RESORT TO MINING—CAUGHT IN A SNOWSLIDE—CARRIED A MILE DOWN THE MOUNTAIN AS IF FIRED FROM A CATAPULT—MIRACULOUS ESCAPE—FAILS TO FIND COMPANION—RETURN TO MINE AND THEN HOME—COMPANION'S SUBSEQUENT ESCAPE.
While farming has been Brother Parkin's regular vocation since coming to Utah, he has found it necessary to supplement it occasionally with other work to provide for his large family and fill the sphere he aspired to. Although mining was his original occupation, he has not felt specially attracted to that class of work, preferring something else that would not take him so completely and permanently away from his family. One season, however, when he had not been in Utah more than seven or eight years, and when the ravages of the grasshoppers had materially interfered with the yield of his farm, he found work as a miner in the Reed & Benson mine, near the top of the high mountainous range which separates the Big Cottonwood and Little Cottonwood Canyons.
Some time in March, after he had been at work there about two months he and a companion named Fred Thompson were sent by the mine boss to bring a supply of provisions from Alta, in Little Cottonwood Canyon. The snow was, deep, and the only means they had of making the trip was walking. They expected the trip would consume the whole day, and be very tiresome, but they set out bravely at eight o'clock in the morning.
They had to climb for some distance before reaching the summit, when they would have a long descent to Alta. They had not proceeded very far, making their way in the snow, up the steep incline, when they experienced the sensation of moving backward, and, looking upward, discovered they were being carried down by a snowslide, which had started only a short distance above them, and probably by the jar produced by their walking in the snow.
For the first few seconds their descent was not very rapid, and they tried to escape by grabbing at brush and saplings as they passed, but all in vain; the mass of snow gained in momentum and volume as it sped on, and they soon felt as if they had been hurled from a catapult.
A few seconds later they passed over an immense precipice, estimated by persons familiar with the canyon to be more than 200 feet high, the change from the sloping to the vertical plunge having the effect of turning them head downward, instead of coming, as they had been, in a kind of sitting posture. Another change was experienced by Brother Parkin, when the mass of snow struck terra firma at the foot of the precipice, the sensation being that of a burial to an immense depth by the snow which continued down the side of the mountain at an ever increasing velocity. Then he felt as if he were being lifted by some supreme power to the surface of the snow, and a peaceful feeling possessed his soul.
When the slide came to rest in the broad bottom of the canyon, filling it to a great depth, Brother Parkin found himself standing in an upright position with the snow scarcely reaching up to his waist.
His first concern when he found himself safe was for his companion. He searched for him, but could not find him.
Concluding that his friend Thompson must be buried in the snow and debris with which he had been swept down the mountain, possibly too deep to be saved by any human means, even if help were at hand, he found time to think of himself.
The coat he had worn when he set out for the trip over the mountain had been entirely stripped from his body, and his shirt and trousers were much torn, evidently from catching in the brush in his terrific descent of more than a mile down the mountain, but the garments worn next to his body were not even marred.
The feeling of gratitude towards the Almighty that welled up within him for his preservation exceeded anything he had ever experienced. He could not doubt that the Lord had spared his life for some special reason, and felt that whatever purpose the Lord had for prolonging his life, it was his duty if possible to find out what that purpose was, and conform thereto.
He made his way by a wide detour up the mountain to the mine, arriving there about five o'clock in the evening, after a tiresome walk of something like eight and a half hours. He was greeted with surprise by the mine boss, who grabbed him in his arms and fairly hugged him for joy, and his seven or eight companions who were scarcely less delighted at finding he had survived his terrible flight, and seemed none the worse for it. They inquired eagerly for Thompson, his companion, but he could only say that the poor fellow was evidently buried in the slide, and possibly beyond human help, as he had searched for him in vain.
He then learned that the men at the mine, warned of the slide by the noise it created almost at the start, had witnessed with horror its frightful descent, and made their way up the mountain as soon as possible to ascertain whether the two men had been carried down by it. Finding the bank of snow where the slide started showed a sheer break, with no footprint on top of it, they were forced to the conclusion that the men had gone down with the slide and were probably lost. The mine boss had offered his companions ten dollars each if they or any of them would descend the mountain and search for their unfortunate fellows, but none of them dared to undertake to do so.
Brother Parkin resumed work, but a few days later, after being given a check in payment of his services up to that time, was dispatched to Salt Lake with ore samples, to have them assayed.
From Salt Lake City he proceeded on his way home to Bountiful, where he was joyfully greeted by his wife and children. When they learned, as they did during the evening, of his frightful experience in going down with a snowslide, his wife was so terror-stricken at thought of her husband working in such a place, that she declared he should never go back there again if she could help it. In vain he reminded her that he had left his bedding at the mine. She said the value of the bedding counted for nothing with her. She would sacrifice that without a scruple, to have him remain with her, and he did so.
It was soon afterwards learned that Thompson also had escaped. He found himself completely buried and evidently at a considerable depth, when the snowslide stopped, and he began immediately to dig his way out. He struggled desperately and burrowed for a long time without knowing whether he was going towards the surface or not, and was finally successful in extricating himself. His clothing was badly torn and he was more or less bruised, but succeeded in making his way to a logging camp some distance down the canyon, whence, after a rest, he made his way to Salt Lake City.
FATHER JOHN PARKIN A PUGILIST—DEFENDS A MORMON ELDER—SHELTERS HIM FROM A STORM AND LEARNS SOMETHING OF MORMONISM—WHOLE FAMILY EMBRACE THE GOSPEL.
Brother Parkin recalls some incidents of his childhood, that tend especially to illustrate the character of his father, and the effect of the Gospel in shaping the lives of individuals.
His father was a pugilist—by instinct rather than by profession though—for he did not follow it for a living. He was not a large man, but had a closely knit, muscular frame, no surplus flesh, was about as active as a cat and possessed unbounded courage. While not of a quarrelsome nature, he just naturally enjoyed a scrap.
He taught his older sons "the manly art of self defense," and gave them to understand that he had no patience with molycoddles. He didn't want them to pick a quarrel, but if any one ever attempted to impose on them, or their friends, he expected them to give a good account of themselves. He would be ashamed to have any body who bore his name ever show the white feather.
The father was passing along the street of his native hamlet in England one day when his attention was attracted by a rather large and noisy crowd of people who were, as he learned on joining them, listening to a local "Mormon" Elder advocate his doctrines, with frequent and noisy interruptions. The interruptions he soon found were mainly made by three preachers, one a Baptist, another a Methodist and the third a Church of England minister. He recognized these when he saw them, for they were well known and somewhat popular in their special lines of religion, but the "Mormon" Elder was a stranger to him; in fact, he had never before met a "Mormon," or heard or read of "Mormon" doctrines. He had not listened long when his sense of fairness became so outraged by the sneering, ridiculing, captious interruptions by the preachers, and the laughter of their sympathizing auditors, that he pushed his way into the center of the crowd and asked the lone "Mormon" Elder to allow him to say a few words.
