Читать книгу Thirty Years in the Itinerancy - W. G. Miller - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The Young Itinerant.--In a Lumber Mill at Waupun.--The Surprise.--An Interval of Reflection.--A Graceful Surrender.--The Outfit minus the Horse and Saddlebags.--Receives Instruction.--The Final Struggle.--Arrives at Brothertown.--Reminiscences of the Red Man.--The Searching Scrutiny.--The Brothertown People.--The Mission.--Rev. Jesse Halstead.--Rev. H.W. Frink.

In March, A.D. 1845, a letter from Rev. Wm. H. Sampson, then Presiding Elder of Green Bay District, Rock River Conference, found me at Waupun. The intervening nine months, since our arrival in the preceding July, had been spent in making improvements upon the land I had selected, and in the erection of a lumber mill, of which I was in part proprietor.

The bearer of the letter found me in the mill, engaged in rolling logs to the saw and in carrying away the lumber. I opened the letter and glanced at its contents. To my surprise and utter consternation it contained a pressing request that I would take charge of the Brothertown Indian Mission until the next session of the Conference, as the Missionary, Rev. H.W. Frink, had been called away by family afflictions. I instinctively folded the letter and then crumpled it in the palm of my hand, inwardly saying, "Hast thou found me, oh! mine enemy?" No rash answer, however, was given. This question of duty was certainly assuming grave aspects. For four years it had haunted me at every turn. And even in the wilds of Wisconsin it was still my tormenter. Like Banquo's ghost, it would not down at my bidding. I now tried to look the question fairly in the face, and make the decision a final one, but found it exceedingly difficult to do so. To yield after so long a struggle, and especially to surrender all my fondly cherished plans for the future, appealed at first to my pride, and then to what I conceived to be my temporal interests, and the appeal for a moment seemed to gain the ascendency. But how then could I answer to God? was the startling question that burned into my soul at every turn of the argument. In the midst of my embarrassment the thought was suggested, "It is only until Conference, and then you can return and resume your business."

Catching at this straw, thus floating to me, and half believing and half hoping that three months of my incompetency would satisfy the church and send me back to my business again, I consented to go. Leaving my temporal interests in the hands of my father, I hastened to make the necessary preparations for my new responsibilities. The outfit was provokingly limited. The horse and saddlebags, the inevitable Alpha, if not the Omega, of an Itinerant's outfit, were wanting, as such conveniences had hardly, as yet, found their way to the northern portions of the Territory. But in their place were put good walking ability and a small satchel. A few pieces of linen, a few books, but no sermons, were put into the satchel, and I was immediately stepping to the measure of the Itinerancy.

My first point of destination was Fond du Lac, the residence of the Presiding Elder, where I must necessarily report for instructions. The walk of twenty-two miles, with no other companion than a plethoric satchel, passing from hand to hand as the weary miles, one after another, were dismissed, was not the most favorable introduction to my "new departure," but, bad as it was, I found relief in the thought that my Eastern friends, who had so kindly and repeatedly proposed to give me a comfortable seat somewhere in the New York Conference, were in blissful ignorance of the sorry figure I was making. Whether Jonah found his last conveyance more agreeable than the first, I cannot say, but certain it is, I found my first entrance upon the Itinerancy a tugging business.

I reached Fond du Lac before nightfall, and was hospitably entertained. Notwithstanding the cordial reception I received, however, from both the elder and his good wife, I felt embarrassed by the searching look they occasionally gave me. Whether it was occasioned by my youthful, green or delicate appearance, or my light, feminine voice, I could not divine.

The conversation soon turned upon the state of affairs at Brothertown, and I speedily forgot my embarrassment. In the course of the conversation I inquired whether the proceeding would not be considered irregular, to place an exhorter in charge of the Mission. The elder replied, "Necessity knows no law, and, besides, our Quarterly Meeting at this place will soon be held, when we will relieve that embarrassment." I was doubtless indebted to this law of necessity for the privilege of holding one office in the church not provided for in the Discipline, and one that has seldom if ever been accorded to others. Carefully instructed in the best method to manage certain difficulties pending in the Mission, I took early leave for a further walk of sixteen miles.

