms again and kissed her as she smiled at me. And," he still hurried on, " on the third day, from that on which I had first seen the child, I really had her in my arms once more. I thought of my beautiful pebble, of my sweet dream, of the smile and the kiss, and again I could not resist-and-I kissed her."
Never had man a more attentive listener. Laura had looked, and listened, and trembled from a wildly
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throbbing heart. She had interrupted his narrative by only a word and a look, but these were enough to make him go on and on until he had told one dream which he had never told before. But when he had spoken the last three words-" I kissed her,"-she too could no longer resist, the spell was upon, and around, and over her, and she must speak.
" And that little child was -who ? " she asked with bated breath, as her soul-betraying eyes looked full in his.
"Was you, Laura !" And his black eyes said something as he hurriedly went on : "And is it any wonder, then, that through so many years, I should have retained in my heart the image of that child-the memory of that kiss, and another which was given me at parting ? Or that through long years I should have travelled and hunted for that child ? whom I knew, if alive, had grown to be a woman."
"But you have not told me,"-and she too spoke hurriedly, and her eyes of limpid blue said more than her words, -" did little Laura cry or frown, or did she smile at you again ?"
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