The privilege being granted, he told the crowd that he was not a preacher, and knew nothing about the doctrines this man was preaching, but he believed in free speech, and fair play, and thought the man ought to be allowed to tell what he had to say without interruptions. Then if the preachers could controvert it, they might fairly do so.
His remarks had the effect of quelling the disturbance momentarily, but the Elder had scarcely resumed his speaking when the preachers, apparently bent upon not allowing him to proceed, burst forth again with their interruptions.
With indignation now thoroughly aroused, Mr. Parkin shook his fist in the faces of the preachers and demanded fair play. "I don't know this man," said he, "but he looks and talks decently, and he's got to have a hearing, if I have to smash the men that interrupt him."
The Baptist preacher had a wooden leg, and perhaps presumed upon that in being the first to cry out in ridicule when the "Mormon" again essayed to proceed.
Grabbing him by the collar and shaking him, Mr. Parkin angrily demanded, "Are you going to compel me to hit you, even though you are a cripple? Now keep your mouth shut, or I'll have to do it!"
He had scarcely let loose of the preacher's collar when a stalwart son of the preacher rushed out from the crowd and made a pass at him with his brawny fist; but Mr. Parkin saw the movement, and, nimbly dodging the blow, struck out with his good right hand with such force that his big assailant went down as if he had been hit with a sledge hammer.
While friendly hands began fanning the youth and throwing water in his face to resuscitate him, Mr. Parkin with blood boiling and eyes flashing defiance, proceeded to deliver this challenge to the whole crowd in true bantam fashion: "Come on now, all of you, one at a time, and I'll whip the crowd!"
None of them chose to accept the challenge. On the contrary, they neither manifested any disposition to fight him or further listen to the preaching, for they soon dispersed, their departure being doubtless hastened by a brisk shower just then coming on.
Turning to the "Mormon" Elder, Mr. Parkin inquired: "Where do you live?"
"At Langley Mills, nine miles from here," was the reply.
"You can't go home in this shower; you had better walk home with me," said the pugilist, and his invitation was accepted.
The shower didn't pass as soon as expected; but rather increased in severity as night approached, and it became apparent that the guest must be provided with lodgings, as the family hadn't the heart to turn him out in such a storm. Then, too, there was another reason for it—they had become somewhat interested in listening to his explanations of his belief, the doctrines being all new to them.
The eldest son, a boy about ten years old, solved the question of lodging by offering to give up his bed, and the mother helped out the matter by arranging for the boy to occupy an improvised bed in the room in which his parents slept.
When the time for retiring arrived the stranger asked, as a special favor, the privilege of praying with the family, and the father replied to this by the declaration that he was not a religious man, that he was a pugilist, a cock-fighter, a man who didn't believe in prayer and had no regard for things which others considered sacred; but if it would afford him any gratification, they would be willing to listen to him pray.
The prayer was offered, and in it the guest thanked the Lord that he had found one man who would accept the truth.
The eldest son, the boy who gave up his bed for the stranger to sleep in, recalls hearing his father ask his wife some time after retiring for the night, what the man could have meant by alluding, in his prayer, to one man whom he had found in that town who would accept the truth. She said she had no idea what man he had in mind, and the husband told her he would find out by asking him the next morning. And ask him he did, the next morning, and was not a little surprised when the Elder turned and, pointing to him, said, "You are the man, for I am sure you will yet embrace the Gospel!"
That local Elder (whose name was Aaron Nelson, and who afterwards migrated to Utah, and died only a few years since in St. George) continued to come every Wednesday and hold meetings in Loscoe, and Mr. Parkin generally attended his meetings and stood by him, to see that he got fair play.
Finally, at the close of one of the meetings Mr. Parkin asked the privilege of making an announcement. Consent being granted, he said: "I want to give out notice (Elder Nelson being willing) that on Wednesday night next I will be baptised by him, at Loscoe Dam, for I have become convinced that 'Mormonism' is true."
He was deliberate about embracing it, but he was as true to it thereafter as ever needle was to the pole.
The family all embraced the Gospel and came to Utah, and the manner in which they first became interested in and were led to investigate "Mormonism" furnished a theme for many a fireside conversation.
As an indication of the effect the Gospel had upon the elder Parkin it may be mentioned that after he joined the Church he generously entertained all the missionaries who visited his part of the country, made them presents, and went to the limit of his ability in manifesting his love for them and his interest in the work in which they were engaged.
SELLING A LOAD OF CARROTS TO AN EX-MISSIONARY, WHOSE PARSIMONY IS EXHIBITED—SOME REFLECTIONS THEREON.
Some years after Father Parkin migrated to Utah he rode to Salt Lake City one day with his son William, who was bringing a load of carrots to sell. As they rode along the street they met M.... T...., a man who had served as a missionary in England when they were new converts, and been entertained many times at their house, and to whom Father Parkin had been unusually generous when he was released to return to his home in Utah.
Brother T...., who had the reputation of being among the wealthiest citizens of Salt Lake, and as stingy as he was thrifty, hailed them (recognizing them of course) and inquired what they wanted for their carrots, and was told "25 cents per bushel."
On further inquiry he learned that they had forty bushels in the wagon, and after some parleying decided to buy the load. The wagon was driven into his yard, and Brother T.... procured a bushel basket to have them measured with, evidently not caring to buy them according to the measurement of Brother Parkin.
Brother Parkin offered no objection to having them measured, knowing that he had been rather generous in his measurement of the carrots, but regretted the delay that it would cause, as he and his father both had some purchases to make before they could leave town, and they were anxious to get home.
When the wagon was not more than half unloaded Brother T.... was called by his wife to come to dinner, and he asked his old acquaintances, father and son, to excuse him for a few minutes, and take a rest while he ate his dinner (leaving them to understand, of course, that he wanted to see the rest of the carrots measured.)
Work was suspended and father and son cogitated a few moments while each munched at a carrot, for their appetites were keen enough to enable them to enjoy a good dinner too if the dinner had been forth-coming, and soon the father broke the silence.
"My son," said he, "can you imagine Elder M.... T.... when he was a missionary in England eating a carrot in a barn while I indulged in a warm meal in the house."
The son responded that he could not imagine such a situation. "On the contrary," he said, "I remember distinctly that he never called at our house without being invited to eat, whether it was meal time or not, and that the choicest cuts of meat were bought to provide him the best meal possible, and that you paid thirty-six shillings for silk with which to make a pair of stockings to present him with to bring home for his wife when he was released from his mission, and that when those stockings were made they were admired by everyone who saw them and declared to be fit for any queen or princess to wear."
