FOOTNOTES:[1]The individual above referred to was the Rev. John W. James, assistant minister of Christ Church, Philadelphia. Mr. J. was travelling with his family on a summer excursion in 1836, when he was suddenly arrested with disease, and called from the scenes of his labors to "the rest which remaineth for the people of God." He was a faithful minister of Jesus Christ, and his memory is still most sacredly cherished by many, who feel that he was to them the messenger of salvation.
[1]The individual above referred to was the Rev. John W. James, assistant minister of Christ Church, Philadelphia. Mr. J. was travelling with his family on a summer excursion in 1836, when he was suddenly arrested with disease, and called from the scenes of his labors to "the rest which remaineth for the people of God." He was a faithful minister of Jesus Christ, and his memory is still most sacredly cherished by many, who feel that he was to them the messenger of salvation.
[1]The individual above referred to was the Rev. John W. James, assistant minister of Christ Church, Philadelphia. Mr. J. was travelling with his family on a summer excursion in 1836, when he was suddenly arrested with disease, and called from the scenes of his labors to "the rest which remaineth for the people of God." He was a faithful minister of Jesus Christ, and his memory is still most sacredly cherished by many, who feel that he was to them the messenger of salvation.
Source of the Juniata—Ascent of the Alleghanies—The summit—The Great Mississippi Valley—Skepticism—Rank growth of religious error—Dunkards—Valley of the Conemaugh—Moonlight—Singular conversation—Infidel sneers.
Source of the Juniata—Ascent of the Alleghanies—The summit—The Great Mississippi Valley—Skepticism—Rank growth of religious error—Dunkards—Valley of the Conemaugh—Moonlight—Singular conversation—Infidel sneers.
Saturday morning, June 17, 1837.
Wereached Hollidaysburg, a little village on the Juniata, where the Alleghany Portage Rail Road commences, yesterday morning, June 16th, about eight o'clock. Our way from this point was up the mountain by successive inclined planes. I never saw more strikingly illustrated the triumph of art over the obstacles of nature.
In our progress up the mountain, we at length left the Juniata, at a point so near its source that we saw the two little rills which, by their confluence, constituted the commencement of that river, pouring down the precipitous side of the same hill, and which, separately, were so small that one might step over them with perfect ease. We traced these mountain brooks with our eye as they swept along over the washed and worn pebbles—saw them unite, and then followed them in imagination till they swelled along the banks of the Juniata, mingled theirwaters with the Susquehanna, poured into the Chesapeake, and finally were lost in the ocean.
In our ascending way up the mountain, we found the scenery altogether of a new, wild, and more rugged cast. Our ascent amid these vast summits,—the wonderful velocity with which we were borne—the ease with which we seemed to move through the gaps of the mountains, and over the tops of these everlasting hills—surrounded at every step by the most picturesque and gigantic elevations, appeared like the effect of enchantment. Then too as we moved upward a change was perceptible in the atmosphere—we felt its invigorating and exhilarating influence—and perhaps the new buoyancy, which our spirits acquired, helped to impart increased effect to the majestic scene that stretched around us, and had laid hold of our every sense and feeling with the power of a giant.
Our course was still upward—upward! and all our train of cars still flew upward till we reached the very tops of the mountain wilds and fastnesses that stood in such majestic grandeur around us. It was announced at length that we had attained the summit height of the mountain. Just here the rivulets changed their course. The streams had all flowed eastward to empty themselves into the Atlantic, but now they turned westward and leaped forward, as though eager to find repose in the deep waters of the Mississippi. The Conemaugh, a tributary stream to the Kiskiminetas takes its rise here, and appears as a very little rill at its commencement.
It was with peculiar emotions that I stood on the summit of the Alleghanies, and strained my eye to look off towards the vast valley of the Mississippi, whosewestern boundary is terminated by the Rocky mountains, a distance not less than 2500 miles. I then thought what immense undeveloped resources does this vast valley contain! What an object of sublime contemplation is this broad and beauteous region in its surpassing fertility—its measureless capabilities—its vast rivers—its deep untrodden forests—its boundless prairies—and in its ten thousand rising villages and cities! What vast, complicated and mighty sympathies are gathering around this valley! What scenes are to be acted here, deciding this nation's civil and religious destiny! What teeming millions are to be sustained by the products of this soil—are to live and die, and be prepared for heaven or for hell on the broad bosom of this valley! There is nothing but the gospel that can exert a saving influence upon the mass of mind congregating here, and make this far outspreading and fertile region the abode of moral beauty and the home of civil freedom. The gospel planting her foot here, and stretching her arms over the whole extent of this western valley, must wake up holy affections, and songs of praise to the sin-conquering Lamb, all along the banks of these thousand streams, or the blight of desolation will fall here—and the fairest portion of God's earth will be withered by the scorching fire of human passion—and bathed, as has been the old world, in seas of human blood! There is but one influence that can save this mighty empire from the sway either of lawless anarchy or of iron-handed despotism, or rescue the populous millions that will spread over it, from the deep "damnation of hell," and that is the influence of the gospel. What new arguments do we find in this thought to lead us to be unwearied in ourefforts to send Bibles, and tracts, and missionaries, and to establish Sunday-schoolsin the west!
