|
Volume X. July, 1894. No. 3.
SOME
PIONEER PREACHERS OF IOWA.
I have had it in mind to write my recollections of
those ministers who came on the advance wave of civilization
into the wilderness of Iowa Territory where I, as a child,
listened to their preaching.
In those days the groves and log cabins were "God's first
temples," and the congregations were small, often consisting
of two or three families, which, living within easy reach of
the cabin of one of them, gathered together there with their
little ones to "listen to the word." The minister on these
occasions, performed the duties of choir leader and choir, and
having preached the morning sermon, all sat down to the rude
table, upon which was placed by the kind-hearted hostess. a
bounteous meal, which of all the meals of the week it was the
best that the circumstances of the family could afford.
All this time the horses standing tied to the wagons were
munching the green prairie grass which had been cut from a
slough while on the way to this happy gathering.
The afternoon services over, there came the hand
shakings, the invitations to "come and see us," the preacher
made his appointment to preach next Sunday at some other cabin
where all knew there was welcome and plenty to eat. The
"goodbyes" were said and each family hitching up its team
tumbled the children in among the fresh prairie grass supplied
by the host for the evening feed. All took their way straight
across the prairie to their humble but happy pioneer homes. So
many a Sunday was passed by the pioneer fathers and mothers
with their children in the happiest of social intercourse. The
women exhibited their new dresses made of twenty-five cent
calico, not after the "modes de Paris," but each dress
fashioned after the maker's taste, who also was the wearer;
they compared their children as to the industry and smartness
which they individually evinced, and wondered. the good
aspiring souls, what sphere of usefulness they each would fill
in after life. These holy aspirations of the pioneer mothers,
as looking into the bright and prosperous future with an
inspiration more than prophetic, not only pointed the way to
success for their children, but laid down the precepts of a
successful life and set a most industrious daily example to
them. Nor were these fond hopes, these most holy whispered
prayers, for a successful, manly life for their-offspring
without avail, for I believe that no other pioneer community
has ever surpassed them in giving to a state a more
intelligent, patriotic body of citizens, and thus has the
State of Iowa become a crown of glory to its pioneer mothers.
But I digress. Among
the ministers to come early into the Iowa wilderness,
preaching, was Francis Bowman. He was quite a young man, full
of energy and to him the infant capital of the Territory was
indebted for its first Methodist Church. Mr. Bowman made a
trip to the extreme eastern part of the United States, about
1840 or 41, as it seems to me, soliciting aid for the erection
of this church, which now stands a monument to his energy. At
that time I had an aunt, my mother's eldest sister, living in
New York City. She, with her husband, was a devout Methodist,
and after giving liberally of their means to the building fund
for the church, she, the kind hearted soul, remembering the
two little boys in my father's family, sent in Mr. Bowman's
care, to them each a bright silver twenty-five cent piece. The
minister soon after his arrival from his long journey came to
my father's house to deliver messages from loving friends and
relatives who, as it afterwards proved, had only a few years
before bidden us a last and long farewell. He delivered the
letters and messages, and then produced the silver quarters,
such money then very scarce, and quite a curiosity with us.
Taking us upon his knees the coins were given to us with the
loving words from the kind hearted donor to "be good boys and
use the money well." The minister talked to us about the
building of the church, the need of money, and soon so
impressed our childish fancies that we donated the gift to the
building, and thus became of the founders of the First
Methodist Episcopal Church of Iowa City.
Mr. Bowman married a niece of Mrs. Judge Hawkins, and
after filling the pulpit of the new church for some time after
its completion, he left Iowa City, and in after years became
the founder of the Mount Vernon Methodist University, in Linn
county. It is said that in 1843, during the excitement
attending the "Millerite prophecies" to the effect that the
world was about to come to an end through sudden destruction
by fire. Mr. Bowman did not denounce these prophecies as
false, but in his sermons bearing upon that subject contended
that "they might be true." "Thus it was that he inaugurated
and carried on for weeks the greatest revival meeting ever
held in Iowa City. Nearly every body in the county joined the
Methodist Church, including Tone Cole and Mrs. Dupont. John
Powell, Mathew Teneyck Towner Andrews, my father Captain
Irish, and S. H. McCrory were not moved by the preacher's
eloquence, and firmly withstood the attack of "Zion's
battalions." I heard a pious, well-intending Methodist say
that if Brother Bowman could get the above named incorrigibles
into the church "he then would have completely conquered the
devil's kingdom in Iowa City."
Among the first peripatetic Methodist preachers to come
among us was a Mr. Taylor. He was a native of Virginia, and
brought his family with him. He entered the lands afterwards
owned by Mr. James Hill, at the place on the Dubuque road
called the "Five Mile House," and lived there for a time. From
his habit of shedding tears during his sermons he was given
the soubriquet of "Weeping Jeremiah." He afterwards improved a
farm near Gower's Ferry, and I believe died in California.
But the leader of all the early circuit riders of the
early times was "Father" Thompson, as he was familiarly called
by all who knew him. He made his home in the beautiful grove
on the Rochester road about three miles east of Iowa City and
here he reared his very large family. Father Thompson was a
large hearted, kindly man, who by his genial manners became
endeared to all who knew him. He was an inveterate horse
trader, so it was his habit to start on his circuit with three
or four extra horses, and many a time he would return with two
or three head more than he took away; but success was not
always on his side of the bargain. The writer once heard him
relate that on one of these trips he met with a lot of
Hoosiers who succeeded so well in deceiving him in the swap
which took place, that he found himself minus four good
horses, and instead, the unlucky possessor of two very
vicious, but fine looking ones; one of these would kick and
bite so savagely as to be decidedly dangerous, the other would
balk so bad that "it would not pull an old hen off her nest,"
and if a harness was put upon it, that horse would not move
ahead a rod a day; would refuse to go until the harness was
taken off its back; under the saddle it was the same, so he
swapped them off for a rifle and four calico handkerchiefs.