"Well, my son," the father added, "I don't regret anything I ever did for a missionary. When I embraced "Mormonism" I did it because I was sure it was the truth, and I afterwards tried to serve the Lord just as thoroughly as I had ever served the devil before. The truth is not affected by men's actions, and men's actions are not always affected by their knowledge of the truth. Brother T.. probably knows that the Gospel is true, but it has apparently not changed his nature. I don't envy him his nature or his possessions. Better live on raw carrots and retain our love for the truth and our respect for those who have served with us in its promulgation, than have the wealth of this world and forget or cease to respect our former friends and associates in the ministry."
The son was impressed with the change the Gospel had wrought in his father, for he could easily recall the time when he would not have looked charitably upon any action that savored of meanness or parsimony in one of his fellows, and when the more pretentious the person was (be he preacher or layman) who displayed any such characteristic, the more bold and ready he would have been to denounce him to his face.
The rumination was ended. Brother T.... returned from the house and the unloading of the carrots was resumed, Brother T.... keeping tally with a pencil on a board as the baskets were emptied. When only a few bushels remained to be measured he exclaimed: "Never mind measuring any more, I see you have forty bushels, allright."
Then the son decided that it was his turn to speak right out in meeting. "But, Brother T——, I do mind! It was you that wanted these carrots measured. I would have sold them to you for forty bushels if you had been satisfied to take them without measuring. Now we will finish measuring, and if there are more than forty bushels, we will take the overplus home, if you do not want to pay 25 cents a bushel for them."
The measurement of the balance disclosed the fact that there were forty-two bushels in the load, and Brother T.... rather shamefacedly handed over $10.50 in payment therefor.
E. R. S. SCHNELLE'S BELIEF IN A PROVIDENCE OVER HIS LIFE—BIRTH AND SUCCESSION OF ACCIDENTS—GOES TO SEA AS CABIN BOY—CRUEL TREATMENT—PUMPING SUGAR AND WATER—SHIP CRUSHED AGAINST BREAKWATER—RECKLESS JUMP—WOES AS A COOK.
According to the old fatalistic saw: "If a man is born to be hung, he can never be drowned." This is far more trite than true. So far as it implies that any man is born or predestined to be hung, it is not true. But that some have been marvelously and repeatedly preserved from drowning, and that there is evidently some reason for their apparent immunity, is true.
Brother Ernest R. S. Schnelle has had many narrow escapes from drowning, and been subjected to very many accidents of other kinds. He firmly believes that there has been a Providence over his life, and that his willingness to accept the Gospel and devote his life to the service of the Master may be the sequel therefor.
He was born on the 25th of May, 1852, in Bremen, Germany. He fell in the fire when only a few months old, and narrowly escaped burning to death. He bears the scar of the burn on his forehead even now. He was almost drowned in a mill race when he was only two years old. Of course he doesn't remember the incident, but was told so by his parents.
His mother was a consistent member of the Protestant Church, but his father while nominally of the same creed had a poor opinion of preachers in general and was never known to attend Church but once, and that was on the occasion of the confirming of his eldest son; and then he seized his hat and left in the midst of the sermon, not having patience to remain longer.
Without explaining her reason for the belief, the mother used to say that the time would come when one of her boys would believe in the God of Heaven. Of the parents and seven children which the family included, Ernest (the subject of this sketch) and one brother are all that are now alive, and Ernest has had such a checkered career that it is a wonder that he has survived.
When five years old he accidentally fell from a housetop, and was supposed to be dead when picked up, but, to the surprise of all his friends, he soon recovered.
When seven years of age he threw a snowball at a girl in a spirit of fun. She resented it by taking off her wooden shoe and crushing his skull in with it.
When nine years old he had an accidental fall, and broke his right arm, and also fell from a ladder and drove his front teeth through his lip.
When he was fourteen years of age he went to sea, as cabin boy, in a Spanish barque, called the "Tres Hermanos," of Allicante, Spain, bound for Havana, Cuba. During the voyage the crew mutinied, some Spaniards being among them who used their knives quite freely. The chief officer was beaten most shamefully and almost killed, but the captain finally brought the rebellious men under subjection.
On reaching Havana, Ernest quit the vessel, and shipped on the Spanish brig "Michael Angel," bound for Falmouth, England. The very first day after sailing from Havana he was stricken with yellow fever, a disease that was so prevalent in Cuba that many ships in the harbors were unable to sail for want of crews, so many of the sailors having died of the fever.
Ernest had the fever so badly for nine days that he was not expected to recover; in fact, no one thought it worth while trying to save him. He was delirious as a result of the fever, and was fastened in the sail locker at night, and allowed to lie on the water casks in the day time. However, he lived in spite of the neglect with which he was treated, but before he had recovered his strength he fell overboard. The cook happened to hear the splash as he struck the water, and on looking around saw him come to the surface and threw a rope to him, by which he was hauled on board.
On the 8th of December, 1866, the ship encountered a terrific storm in the Bay of Biscay, during which the starboard bulwarks was washed away, and the ship sprang a leak. The cargo consisted of crude sugar and cacao beans, and the sugar became dissolved through the water rushing into the hold. The crew had to be kept busy for two and a half days, pumping the sugar and water out of the hold, to keep the ship afloat.
Falmouth was reached in the beginning of January, and the ship was repaired. On the 18th of January she set sail for London, with a channel pilot on board. The next day she encountered a severe storm in which she lost her foremast head, and the pilot thought best to return to Falmouth, which place was reached the following day. The storm increased in fury and the ship, dragging both anchors, was being driven on to the break water. Her signals of distress brought no relief, for all the ships near by had enough to do to take care of themselves. The ship struck broadside against the breakwater, damaging it to such an extent that it sank within a few minutes.
Ernest was standing upon the deck when the collision occurred, and sprang towards the breakwater. It was a very daring—in fact, foolhardy thing for him to do, as he had about one chance in a thousand of escaping death, but fortunately he did escape, by clutching the timbers of the breakwater, almost as a cat would, and clinging on thereto.
As the ship sank the crew clambered up the breakwater and were saved.
Ernest had been so cruelly treated while on board the brig that he had little regret at the loss of the vessel. The captain was a Spaniard, and a most hard-hearted, cruel man. He was the owner of the vessel, and was so avaricious that he actually begrudged the boy the food required to keep him alive. He expected him to subsist upon such scraps as were left from his own meals, and if there were none left, for him to go without, and would curse him if he asked for food, telling him that he was a poor Spaniard, and couldn't afford to feed him. When the ship was lost, not being insured, he was indeed poor. The crew were so incensed at him, because they couldn't collect the pay due them, that several of them actually drew their knives and attempted to assault him in the Spanish Consul's office at Falmouth.