I have already seen enough of western character to discover that while mind starts up here vigorous and majestic as the sturdy trees of the forest, it is exceedingly prone to spurn the restraints, and question the authority of divine Revelation. No where probably is there more avowed or evident independence of mind—or with a certain class, greater susceptibility of being gulled, by a swaggering, boastful departure from the ancient landmarks of faith. The great adversary is always ready to persuade men that there is much more manliness and independence in believing something new, however false, than in adhering to what is ancient, however true, in the faith of our forefathers.
We had scarcely crossed the mountains and reached the level of the great valley, before we encountered a group of men of very singular, and grotesque appearance. Their beards were long and filthy, hanging down upon their breast. I was greatly surprised to learn that this savage appearance was for conscience' sake. I was told that these were individuals belonging to a religious sect called Dunkards. My informant gave me the following particulars in relation to this people. They sometimes live in distinct communities, and have all things in common. This, however, is not always and perhaps not generally the case. They do not usually build houses for public worship, nor believe in sustaining a ministry as a distinct order of men. Certain persons in their churches, they think, are from time to time called to preach, and these are denominated ministers. These individuals, however,still pursue their own secular avocations as before. They not only hold to baptism and the Lord's supper, but to washing each other's feet, and, I believe, the observance of an annual love feast. They also keep up the ancient custom of saluting each other with the kiss of charity, and this among all their members, whatever the color or sex may be. Their converts are all baptized by immersion, and hence, they are sometimes calledDunkard Baptists. They hold to atrinebaptism—dipping the candidate three times, with the face downward into the water. Their sacramental seasons are periods of general feasting—when they keep open houses, and free tables. In doctrine they hold to the Arian heresy, though some of them are decided Unitarians. They also believe, most of them, in universal salvation, holding that the wicked will be punished after death for a certain period, and then be restored to happiness. One of the peculiarities to which I have already referred, is that they feel conscientiously bound to abstain from cutting the beard, or removing the hair that grows upon their faces. I am told that this sect is quite numerous in the west.
Last evening we were slowly moving down the valley of the Conemaugh, on board the Canal Packet Detroit. The scenery on either side of the stream whose course we were following was bold and beautiful. The trees were covered with dark thick foliage—at one time spreading out before us the view of a lengthening forest, and then again opening to disclose to us a rich verdant lawn—a beautiful corn field or a smiling farm house—with all its usual appendages for convenience and comfort. After the lingering rays of twilight had faded away, and night had drawn her sablecovering over the woodland scenes that stretched so gracefully around us, the moon rose in silvery brightness, and poured down her rich mellow light on all the shadowy landscape. Now and then a floating cloud crossed her path, and gave a deeper momentary shade to the sombre shadows that here and there were flung over the face of nature. It was a summer evening to make one court the open air; most of our passengers were on deck. Some were sitting apart by themselves, in silent meditation: some were gazing upward into the peaceful heavens—and others, off upon the quiet scenes of nature. Others stood around in little groups and knots, holding various conversations. I was walking slowly from one end of the deck to the other, a silent observer of what was passing around me.
At length a remark that I heard arrested my attention, and led me to stop and listen. The group was composed of some six or eight individuals, who were most of them evidently well educated and intelligent men, though, as it will appear in the sequel, exceedingly ignorant upon all topics connected with the gospel. One of the number was a physician of some standing; another a lawyer, a member of the Senate in our state Legislature, who although young has already attracted considerable attention by the depth of his acquirements, and the brilliancy of his talents.
The remark which fell upon my ear, and drew my attention to the discussion that was going on in this little group—was—"that any man would find it hard work to be an infidel." I was glad to hear such testimony from such a quarter. As it was regarded no intrusion to sit orstand any where, where one chose on the deck, I found an unoccupied seat near this little knot of gentlemen, which I immediately took with a view of listening to their conversation now that it had turned upon the subject of Christianity. The question had been raised as to what constituted a Christian, when one of the company thus delivered himself:
"He may be called a Christian who acknowledges the divine authority of the doctrines and precepts of the Saviour."