Preceding the advent of these "regular preachers," we had a
class of irregulars, or "exhorters," as they were called.
They, like St. John, went about the wilderness of groves and
prairies, and would stop and preach to any family they might
find domiciled in a cabin on their way. These preachers were
men well along in years, had no fixed thoughts on religious
subjects, but got off a sing song address containing many
scriptural quotations. One of these wandering evangelists was
murdered by the Indians quite early in the settlement of
Johnson county. An account of this unprovoked murder will be
found in early volumes of the Iowa Annals.
Another of this class was a disciple of Miller, and
wandered about the country preaching the final destruction of
the world. This man's name was Click, and he was known as "Old
Click." The people considered him crazy, and many were afraid
of him, so his welcome was not as certain as that of the
others. I well remember seeing him enter the Territorial
Supreme Court room with his old black greasy bible under his
arm; bareheaded he was, his long tangled gray hair hanging
down over his shoulders, his clothing in tatters, but rudely
mended; his manner that of great importance as he slowly
marched up towards Judge Mason who was holding court. "Old
Click " passed the barrier between the spectators and the
lawyers, halted directly in front of the Judge, opening his
bible he began, "A Prophet of the Lord has come—" "Marshal,
take that man into custody and out of this court room,"
thundered the Judge, drowning the remainder of Click's
sentence. My father, who was acting marshal, went to the
"prophet of the Lord" and taking him by the arm led him out
without trouble, the prophet making no resistance; leaving him
outside, the marshal returned and reported to the Judge that
the man was of unsound mind and that he would be responsible
for his future actions, so the Judge paid no further attention
to the matter. My father always gave Click shelter and food
when he came to our cabin, so the prophet had a revelation to
the effect that he was, together with his family, one of the
elect and would have a small fragment of undestroyed earth
saved for his eternal abiding place.
I never knew what became of this poor old fellow, he may
have perished by the wayside as did his Indian compeer, the
"Prophet Cow-an-jutan," who was wandering about among the
white settlements at the same time.
Another of these self-styled evangelists was an old man
by the name of White. He always used the murder of the
preacher, before spoken of, to arouse the tearful sympathy of
his hearers. He often preached at my father's house and I have
many times heard him descant upon that murder, which he always
did in crying tones and copious tears. "Now my bretheree-ee-n
and sisters-s, I shall go to-to-morrow-o-ah across-across the
gree-een prahrees on foot-ah and alone-ah, to preach the
word-ah of the gospel-ah to the weeked and rebellious
people-ah of Bloomington-ah. But it may-ah be that you will-ah
never a-gin see-see-ah poor old White-ah for-ah the woolves-ah--ah
may pick-ah my poor old-ah bones on-ah on those beautiful-ah
prahrees--ah and and-ah you will-a never see me any more-ah in
this wicked-ah world-ah." This closing of his sermon he would
wind up with a regular boo-hoo and sit down; often he would be
joined in the lament by some of the females of his little
congregation.
It was this preacher of whom I have heard Peter Roberts
relate a funny incident attendant upon one of his sermons. It
was at the time when the basement walls of the Capitol were up
to the water table and the workmen had constructed sheds
inside the walls under which to work at stone cutting and
other occupations incident to the construction of the edifice
then going on. These sheds were often used to hold public
meetings under, and, indeed, I remember a fourth of July
celebration held there once. Well, Mr. White had announced
that he would hold "Divine Service " in the basement of the
new Capitol on a certain Sunday. Mr. Roberts with a companion,
seeing the notice, went up to hear him. They found him seated
under the shed looking over his text, they took seats,
and after awhile, no others coming, the preacher began the
services, which included the usual preliminary prayers, and
the lining out and singing of a hymn, the latter all by
himself.
He then read his text and began on a sermon which was
arranged in subjects all the way from "firstly up to six-teenthly."
The sermon was a long one, and the preacher had proceeded as
far as thirteenthly and the time about two o'clock, P. M.,
when in came Mr. Coe, to swell the congregation. The preacher
paused while the new comer hunted up a slab out of which, with
some rocks properly piled up, he constructed for himself a
seat; that being accomplished and Coe seated, the preacher
announced that "for the benefit of the brother who has just
come in I will repeat what I have said," which he proceeded to
do from firstly on to sixteenthly concluding with a lined out
hymn and benediction.
Mr. Roberts assured me that this account was no fiction
and constituted the longest drawn out divine service that he
had ever listened to.
I would like to give an account of the Rev. J. W. Brier,
one of our pioneers in the Iowa garden, who with, his wife
made the trip overland to California, starting in 1849. Their
party unfortunately took the southern trail from Salt Lake,
and passed through the furnace of the then unknown Death
Valley, losing all their outfit, many of their companions, and
nearly all of their animals. It was to the hopefulness,
courage and supreme physical power manifested in the slight
form of Mrs. Brier, that any of them were saved. She was the
only one, who in the last days of their sufferings, could
arouse them and lead them on from the Valley of Death to the
settlements of southern California. They now reside in the
town of Lodi, in that State, enjoying the sunset of life,
which with their experiences, is of itself a history of the
privations, triumphs and joys of the lives of our illustrious
pioneer fathers and mothers.
Washington, D. C., June 13th, 1894. CHAS. W. IRISH |