Ernest was kept at the Cornwall Sailors' Home for a few weeks, as he neither had any means of subsistence nor chance to go home, and then was told to get out and shift for himself. He began seeking employment among the ships in port, and soon succeeded in finding a captain who was willing to employ him as cabin boy at $5.00 per month.
His new berth was soon found to be but little better than his former one, so far as treatment was concerned. The first job given him to do was to black the captain's shoes. The shoes were wet, and he didn't succeed in making them shine as nicely as they otherwise would have done, and he received a clout for it that almost made him see stars. However, he had sufficient to eat, and was thankful for that. The vessel was a Hanoverian brig, the "Lucy von Leer," Captain Jensen commanding, bound for Antwerp.
He soon found out that, in addition to serving as cabin boy, he was also expected to cook for the officers and crew. While preparing his first dinner he was sent aloft to shorten sail, and when he came down the peas he was cooking were burned, and that brought down upon him the wrath of all the officers and men who learned of it. The channel pilot yelled for some one to beat him, and he had to run the gauntlet to escape the blows aimed at him.
After arriving at Antwerp, while waiting for the crew to be paid off, and when he had just finished cooking the Sunday dinner, several of the crew volunteered special praise for the quality of the soup he had made for them. He was so overjoyed thereat that he forgot to take the spoons from the water in which he had been washing the dishes, and threw them and the water together overboard into the dock. The spoons were not missed until supper time arrived, and then the failure to find them resulted in his recalling and confessing his forgetful act, and receiving such a general and merciless beating that the crew of a Norwegian barque, lying in the dock near by interfered, and threatened to come to his relief and thrash the Hanoverians if they didn't desist. They stopped beating him, but the chief officer swore that he would get even with the boy when he got to sea.
Fearing the threat might be executed, Ernest watched his chance to escape, and succeeded in getting away two days later, probably saving his life by doing so, as the boy taken in his place died of yellow fever in Rio Janiero, whither the ship sailed.
Ernest succeeded in finding a chance to return home by working his passage on a Hanoverian barque called "Emil," commanded by Captain Onkier. When he went on board the ship, it being in the night, a big Newfoundland dog seized him and nearly worried him to death. The dog not only bit him severely, but so thoroughly frightened him that he crouched in a corner, not daring to stir until the carpenter discovered him there the next morning and released him.
Being at the mercy of the crew on the voyage to Bremer Haven, he was compelled to steal provisions and liquor for them, and was caught in the act by the Captain who struck him on the side of the head with such force that it sent him reeling, and he was subsequently beaten by the crew for his lack of success. During the nine days' voyage he had no bed to sleep on or cover himself with, and he was about as comfortless as when he shared the bed of the dog.
He reached home nine months after first embarking, about half clad and without a cent to show for the time he had been absent.
His parents, however, gave him a hearty welcome, and were horrified at learning of his narrow escapes and severe treatment.
EMBARKS AS ORDINARY SEAMAN—CAPTAIN'S PREMONITION AND SAILORS' FEAR—AMAZONE WRECKED—DYING SAILOR'S VISION—GREWSOME SEAT—A TYPHOON—SHIP SEIZED BY FRENCH—TRAVEL IN RUSSIA—FINDS A WIFE—CONVERTED TO "MORMONISM."
In April, 1867, he found employment as an ordinary seaman on a German mail boat, sailing between Bremer Haven and New York, his compensation being $6.00 per month. He fared so much better on that vessel that he quite enjoyed his berth, but was ambitious to learn more of seamanship than he could on the steamer, and after one year's service quit that and joined the Hamburg barque "Amazone," bound for Cardiff to load up with coal for Hong Kong, China. As the vessel was leaving the Geestemunde dock, her owner stood on the quay side, and, as the last rope was cast off, he placed his hand on the ship's side and said, "Good by Amazone; I will never see you again!"
Ernest heard the remark, and repeated it to two of his comrades. Sailors are notoriously superstitious, and the effect was that they felt sure the vessel was not going to reach her destination. They laid their plans to desert the ship at Cardiff, and would have succeeded if some one had not overheard their talk, and reported to an officer. They had each two suits of clothes on, prepared to make their escape, when they were apprehended by a policeman and compelled to return. Ernest plead with the captain to let him go, saying he could keep all his belongings and wages due if he would only grant him his liberty, but didn't dare tell why he wanted to escape. The captain however, refused, saying he had never had a man desert him, and he wouldn't allow him to.
With the exception of alternate head winds and calms, which greatly retarded the vessel, nothing serious occurred until the Cape of Good Hope was rounded, when heavy storms and high seas were encountered. The bulwarks were swept away, the main batch burst in, and six casks of fresh water were swept overboard. Ernest and a companion were standing at the steering wheel when the second mate warned them to hold on, as a heavy sea was about to break over the ship. They both gripped the wheel with all their strength, but, as the wave passed over, Ernest saw, to his horror, his companion go with it; then, marvelous to relate, as the ship bent down under the weight of the second huge wave, the sailor grasped a mizzen chain and clung on, and shouted until others of the crew came to his relief and hauled him back to safety.
With nine feet of water in the hold, the ship was unmanageable, and the captain told the crew they would either have to pump or sink. By some working the pumps for dear life, and others nailing canvas over the hatchway, and stanchion holes, and by throwing eighty tons of cargo overboard to lighten the ship, they managed to weather the storm; but five nights and four days had passed before they dared cease pumping.
This danger had not long passed when a new horror presented itself—a scarcity of fresh water. For six long weeks they were dependent upon the steam from a saucepan or the dew that could be mopped up in the early morning from the ship's railing to quench their thirst, and the suffering they endured as a result in that hot, dry climate is indescribable. At the end of that time the English barque "Virginia" was sighted, and a casque of water obtained, and also another from the "Fair Leader" of Plymouth, England, which relieved them until an uncharted reef was struck in the China Sea, and the vessel, after hanging amidships for about ten hours, broke in two and foundered. The officers and crew were saved by taking to the life boats in the night, but without being able to secure any provisions or stores, as the sea was high and broke constantly over the vessel as it hung upon the reef. The breaking asunder and sinking of the vessel was witnessed from a distance after day had dawned.