This remark the more interested me, as it came from one who had spent much of his time since we entered the packet in card-playing. As the conversation progressed, I became more and more interested—but determined to continue a silent listener. The general style of remark, was of a character that evinced beyond all question a consummate ignorance on the part of the speakers, not only of the real design of the gospel, but of the leading truths which the Bible unfolds. I could not but think how melancholy it was that so many of the distinguished men of our country—who were well educated in other matters—should be so profoundly ignorant, in the science of all others most important. I could not but fear that the individuals congregated in that little group but too truly represented several classes in our country, which taken collectively constituted the majority of our population. I was so struck and so pained at what I heard that I felt constrained to note down the substance of the conversation at once.
As the conversation progressed, one of the gentlemen observed—
"No man can come up to the requisitions of the gospel:neither is this expected. It of course became a perfect Being, like the author of Christianity, to lay down a perfect system. We are to aim to reach this system in all its demands. Some will succeed in one particular, and others in another. No one will come up to the required standard in all things. Still every one should do what he can to come up to the model set before us. This is my idea of being a Christian."
The same individual afterwards observed, "Christ had great shrewdness. He never answered questions directly, but evasively. Take, for instance, the case when he was asked 'Is it lawful to give tribute unto Cæsar,' he replied, 'render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and unto God the things that are God's!' this is the way he generally did. It was difficult to obtain a direct answer from him."
"He was like a Yankee," said another of the company, sneeringly.
"Or like a Quaker," rejoined a third, with a leering laugh. "I never yet could get a direct answer from a Quaker; they will always answer your question by asking another."
"That is because they wish neither to give offence, nor to get caught," replied one of the company.
I felt it was almost sinful to sit and listen to this profane manner of speaking of the blessed Saviour—of Him before whom the loftiest hierarchs in heaven cast their crowns in lowliest reverence. It was a page of human nature, however, that I thought it well for me to read; and therefore, I sat still:
"A really conscientious man," continued the man oflaw, "is just the worst witness that can be brought on to the stand. He has so many qualifications to make, and is so afraid that he shall not state every thing precisely as it is, he fritters his whole testimony away. A legal friend of mine told me the other day that he had just lost a cause by having a student of divinity as a witness. When he conversed with him in private, he thought his testimony would be entirely conclusive, but when sworn he made so many qualifications to all he stated, such as—'if he recollected correctly'—'if he heard correctly'—'if he did not receive a false impression,'—and ten thousand other hypotheses, which so weakened his testimony as to render it good for nothing."
Again the conversation went back to the question as to what constitutes the substance of Christianity. One of the gentlemen remarked.
"In my view the whole of it is summed up in this precept—'Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you.' Whoever acts on this principle is a Christian; and I don't care what he believes about the Trinity, or atonement, or any of the other mysteries of faith. Let him be a Unitarian, or Trinitarian, or believe what he chooses about the Deity, if he acts on this principle he will do well enough, and need not trouble himself about matters of faith."
Another of the group responded—"This is undoubtedly true—it is in accordance with common sense; but some hold strange views. A lady of my acquaintance, the other day, was expressing great anxiety about the salvation of a certain acquaintance of hers. This acquaintance, though somewhat of a fashionable woman, and not particularlyreligious, is nevertheless a most lovely and estimable character. I replied to the lady expressing this anxiety, 'If you think she is in danger, I am sure there is not much hope for me.' She looked very grave, and shook her head as though she thought my case wholly desperate. Now I think it is horrible for people to be cherishing such opinions about their neighbours—looking upon all the community around them as going infallibly to an eternal hell, unless they have a certain species of faith, which is supposed to ensure to those who have it the favour of God, and everlasting life. I believe this is all a mystic dream, and whoever acts on the principle 'of doing to others, as we would they should do to us,' may with perfect safety give to the winds all apprehensions about salvation, and all controversies about doctrines, and particular forms of faith."
The individual who uttered these sentiments was the very person who had remarked that "it was hard work for any one to be an infidel."
To me it seemed astonishing, that intelligent men, who knew any thing of the scriptures, could hold the views that had been broadly expressed, and yet suppose that they were not infidels. I was more than ever convinced that men might be learned in science, in law, in medicine, in politics, and yet be profoundly ignorant of the great design and prominent features of the gospel.
First view of Pittsburg—Its general aspect—Sabbath and its employments—An affecting incident—Orphan children—A Christian father in the midst of his children on the Sabbath.
First view of Pittsburg—Its general aspect—Sabbath and its employments—An affecting incident—Orphan children—A Christian father in the midst of his children on the Sabbath.
Saturday Evening, June 17.
About nine o'clock this morning, we passed the Alleghany river just above the point where the Kiskiminetas falls into it; our course thence was along the banks. The scenery on either side of this river, like that of all the other rivers we have traced, is very interesting. Its waters seem clear and transparent, and the banks are beautifully over-hung with trees of a rich dark foliage.
It was about three o'clock, P. M., when we caught the first view of Pittsburg. The day was unusually bright and sunny, and the atmosphere uncommonly clear, and our Pittsburgian friends congratulated us upon having so favorable a time in which to take the first view of their city.
I was aware that the hills that encompassed this city were filled with bituminous coal, and that one great source of its wealth and prosperity were the factories moved by steam power which could be employed with great effectand cheapness, in consequence of the abundance of this coal. I was also aware that this article constituted the principal fuel which warmed their houses. I therefore expected to see asmoky city, but I was not prepared to see what actually, at first sight, burst upon my view—a vast cloud of smoke rolling up in ten thousand dark columns, and forming a dense, murky canopy, that hung in expanded blackness over the whole town. The city seemed in its sooty and blackened houses, and in its columns of everlasting smoke, like one vast and extended group of furnaces or glass-factories. As I continued to gaze upon it, I was reminded of the smoke that went up from the plain of Sodom the morning after the destruction of that city, "when Abraham gat up early and looked over the whole plain." Our nearer approach to the city did not relieve me from my first impression. Every object and scene, every house and building within the purlieus of the town seemed stained, soiled, and tarnished with the sooty vapour that was ceaselessly ascending from its ten thousand chimneys. Like the frogs of Egypt this dreadful smoke came up into their houses, and there was no escape from it. The walls of the most elegant drawing-rooms bore evidence that the discolouring element had found its way there. The atmosphere every where seemed impregnated with it. I raised the window in my chamber, and the room was almost instantly filled with smoke. Almost as soon as I reached the church on Sunday evening, the doors and windows being open for the admission of air, I perceived the church was filled with a cloud of smoke. Surely Pittsburg is asmoky city. I ask the pardon of its inhabitants for this doleful description. The town certainlybears marks of great thrift and prosperity, and its inhabitants do not lack in sterling excellencies of character. I should be very ungrateful if I did not here record the acknowledgement of the many acts of kindness and hospitality that were extended to me during my temporary stay.
In the manner in which the people regarded the unpleasant appendage connected with Pittsburg to which I have just adverted, I saw another evidence of the benevolence and wisdom of the Creator in constituting us with capabilities of adapting ourselves to whatever is around us. The smoky atmosphere, so far from being an annoyance to the citizens of Pittsburg, is constantly spoken of by them as its beauty and glory, and seems associated in their minds with all the delights and interest ofhome.
I have visited the environs of the city, and clambered to the summit of some of the hills out of which the coal is dug. The views from these elevations up the Alleghany and the Monongahela are beautiful. The scenery in every direction around Pittsburg, viewed from these eminences, would be magnificent, were it not for that unchanging cloud of smoke that covers the city as a canopy of darkness.
From many a point on the lofty range of hills that encircle the city, you have a view at the same glance of the Alleghany and the Monongahela, wending their way from different points through their own distinct beautiful valleys, and hastening on like two ardent lovers to meet and mingle into one; and still farther on you see these two blended rivers moving off in one united stream—the beautiful ohio, which winds its serpentine way throughitsown rich valley, to meet the waters of the mighty Mississippi—a thousand miles from this spot.
Pittsburg, Sabbath Morning, June 18th, 1837.
The church-going bell calling worshippers to the house of prayer, emits sounds that fall sweetly on the Christian's ear. How delightful is the thought, that go where we may in this happy land, we find some who love the Saviour and are glad when it is said—"Let us go up to the house of the Lord."
As I sat in my room an hour since, I was attracted to the window, which looks out upon the back-yard, by the merry voices of children. I found the voices came from an adjoining yard; and as I looked thither I was struck with the wonderful resemblance which two fine looking boys bore to a deceased clerical friend. I was not deceived! Upon inquiry, I found that these were the orphan children of my friend, whose image was so accurately traced in their countenances. Their father had been suddenly cut down in the freshness and vigor of manhood. Their mother, always delicate, survived him only a few weeks,—and they were left alone. They were now thrown upon the care of their paternal grand-father, who was a Campbellite Baptist, and whose family, though very amiable, were not professedly pious. Thus were the children of this deceased clergyman, at almost the very dawn of their being, removed from those religious sympathies and influences that their father would most ardently have desired, should have encircled them. We know not what may be in reserve for us, or our children. We may be quickly in our graves, and our children may be left to be trained by those who have no attachment to the church of our affections—and little regard for that holy religion which brings us into blessed union with the Framer of the skies, andthe Father of our spirits. Can not we, who are bereaved parents, find in this thought an argument to reconcile us to that mysterious dispensation of Divine Providence, which has smitten down our tender blossoms, and covered up in the grave those dear ones that seemed the light of our eyes and the joy of our hearts! Surely, it is the Lord who hath done this! He hath made safe and ample provision for our little ones in his kingdom above! When we go the way of all the earth, we shall have no anxieties about them—about their education—their morals, their spiritual welfare, or their future success in life. Yes, thou art just and righteous in all thy ways, O thou King of saints! And blessed be thy name, that thou art on the throne, and orderest all things after the counsel of thy own will! Taking hold of the everlasting covenant, we can leave ourselves, our families, our all, in thy hands, for eternity!