The bark "Fair Leader" already mentioned as having furnished a cask of fresh water, was in the vicinity and saw the signals of distress after the "Amazone" had struck the reef, and steered in the direction indicated. When it was light enough to see, the two boats were sighted and the men picked up. Then it was learned that a member of the crew of the "Fair Leader," who was dying of dropsy, had evidently seen in vision the destruction of the "Amazone," and the peril of the crew afterwards, afloat in the life boats. He told his mates of the very time of the boats leaving the fated ship, that they were in two white life boats, and that one had a flag and the other a blanket for a sail; also that they would come on board the "Fair Leader" and remain there a long time. Perhaps what he said, even more than the signals of distress, influenced the officers of the "Fair Leader" in deciding to remain in the vicinity until morning.
The "Amazone" crew were picked up about nine o'clock in the morning, and one of the first things Ernest did after getting on board, was to sit down upon what he supposed to be a roll of sail or blankets, that he saw on the deck, but which proved to be the body of the sailor who had seen in vision and told of their wreck and subsequent peril. He had died soon after telling it, and was buried during the afternoon of the same day.
A few days later the "Fair Leader" encountered a genuine typhoon, and the ship sprang a leak and would probably have foundered had it not been for the extra crew on board, who, by helping man the pumps, kept her afloat. Ernest, while working at the pumps, was washed away by a wave and struck with such force against the bulwark that his knee was severely injured, and he had to be taken to a hospital for treatment on reaching Shanghai, a month later.
He remained in Shanghai about five weeks, when he shipped on a German bark "Catherine Jorgensen"—engaged in the China trade. He sailed first to Nimpo, where a valuable cargo was taken on board and then set sail for Hong Kong. He had the thrilling experience of being chased by Chinese pirates, but escaped by a favorable wind propelling the barque too fast for the pirate boat, with its more limited sailing capacity, to overtake her.
Ernest sailed the China sea for three years. His last voyage there was with a cargo of 900 coolies, bound for Singapore, where he quit the ship and was transferred to a German ship called "Caroline," sailing for Akiab, India. Four days later the ship was seized by the French frigate "Dassas," and the crew taken prisoners, as the Franco-Prussian war was then raging. Ernest and his companion sailors were taken to a point just outside the Singapore harbor on the man-of-war, their captors not daring to enter, as that would be considered an act of hostility against Great Britain. There it was learned for the first time by the ship's officers that the war was ended, the Germans having conquered the French, and that the capture of the German ship while the armistice was pending would subject the French government to a heavy indemnity. On the arrival at Singapore of the "Caroline" the officers and crew were liberated with apologies, and allowed to proceed with their ship to Akiab.
Ernest contracted a virulent fever at Akiab, and would have been left there by the ship had not the shore doctor forbidden it, declaring that he never would recover if left there, but that he probably would if taken to a colder clime. The fever left him when the ship rounded the Cape of Good Hope. Landing at Falmouth, he proceeded to his old home at Bremer Haven. As the ship entered the Bremer Haven dock, Ernest saw his mother on the quay, watching for him, as she had been warned by inspiration the night previous that he would arrive on that ship, that day. She had not heard from him for more than two years, and had no reason other than that mentioned for expecting that he was anywhere in that region.
He remained home about nine days and then shipped on a Bremen ship bound for Savannah, Georgia. He remained on that ship until it made a subsequent voyage to Reval, Russia, where he left it and traveled for awhile overland, going as far as Cronstadt. He was under suspicion because of having no passport, and narrowly escaped being transported to Siberia.
After following the sea for about twelve years, Ernest took up his residence in England, locating first at Hull and afterwards in South Shields, but continued to make voyages to various parts of the world, generally serving as boatswain or steward. On one voyage to his native land the ship "Thetis" in a violent storm had her bulk-head stove in and was filled up with water to such an extent that the table was floating around in the cabin, and, Ernest, with the companion way and skylight battened down, was shut up like a rat in a trap, and busied himself at baling the water out. To the surprise of all on board, they succeeded in floating the ship into Hamburg. There Ernest secured for a wife one whom he had known as a young girl.
They arranged to be married in England the following April, and, after the cargo was discharged, he returned to England, where the ship was thoroughly repaired. The following March, while entering the port of Blyth, to load coal for Hamburg the "Thetis" was, through error of judgment on the part of the captain, run on to the rocks and became a total wreck. Of course, no lives were lost, but this wreck had the effect of deferring Ernest's marriage. Instead of it occurring in April, it was postponed till the following November. It took place in Shields, England, where he established a home and lived for many years, his six children being born there.
In 1888, while sailing on the ship "Breton," commanded by Captain Ole Peterson, who was a Latter-day Saint, he first learned of "Mormonism." He had been investigating Spiritualism, but abandoned it on learning that the Spiritualists repudiated Christ as a Savior. He had heard of the "Mormons" as being a bad people, but was anxious to learn from the captain really what his belief was. He opened up a conversation by asking the captain his opinion of Spiritualism. The captain replied: "You are not a spiritualist. You belong to the Church of England, and have now found what you have been looking for so many years—the true Gospel. And you will soon become a Latter-day Saint." He then explained the Gospel to him, and told how it had been restored to the earth through the ministration of angels.
On hearing this Ernest's heart beat with joy, and he felt certain the captain was telling the truth. He, being steward, one part of his duty was to keep the captain's stateroom tidy, and while doing so a copy of the Millennial Star came into his hands, which he read with avidity, and learned still more of "Mormon" doctrine.
Adverse winds were encountered on that voyage, and they were twenty-one days in making the round trip, whereas it should only have taken six days. Ernest heard the captain make a remark that there must be some reason for the weather being so against him, and said he wondered if his wife had neglected to pay the money for tithing he had left with her for that purpose. Ernest inquired what he meant by that, and had the law of tithing explained to him, and he felt in his heart then that it was a correct doctrine. On the captain's arrival in England he found out that his wife had not paid the tithing.
One year from the time he first had the Gospel explained to him, Ernest was baptized by Captain Peterson (September 18, 1889) in the North Sea. Immediately after his confirmation he inquired of the captain where he should send his tithing to, as he wanted to pay it. He commenced paying it then, and has been faithful in doing so ever since.
On embracing the Gospel he remarked to Captain Peterson that he supposed now his troubles were ended, but was told that he was wrong in that supposition, for his troubles were only commencing; that he should have the finger of scorn pointed at him, and find opposition even in his own household; but to be comforted, for the day would come when his wife would accept "Mormonism" and become a faithful Saint.
He found the captain's prediction to be verily true. While his wife was at first very much wrought up over his conversion, she afterwards investigated and embraced the Gospel, and has been faithful ever since.
From the time Ernest was baptized he advocated its doctrines and was ridiculed and persecuted as a consequence, but the stronger the opposition the more zeal he manifested. He received the nickname of "Harry, the Mormon," and was better known by that soubriquet than any other.
He was ordained an Elder April 5, 1891, and the next day baptized his wife and her sister.
Ernest continued to follow the sea, and still met with adventures that satisfied him that the devil had not ceased trying to encompass his destruction.
SENT TO HOSPITAL—BLUE JACKET CONVERTED—WARNED BY SPIRIT TO LEAVE SHIP—DISOBEYS WARNING—NARROW ESCAPE WHEN SHIP FOUNDERS—A DANGEROUS FALL—LED BY INSPIRATION—INSPIRED PROMISE FULFILLED—WORK IN TEMPLE—DEPARTURE FOR MISSION.
While on a voyage from Shields to Plymouth he was stricken with rheumatic pains in his legs, that rendered him helpless; in fact, his pain was so excruciating that morphine had to be injected into him to get him out of his berth. He appealed to the Lord to know why he should so suffer, when an assurance came to him that there was a purpose in it, as there was a work for him to do in a hospital. The captain was anxious to take Ernest back to his home, as he would reach South Shields in two days' time, and plead with the doctor to give him something to ease his pain in the meantime. The doctor, however, positively refused to have him go, and insisted that he be sent to the Royal Albert Hospital, at Devonport. On arriving there Ernest soon became satisfied of the purpose of the Lord, for, on looking around, he discovered that the patient occupying the cot on his left was a true Israelite. He availed himself of an early chance to make known the principles of the Gospel to him. The patient got out his bible and verified by reference to it all the doctrines that Ernest advanced, after which he declared his conviction that it was the truth. Considerable excitement among the patients in the ward, as well as the nurses and matron was the result. Two of the patients recalled the fact that they had heard "Mormonism" preached and rejected it forty-six years before. A minister visited the hospital early the next morning, having evidently been sent for, to controvert what Ernest had taught, but the converted patient put up such a strong defense of Ernest and the latter bore such a strong testimony of the Truth, that the minister was soon glad to retire discomfited. The patient praised God that the truth had come to him and related this circumstance to prove that Ernest's visit to the hospital was providential. He said he was a stoker aboard a British man-of-war in Hong Kong, China, when he developed hip disease, and was sent to a hospital. His case being considered a desperate one, it was decided to send him to the Royal Albert Hospital, of Devonport, England, for treatment, and, after he and many other patients had been taken on board the ship which was to convey them to England, the doctor, for some unknown reason, decided that he alone should be sent ashore again, and make the voyage by a vessel starting later. That boat with more than 400 passengers was lost at sea, but he safely landed in England by a later vessel.
He believed the Lord had planned it that he might learn of the Gospel, and declared his intention of drawing his money ($140.00) out of the bank, and making his way to London, if he should sufficiently recover to do so, and there get baptized, if he had to go through fire to accomplish it, and then migrate to Zion. The poor fellow died in the hospital three months later, still firm in his belief in the Gospel. His belongings, including a Book of Mormon and some tracts left with him by Ernest, were sent to his brother in Ireland.
All the work essential for the salvation of the dead has recently been done for that man—Samuel Long—in the Salt Lake Temple, by Ernest.
Before leaving the hospital Ernest received a telegram from his old captain telling him that the "Cramlington" would again be at Devonport on a certain date, and if he was well enough he would be glad to take him back home. He accordingly announced his intention to leave the hospital, although he was still unable to walk, and the doctor consented reluctantly for him to go.
After getting on board the vessel, the Spirit manifested to him that he ought to leave the ship, and he proposed to the captain to do so, offering the plea that he was not fit for service; but the captain plead so hard for him to stay, offering to hire a man to do all his work, that he finally yielded.
On the next voyage, which was to Rouen, France, the vessel was all but lost, off Flambrough Head, by the breaking down of the engines in a violent storm off the lea shore. Ernest, seeing the plight the vessel was in, threw up his hands and cried to the Lord to have mercy on him, and forgive his disobedience; and not suffer the ship to be dashed against the rocks, which would mean certain death to all on board. The captain ordered the anchors to be thrown out, but the ship dragged the anchors, and when it seemed that nothing could save the vessel a cry of relief was heard from the chief engineer, for the engines had again started working.
The order was given "Full speed ahead!" and in a few moments the vessel was free from danger. On reaching Rouen the engines were overhauled, and the chief engineer was horrified when he saw that it was by the merest thread that they were saved from a complete collapse.
Notwithstanding this evidence of the dangerous condition of the ship, as well as the Spirit's warning not to trust himself on it, Ernest still remained on her, and set forth on a voyage from Blyth to Plymouth. When off Dover at midnight the ship collided with the Dutch steamer "Ceres", and sank in six minutes.
Ernest was asleep in his berth at the time, and would have drowned had not the captain, who was on deck when the collision occurred, rushed down into the cabin to secure the ship's papers. Seeing Ernest asleep, he grasped him by the shirt collar and dragged him on deck, thus saving his life, but losing all his own effects, that he might otherwise have saved.
Ernest was the last to enter the boat, which had scarcely left the side of the ship when she foundered.
All hands were saved through the ship "Ceres" picking them up and landing them in Amsterdam, after they had been supplied with clothing, some of them having barely escaped with their night clothes on.
If Ernest had listened to the whisperings of the Spirit two weeks previously, he would not have been aboard at the time of her final catastrophe.
In the month of July, 1903, Ernest shipped as steward on board the steamer "Augusta," bound for Hamburg, taking his wife along for the benefit of her health. Contrary to his original intention he decided to leave her at Hamburg. On the passage back to England the vessel ran upon the rocks known as the Velvet Patch, near Marsden Rock. She was floated at high water of the next tide, with the assistance of three tugs, and succeeded in making her way to the Tyne, where she was put in the dry dock at South Shields. Then it was found, that forty two plates had to come out of her bottom, and that her stern post, rudder post and propeller were gone. Although no lives were lost, Ernest felt thankful that he had left his wife in Hamburg.
After the ship was repaired she sailed for Hamburg again. On arrival there the Spirit prompted Ernest to go ashore and call upon some of the Saints. On descending the rope ladder to go ashore by boat, he had one of the narrowest escapes of his life, and concluded that Satan was trying to prevent him. The ladder had been newly tarred, and his foot slipped from it as a consequence. He fell a distance of about twelve feet and saved himself by clutching the last rung of the ladder with two fingers. Had it not been for that, he would have fallen between the ship and the lighter and been driven by the tide underneath one or the other of the vessels.
After landing, and while walking the street, he met one of the local Saints, Brother Pollock, and learned from him that he was going to visit some of the Saints as a Teacher. On invitation, Ernest accompanied him to the home of Brother Blecher, his companion Teacher, who, however, was not at home, being employed working overtime. Ernest was then invited to take Brother Blecher's place as a Teacher, and the two called upon a blind brother named Eitner to accompany them. The question then arose as to where they should go, and Brother Eitner said he had heard of a sister being very ill, but he didn't know where she lived. Ernest suggested that they depend upon the Lord in searching for her, and the three set out on the quest, without any idea which direction they should take.