Sunday Evening.
After returning from divine service this afternoon, I went to my room to spend a few hours in preparation for the evening exercises. The window of my chamber being open, and those of the back parlour directly under my room, I discovered that my kind host had his children, six little daughters, assembled there for religious instruction. He was a Sunday-school teacher, and his children were in the Sunday-school; and yet he did not feel himself on this account released from the parental obligation of instructing his own offspring in the way of holiness. I could distinctly hear the sweet voices of that little assembled group, one after another, reading aloud to theirparent the word of God, and then his simple but striking comments upon the meaning of what was read. This was continued for awhile, and then they all united in singing one of the songs of Zion. Never did I listen to sounds sweeter than those that came from those uplifted voices, engaged in chanting the praises of God. Directly, however, those sweet strains were hushed. A solemn pause ensued. Then I heard the voice of that father going up to heaven supplicating a divine blessing upon his offspring. The prayer was a simple, earnest pleading with "the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ," for the sanctification and everlasting salvation of these children whom the Lord had given him. There was a tenderness, and pathos, and child-like simplicity connected with the prayer that deeply affected me. This manifestly was not an extraordinary—but usual Sunday exercise in which parent and children were engaged. A lovelier, or holier scene, I could not well conceive this side of heaven. What a delightful occupation to the parent! What a blessing to the children! When his head is laid low in the dust, the memory of that consecrated Sabbath hour, will come up with an influence to melt and subdue their hearts, and lead them to seek after their father's God. But, alas! how is this duty of family instruction neglected. How many Christian parents could be found in any Church who habitually set apart a portion of the sacred day, to be employed in singing and praying with their children, and instructing them in the knowledge of Christ and his salvation? What would be the effect, if all professing Christian parents were in the habit of spending an hour with their children this way each Sabbath!Would not the baptized youth of our congregation be a very different race of beings from what they now are? Should we so frequently hear of infidelity, and our breaking sins among the children of Christian professors? No. There is unquestionably a great neglect of duty here—a neglect on the part of parents which results in the everlasting ruin of their offspring.
Travelling companions—Steamboats on the Ohio—The Elk—The Ohio river—The Harmonists—Steubenville—Wheeling—Marietta—Portsmouth—Kentucky—The dead steamboat captain—Kentucky funeral.
Travelling companions—Steamboats on the Ohio—The Elk—The Ohio river—The Harmonists—Steubenville—Wheeling—Marietta—Portsmouth—Kentucky—The dead steamboat captain—Kentucky funeral.
On board the Elk,Monday Evening, June 19.
I have two exceedingly agreeable travelling companions. The one, Mr. B——, who started with a special view of accompanying me in this tour. He is a young gentleman of mature intellect, accomplished education, and ardent piety. The other friend we fell in with on our way to Pittsburg. Mr. F—— is a merchant, residing in Boston, a devoted member of the Congregational Church, a man of business, and of sterling Christian principle, possessing more of "the milk of human kindness" than ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. The presence of these delightful companions has taken away much of the solitariness one feels in having a space of so many miles thrown between him and his home.
Whoever has travelled on any of the western rivers knows something about the annoyances connected withwestern steamboats—the drinking—the swearing—the gambling. We were induced to take our passage in "The Elk," from the fact that it was the only boat that was going down the river this morning. We soon found that our boat was not of the first order; our captain, however, appears to be one of the most quiet, taciturn, and unmoveable men we ever met.
It was about ten o'clock, that we found our boat pushing off from the shore, and our backs turned upon the clouds of smoke that hung in dense masses over what has been called the Birmingham of America. As we stood on the deck, we seemed at the moment of starting enclosed by a forest of dark tunnels peering up from countless steamers lying along the shore. More than forty of these were clustered together in the same group where "The Elk" was stationed. It is said there cannot be less than seven hundred steamboats moving on these western and south-western rivers.