After proceeding some distance, Ernest stopped and said he felt sure they had passed the place they were searching for, and they retraced their steps for a short distance, when he stopped and inquired of a young man who was standing by a terrace if such a person, (mentioning the sister's name) lived there, and was told that she did. They entered, and found the sick sister trying to write a letter to one of the Elders, requesting that he come and administer to her, she being in a very feeble condition, and also in want of food. Ernest administered to her, promised that she should recover and soon be able to attend her meetings, and the three supplied her with money to relieve her wants.
She acknowledged their visit as providential, cried for joy at receiving the blessing and was able to attend the meeting the second Sunday following.
While at Hamburg on a subsequent trip he was urged by a widow, Sister Kratz, whom he met at meeting, to call at her home. On doing so he inquired if she paid her tithes and offerings, and was told that she did, although she was extremely poor. He said, before the visit ended, that he felt like leaving his blessing with her. She was delighted at the proposition, and when he placed his hands upon her head he felt prompted to promise her that while she remained faithful and was careful not to waste even a crust, that her table should never lack bread—that she should even have enough to feed her poor neighbors.
He heard nothing more from sister Kratz until he visited Hamburg sixteen months later, when she met him with tears of joy and related how wonderfully his promise had been fulfilled. She had been in the habit of buying stale bread because of its cheapness, and when she called at the baker's for that purpose the same evening he had made the promise, the baker's wife voluntarily filled her apron with bread and cakes, and told her to come every evening for more. The widow and her one child could only eat a fraction of what she got, so she supplied the rest to her poor neighbors, who highly appreciated the same.
After a while the baker's wife informed Sister Kratz that she did not know who she was or why she should give her the bread and cakes that became stale, but she had felt prompted to do so, and that her husband's business had never so prospered as since she had begun the practice, and she consequently felt that she had been blessed for doing so. Sister Kratz told her frankly about sharing what she got with her poor neighbors, and of her conviction that the baker's prosperity was due to the prayers offered in his behalf by the recipients of her generosity.
On the 11th of December, 1907, Ernest was on the ship "Annandale," bound from London to Shields. While coming down the Swin the ship collided with the steamer "Kingscote," which knocked a hole in her side about sixteen feet long. The engine and boiler room were soon filled with water, and the ship was gradually sinking inch by inch. The collision occurred at midnight, and at half past seven the following morning the ship settled down upon the sand. After much effort she was finally floated and repaired sufficiently to get her into the dry dock.
This was the last wreck in which Ernest figured. He migrated to Utah in the year 1908, has since devoted three years to work in the Temple and has recently started upon a mission to Great Britain, to labor specially among sea-faring people and emulate the example of Peter in casting his net upon the waters and becoming a "fisher of men."
By B. F. Cummings.
AT SOLICITATION OF SAINTS IN UTAH, ENGAGED IN GENEALOGICAL RESEARCH WHILE SERVING AS A MISSIONARY—TAKES A SPECIAL MISSION FOR SUCH WORK—IMPRESSION THAT HE WAS RECEIVING HELP FROM THE SPIRIT WORLD—SEARCH FOR WILLIAMS' GENEALOGIES—A SIGN AND A MUTUAL IMPRESSION—VALUABLE DATA OBTAINED FROM A STRANGER, WHO WAS EVIDENTLY INSPIRED—RESEARCH OF CHAMBERLAIN FAMILY RECORD HELPED BY A STRANGER WHO WAS ALSO EVIDENTLY INSPIRED TO DO SO—VALUABLE RECORDS PROVIDENTIALLY FOUND IN UNEXPECTED PLACE.
When I was twenty years of age I went on a mission to New England, and was laboring there when the St. George Temple was dedicated. The completion and dedication of this sacred structure greatly stimulated among the Latter-day Saints in the Stakes of Zion a desire to procure records necessary for Temple work, and a number of brethren and sisters, who had migrated from New England to Utah, wrote to me and asked me to procure genealogical data for them.
I was kept too busy at missionary work to do very much record searching, but I complied with such requests in a number of instances, and soon came to feel an intense interest in genealogical work, a sentiment that influenced my course of life for many years, and still remains with me.
I returned from this mission in September, 1877, and soon after reaching my home, which was in Salt Lake City, I had a conversation with Elder Wilford Woodruff, who was then one of the Twelve Apostles, in which I told him that I felt that it was my duty to return to New England for the purpose of procuring genealogies for such of the Saints as might desire to employ me in that work. He approved my sentiments, and introduced me to President John Taylor, who likewise approved them. At the April conference, 1878, I was set apart by Elder Orson Pratt to go on a mission to New England and the Eastern states to preach the Gospel to the living, but more especially to procure the records of the dead kindred of Latter-day Saints. I was profoundly impressed by the blessing Elder Pratt gave me.
Immediately after conference I started on this mission, and was soon engrossed with my labors in the interest of the dead, labors that consumed much of my time for many years. Although I was but a youth of limited education and at the outset of my genealogical work was almost totally ignorant of those branches of knowledge that are commonly considered absolutely essential to success in such work, such as local history, local laws and usages, systems of records in towns, cities and states, etc. I often met with a degree of success which surprised me.
Many a time I was made to believe that I was receiving assistance from the other side of the veil, and my faith to this effect has always been unshaken; and it is my present purpose to relate a few incidents that tended to create this faith within me.
One of the first genealogies I undertook to trace on this mission was that of a Williams family. An aged widow named Sister F—employed me to trace it, and the data she gave me to start from pointed to Newark, N. J. as the place in and near which her Williams kindred had lived, and thither I went. At this time I was an utter novice at such work, with not a soul to teach me the first lesson in it. I made my way to the surrogate's office and told the clerk in charge that I desired to trace the genealogy of the Williams family of Newark and vicinity. He replied to the effect that I had a big job on my hands, and advised me to call on Judge Jesse Williams of Orange, a town a few miles from Newark, who, he said, could probably give me some information. Accordingly I took a car to Orange and soon found myself near the center of that town. The clerk had given me directions for finding Judge Williams' residence, and I started to go to it. I soon came to a marble yard which had a sign extending over the sidewalk. The sign gave the name of the proprietor. It was Williams. Something seemed to say to me: "This man belongs to the family you are tracing, and you had better speak with him."