We were fully in the stream!—We began to feel that we were borne on the flowing bosom of the Ohio! The luxury of that moment was worth travelling four hundred miles to enjoy! What thronging emotions then came rushing upon our minds! We remembered whither this stream was bearing us—away from our friends—perhaps never to return! We thought of the vast territory it watered—its majestic length—the scenes of Indian warfare that had been acted upon its shores and on its surface, long before the axe of the white man had felled a single tree in those vast and unbroken forests that stood upon its banks, and were reflected from its mirrored surface! It was even thenthe beautiful river, as the name Ohio denotes.It is said that "the line of beauty" is not a straight but waving line. If so, this river is richly entitled to its name. From first to last, it moves in "the line of beauty." So winding is its course that we usually do not see, as we are passing along upon it, more than a half or quarter of a mile in advance of us, and often not so far. Thus we see it in distinct sections, each section resembling a beautiful little lake, surrounded by its own sweet and peculiar scenery—shut in by its verdant and variegated banks and wood-covered hills, and ornamented by one or two, and often several little green islets, around which the parted waters wind romantically.
We passed the settlement of theHarmonists, orEconomists, as they are frequently called. This people are the followers of Rapp, and reside at a town calledEconomy, about fifteen miles below Pittsburg. They also form a singular instance of the power of delusion. The people belonging to this community are principally German emigrants, extremely ignorant, and, therefore, more easily controlled by a shrewd and cunning leader. Rapp professes to be a prophet sent from God, and gifted with the high privilege of holding such constant communication with heaven, as to receive from thence directions how to regulate and govern all their affairs.—He therefore enjoins upon every individual belonging to the community, entire, passive submission, and implicit obedience to his orders.
This self-constituted ruler claims to be their sole religious instructor. The people usually assemble on the Sabbath, when he speaks to them, what it concerns them to know in relation to the Supreme Being and his Prophet—andthen gives them directions about their labour for the ensuing week, reminding them of the great importance ofharmonyandeconomy, assuring them, that both of these will be effectually secured if they undeviatingly follow his directions.
Though they have no outward ordinances, they make great account of an annual festival—theHarvest Home. At the observance of this festival, after immense preparation in the way of providing all manner of good things to eat and drink, not less than six hours are spent at the table—which are occupied alternately in eating, singing, and praying. The above particulars I received from several different, but well informed individuals, residing at Pittsburg.
In the course of the day we passed Steubenville, pleasantly situated on the river. I had barely time during the landing of passengers to ascend the hill, and look into one of its principal streets. Its houses, like those of Pittsburg, bore the dingy stain so common to all this bituminous coal region. I wished to have met the Rev. Mr. M——, of this place, with whom I had no personal acquaintance, but in whom I felt a particular interest on account of the silent and powerful influence he exerted in the institution where he finished his literary studies, in commending godliness and rebuking sin, by a holy, spotless, and unblemished life. The savour of his name still remained at that institution several years subsequent, at the time when I was passing through my preparatory studies there. I found upon inquiry that the same simplicity of faith, and singleness of mind, and devoted holiness of life, characterized his labours on the banks of the Ohio, which impartedsuch a charm and moral power to his conduct as an academical student. There is nothing, after all, that can place such a mighty moral lever in a man's hands, as simple-hearted piety—decided holiness of heart and life.
We reached Wheeling just at sunset, and made our arrangements to remain there through the night, with a view of taking the stage next morning to pass into the interior of Ohio, making Gambier one of the points at which we should stop. There having fallen heavy rains, however, the state of the roads was such that the project was abandoned, and we determined to keep on in the Elk. We felt some pleasure in being permitted to spend an hour or two within the limits of the "old dominion," for it was the first time that either of us had trod upon Virginia soil.
Tuesday, June 20th, Cabin of the Elk,Passing down the Ohio.
I know of nothing more delightful than to sit at one's ease, and be wafted down such a beautiful stream as this, winding its graceful and circuitous way through groves and grass-covered fields, and beauteous woodland scenes. Occasionally we see the banks surmounted with lofty bluffs that lift their proud summits up towards the clouds—and then succeeded by bottom land studded with trees that bend over to dip their pendent boughs in the glassy surface that sweetly reflects them. As one sits in a sheltered nook in the cabin, gliding down such a stream, with such a scenery around him, and feeling the cool refreshing breeze fanning his fevered brow, and imparting vigour and new elasticity to his enervated frame, he must be very stupid, or very depraved, if his heart is not drawn upwardsand made to throb with gratitude to the glorious Framer of this garnished and goodly scene!
One acquires as he proceeds westward, largeness and expansion to his ideas: his mind is carried out of its former habits of thought, and swells away into the vast dimensions of the majestic rivers, and boundless tracts of country, over which his eye expatiates. Only think of sailing beyond the Mississippi, in a steamboat, still westward more than two thousand miles, and find your course at every step skirted with the most rich and fertile lands which stretch away interminably before you!
We passed this day some interesting towns.Mariettaappears beautiful from the river, is neatly built, and bears the marks of thrift and enterprise.Point PleasantandGuyandotin Virginia,GallipolisandBurlingtonin Ohio, are interesting points.
Wednesday, June 21.
We found ourselves this morning lying at the shore of Portsmouth, with the borders of Kentucky on our left. Being detained several hours we took a view of the town, found a neat little Episcopal Church, and had an interview with its humble, worthy, and devoted minister, the Rev. Mr. S——. In all this western world we find that ministers have many trials and discouragements. The people are more intent upon every thing else than that of saving their souls. We here met, to our great delight and surprise, the Rev. W. J——, and his lady, on their way to Louisville, his future field of labour.
The river continued to present us with the same beautiful views, varied now and then by loftier ridges of head-landon the Kentucky side. It was about two o'clock, P. M., when we saw on the Kentucky shore in a solitary place, a house surrounded by a large collection of people. Our boat seemed to sympathize in the scene before us, for it was immediately arrested in its course, and the captain put on shore. I have before spoken of the captain of our steamer, as remarkably quiet, taciturn, and even tempered. We did not know that the placidity of his natural temperament could be moved, or his tongue unloosed by any earthly power, till the second night after our embarkation, when we were awakened from our sleep by the tones of boisterous anger, and volleys of oaths that almost froze our blood. It was our captain chiding his men. We were now to see him under new circumstances. As I have said, we dropped him on the Kentucky shore about two o'clock, while the boat went on to a small village a few miles below. We were told by some of the hands on board that the captain had stopped on account of the severe illness of his brother-in-law, who was the owner of the Elk, and its former commander. The order was to wait until he joined us. The Rev. Mr. J. and myself improved the time of this delay by clambering up to the summit of one of the loftiest hills in the neighbourhood, where we had a fine view of the river and the surrounding scenery. When the signal for our boat's departure was sounded, we perceived, as we were going on board, a coffin covered with black velvet. We now learned for the first time that our boat was to go back to the point where we dropped our captain, and remain there until the funeral rites of his brother-in-law, now deceased, were performed. It was in vain to remonstrate, so we submittedto the delay with as much cheerfulness as possible.—To improve my time I determined to go on shore and witness a funeral among the yeomanry of Kentucky. The steamboat had been drawn up to the bank under the verdant canopy of a cluster of umbrageous trees. After ascending the bank, which might have been some fifty feet from the water to its summit, we found ourselves in the midst of a beautiful grove, where the underwood had been cut away, and the earth was carpeted with green sward. Most of our passengers having landed, the coffin was brought out from the boat and conveyed towards a cottage that stood some two hundred yards distant. We all then moved on towards the house. The first thing that attracted our attention in approaching this rural dwelling, was the number of horses fastened to the fences, and equipped most of them with ladies' riding saddles.—Around and within the house we found a large company assembled. I was sorry to see so many rotund and rubicund faces among the men, bearing unerring indications of intemperance. The fair daughters of Kentucky were certainly on this occasion more happily represented than the stronger sex. They were, however, very peculiarly dressed. They generally wore a sun-bonnet, which had a long frill or flounce that hung like a shawl over their shoulders, and carried in their hands little riding whips, which left us at no loss to understand who were the riders of the caparisoned steeds that we had seen in such numbers around this house of mourning.
I pressed along through the crowd, and followed the coffin to the house with the hope of witnessing the religious exercises that I supposed would be performed onthis occasion. The house consisted principally of one long large room, in a corner of which the corpse was placed. Here also the mourners sat, and the company that were collecting to attend the funeral. The coffin was brought into this room, and placed in front of the corpse, which was clad in the vestments it was to wear in its narrow house. It was immediately in the presence of the mourners, and of this promiscuous company, raised from its position and transferred to the coffin. This being done, the undertaker proceeded to fasten on the lid with the exception of the head-piece, which was separate from the other. The wife, and mother, and family friends, then moved forward, and proceeded to take leave of the unbreathing dead. I never was more struck with the power of human sympathy. At that moment many hardy, sun-burnt, iron-looking faces put on all the expression of deep and overwhelming emotion. Tears ran down cheeks that one would have thought had never been wet with such tender drops before. Even our imperturbable captain, whom we thought proof against all feeling, and almost a perfect impersonation of apathy, wept and sobbed aloud.