A lady customer was selecting a gravestone, and the proprietor of the marble yard was walking about with her, directing her attention first to one monument and then to another, apparently in an effort to suit both her taste and her purse. As it would have been impolite to interrupt them, I waited. The lady could not decide. It was getting late in the afternoon and I was uneasy at losing time. Mr. Williams had not noticed me, and I decided to go on to Judge Williams' residence. But something seemed to say to me: "This is the man you want to see." But," I argued with myself, "the clerk in the surrogate's office advised me to see Judge Williams, and the clerk is likely to know whom I had better see." For about an hour this debate continued in my mind. The lady was about that long in choosing a stone and I chafed at the loss of time. Again and again I started to leave the marble yard, but each time came the same prompting: "This is the man for you to see; do not leave until you have talked with him."
Yielding to my unseen adviser, I waited. When the lady had selected a stone, Mr. Williams approached me and asked what he could do for me. I told him I desired to trace the genealogy of the Williams family of that vicinity, and seeing that his name was Williams I had thought he might give me some information.
"I am the man for you to see," he said promptly. I was struck with his words. Except that they were in the first person, they were the same that my invisible monitor had many times repeated to me during the preceding hour, an hour of impatient chafing on my part. As he spoke he turned on his heel and without another word walked to a desk some distance away, opened and took from it two sheets of foolscap paper. With these sheets of paper in his hands he walked back to where I stood and proceeded to tell me that he had been desiring to know more about his ancestors, that he had traced his fathers' line back to the first settler of the name in New Jersey, that he had arranged the pedigree in the form of a "broadside," (which was the old fashioned form for such a record), that he had made two copies of this "broadside," which he held in his hands as he spoke, and that I was welcome to one of them. So saying he handed me one of the sheets, to my great surprise and delight.
We conversed a few moments during which I thanked him heartily, and then I returned to Newark. When I came to examine carefully the record he had given me, I found it to be of great value to me, or rather to Sister F—. It embraced her trunk line of ancestry as well as his own. In fact, they were near cousins. I spent two or three weeks in the surrogate's office making abstracts of wills left on record by members of this Williams family, which was very numerous, and collecting other data; and the pedigree given me by the marble cutter, which contained some 200 names and six or seven generations, was of great aid to me in establishing proper connections. I was successful in obtaining and connecting many hundreds of names of this family, although I was slow and awkward at the work.
How came the marble cutter to make a duplicate of his record? The only answer that I can give is this: So that a copy might be in readiness to give to me for use in the house of the Lord.
Some years later I had another experience of a similar character but even more striking. I had been employed to complete the genealogy of a Chamberlain family, of New Jersey. In the court house in the town of Freehold in that state is an extensive collection of land, probate and other records dating prior to the Revolution, and rich in genealogical data. I went to Freehold to search these records for Chamberlain material, and expected to reap a harvest, as previous searches had made me familiar with the collection of records there.
A walk of a few minutes took me from the depot to the court house, and I spoke to no person on the way, nor did I see any person who, so far as I knew, had ever seen me before. Ascending the steps of the court house, an old fashioned structure, I entered a wide corridor or hall, I turned into the first room on my left, which was a rather small office, across which extended a counter, through which was a gate or passage way. Behind the counter was a clerk, a young man, to whom I handed my card, with the remark that I desired to search the oldest land records. He told me to pass through the gate in the counter and go into the room next to his office through a door which he indicated. In this door way I paused a few seconds to survey the room I was about to enter. It was about 25 by 40 feet in size, had a high ceiling, and its four walls were lined with iron shelves on which lay the massive volumes of land records.
I stood thus not more than two or three seconds when a gentleman, who had been writing at a standing desk near the center of the room, looked at me and then stepped quickly towards me. At the same time I moved towards him. When he was near enough to me to speak to me he asked me, in a pleasant but abrupt manner: "What family are you tracing?" His question surprised me, and I wondered how he knew I was tracing any family. Most persons searching the records in that room did so for data affecting land titles, and at that moment several lawyers and lawyers' clerks were so engaged. I promptly answered his question by saying simply: "The Chamberlain family." "Well, here is a branch of it," and with these words he handed me half a sheet of legal cap paper on which was written, in ink that was still quite wet, a pedigree giving several generations of a branch of the Chamberlain family, and showing a migration of part of this branch from New Jersey to Pennsylvania, thus establishing an important connection.
As I received the sheet of paper from his hand, the gentleman quickly turned and walked away from me without saying another word, or giving me time to do so, and left the building. I was greatly astonished at the incident. I do not believe I had been in the building more than one minute by the watch when the sheet of paper was placed in my hand. I had not spoken to a soul in the building except the clerk in the front office, and he could not have spoken to any one without my hearing him; and so far as I had reason to believe, not a soul in the building ever saw me, or heard of me, or knew my business. Some years had elapsed since I had been in the town.
The gentleman who gave me the pedigree was about 40 years old, of medium height, light complexion, had a full, round, smoothly-shaven face, and wore a pleasant expression of countenance. After he had left the room I asked a gentleman who he was. The gentleman believed he was a lawyer, but did not give me his name. I never saw him nor heard of him again. While I was on the train en route to the town he was working on that pedigree, and he completed it at the same moment at which I entered the land record room. But why he spoke to me as he did, and why he gave me the pedigree, are questions that cannot, in my opinion be answered without reference to agencies or influences that operate from behind the veil.
I knew that in colonial days a law required marriage licenses to be issued and a record kept of all marriages in the jurisdiction of which Freehold was the seat, and that the books containing these records ought to be in the court house. But diligent inquiry of clerks and officials failed to bring these books to light. I had spent several days searching land and probate records, and was very anxious to examine these marriage records, because I knew they would yield a large amount of valuable data concerning the family I was tracing; but in deep disappointment I gave up all hope of finding them. Preparatory to leaving the court house for good, I went into a small room in the center of the lower floor of the building, which had no outside window and was very dimly lighted, for the purpose of washing my hands, as there was a wash bowl and towel there.
While thus engaged I cast my eyes around the room. On a shelf near the floor I saw three ancient looking volumes, and in the dim light read on the back of one of them the title: "Marriage Record." With the eagerness of a hawk pouncing on a chicken I pounced on those three books. On removing the thick and ancient dust that covered them, I discovered that they all bore the same title. I took them into a better lighted room and examined them, and to by great joy found that they contained records of marriages covering a long period of time. They were the books for which I had been making earnest inquiry among the clerks and officials of the court house, none of whom had ever seen or heard of them. I, a stranger had discovered them in an out-of-the-way place where they had been stored years and years before.
I found in them the rich material I wanted, between 200 and 300 Chamberlain marriages. But I should have left Freehold without this precious data had not my glance, in the little dimly-lighted room, been directed just as it was.
Genealogical work was never profitable to me financially, but I always took great delight in it, and often had experiences which convinced me that a marvelous providence attended me while so engaged.