The coffin was then borne out into a rude open piazza or stoop in front of the house, and there left for some time till the curiosity of every gazer seemed fully glutted. Then again the near relatives came forward and kissed the dead. The widowed wife seemed almost frantic in bestowing the parting tokens of her affection upon the unbreathing body of her deceased companion. I felt obliged to turn away, for I could not endure the sight of her wild frantic manner as she clasped and kissed again and againthe cold clay of her husband! This finally had a close. Then after a short pause, a female bearing in her hands a pair of shears, pressed her way through the crowd, and proceeding to the head of the coffin, took off several large locks of hair that rested on the cold forehead of the dead man. The coffin was then immediately closed, and preparation made to move towards the grave. I accosted an elderly lady that stood near me and said—
"Are we to have no religious services on this occasion?"
"No."
"Is there no minister present to officiate?"
"No," was the only reply I received.
I then turned to another and said, "Are there no ministers who reside in this part of the country?"
"None very near here," was the response.
I mentioned this conversation to my friend B—— who stood near, and observed to him that I regretted that such an opportunity should be lost, when the feelings of all were so subdued, to direct the minds of these people to the solemn realities of eternity; that even a single prayer offered up at this moment might be the means of saving a soul. He went and spoke to our captain, mentioned that there was a clergyman present, and suggested to him the expediency of inviting him to engage in some religious exercises. The captain with his usual apathy, into which he had again relapsed, replied, "I don't know whether it is worth while."
The funeral began to move off in the following order or rather disorder. First, the four bearers took the lead, carrying the coffin on two rudely hewn sticks, preparedfor the occasion. Then followed four or five of the near relatives all abreast. Then came the bereaved widow, riding on horseback, and after her all the assembled crowd, male and female, hurrying on twelve or fifteen abreast of each other. The funeral train proceeded near where we landed, and, after having gone a short distance into the grove, it descended into a narrow ravine, through which run a little brook, gurgling over its pebbly bottom. When the bearers reached this brook they had no other way to proceed but to ford it; the others got over as well as they could, on logs and stones. Having ascended the opposite bank, we soon reached a well trodden path, which we followed for some short distance, and then turned abruptly into a cornfield. When we had reached the central part of the field, which was an eminence of some height, we found an open grave. The excavation was at least four times larger than the coffin required, with a place sunk in the bottom just large enough to receive it.
While we were ascending the hill near the grave, the captain having had some consultation with the friends of the deceased, and again feeling some kindlings of sensibility, sought me out from among the crowd, and very affectionately throwing his arm over my shoulders thus accosted me—
"I am very sorry to detain you on your journey, but the hands were all so much attached to Mr. R., I could not well send them on till the funeral was over." I replied, "It is perfectly right to detain us under these circumstances. This is a very solemn event, and one that should be regarded as a loud call both to you and your hands.We must all soon come to this! How important then to lay it to heart!"
To all this he readily assented and replied, "Several of the friends have expressed a wish that you should give us a short exhortation at the grave."
I felt no disposition to decline complying with this request. Accordingly when the coffin had been placed over the excavated grave, with the broad blue canopy over our heads, amid the stillness of the surrounding country scene, and the hill-side beneath me covered with a dense mass of human beings, I lifted up my voice for my Master, and spoke to them of sin, and death, and Christ, and salvation. As I looked over the silent listening throng, I remembered that I had never met one of them before, and probably should never meet one of them again, till we stood together at the judgment bar. I endeavoured to exhibit to them the scenes of that great and dreadful day, and the terms on which they would be accepted or rejected. I endeavoured to direct the mourners that wept around that grave to the balm that is in Gilead and the physician who is there. The countenances of all were solemn, and there were not wanting evidences of deep and tender emotion. The remarks were closed with prayer to the eternal Framer of earth and sky. Whether on that hill-side, with the Ohio rolling at our feet, and the blue heavens stretching over our heads, any good was done when we laid the dead steamboat captain in his grave, the developements of the great day must show! In my heart I thanked the Lord for this opportunity of going out into the highways and hedges to try to compel them to come in.
As soon as the grave was closed up, the bell from our boat reminded us that we must be on our way. During the rest of the voyage our captain seemed very serious and thoughtful. At tea he requested that a blessing should be invoked on our meal. My friend B. sought a private opportunity to press the subject of personal religion upon his attention. He received what was offered with great candour, and seemed willing to prolong the conversation. His conduct after this to us was marked with every indication of respectfulness and attachment. The next morning we found ourselves at Cincinnati, the city which has been called "the Queen of the West."