Across the prairie at the head of Lake Winnebago, I found the walk very agreeable. Passing Taycheedah, I then struck out into the deep woods that skirt the eastern shore of the lake. I was now between my guide and instructor, and the difficult work committed to my charge. Thought was busy. An oppressive sense of my own insufficiency for so momentous a work, came over me, as it had done before, but never in such overwhelming power. I was now face to face with the great work from which I had shrank for several years, and there was no retreat. Imagination lifted the little hills of difficulty before me into mountains that seemed impassable. In the deep shade of the wood I found a moss-covered rock for a seat, and gave myself up to reflection. The troubled currents of the stream ran on this wise. To go forward in my present undertaking may involve a committal to a work that a few short months shall not terminate. In such case, there will follow a life of toil and sacrifice, on stinted allowance, beset with trials and perplexities, and clouded by cold unfeeling criticisms, censures and misjudgings, of both motive and labor, of which I can now entertain no adequate conception. But if this work be not the dictate of duty, then why this unrest of soul which has so long disturbed the even flow of my religious life, or why the uniform urgency of the authorities of the church both east and west in this direction? On the contrary, if my feet are now in the path of duty then why hesitate? A brave soul never falters in the presence of difficulty or peril, but always deals the strongest blows where the conflict rages the sharpest. The struggle was brief and the result satisfactory. Kneeling by the side of the rock, prayer was offered for Divine guidance and help, and there fell on the soul a baptism of serene peace and holy joy, which hallowed each remaining step of the journey.

Arriving at Brothertown the letter of introduction from the Elder was presented to A.D. Dick, Esq., one of the Stewards. The residence of this brother was located in the central portion of the town, and gave evidence of good taste and comfort. Both himself and wife were members of the church, and their house the home of Itinerants. It was now nearly twelve o'clock. I was invited to the parlor where I awaited dinner. These few moments afforded an opportunity to survey my surroundings and master the situation. My early reading had introduced me to the Indian, both in his native wilds and as seen on the borders of civilization, the former as the noblest specimen of the natural man on the planet, and the latter as the most degraded of mortals. But now I was in the very presence of the red man and even a guest in his dwelling. Nor is it too much to say that my curiosity was not a little excited. My reception, however, had been so cordial that I soon found myself at ease in my new associations.

The letter was opened and read. During its reading I noticed that the eye of mine host often wandered from the page to the newly arrived guest. By an occasional glance I tried to read the thoughts of the reader, but found that the dark face was not disposed to be communicative. This much, however, I think I read pretty clearly: "Well, the Elder has sent us a pretty slender specimen as a minister, but we will try him and see what he can do."

The dinner was announced, conversation became lively, and before we were aware of it the distinctions of race and color had faded out of sight, and a life-long friendship was founded. It was now arranged that, during my stay on the Mission, I should make my home under this hospitable roof.

The Brothertown people came from the State of New York, and had now been settled in their western home several years. A log chapel had been erected and school houses provided. The location along the eastern shore of Lake Winnebago was excellent, affording a good soil and water and timber in abundance. Along the principal highways the farms had been cleared of timber and brought under a fair state of cultivation. The buildings were mainly constructed of logs, though in later years, there had been erected a goodly number of frame residences.

Brothertown Mission first appears on the General Minutes in 1839, under the name of Deansburg, as will appear hereafter. In 1840 it was called Fond du Lac, as that point had now been added as a regular appointment. The following year, 1841, the charge remained the same, but the name was changed to Brothertown, this name having taken the place of Deansburg, in honor of the Brothertown Nation. But as this charge will further appear in connection with the labors of its pastors I will defer the balance of the record for the present.

Rev. Jesse Halstead entered the traveling connection in the Troy Conference, was ordained Deacon in September, 1837, and transferred to the Illinois Conference. At the session of the Conference, held the same month, he was appointed second preacher to Aztalan Mission. Here he took his first lessons in pioneer work. He traveled over a tract of country reaching from the line of the Territory on the south to Menomonee on the north, and from the Lake Shore Missions on the east to Madison on the west. In these extended journeys he enjoyed the privilege of preaching the first sermon and forming the first societies in many localities.

In 1838 he was sent to Crete Mission on the Kankakee, in the State of Illinois. The following year, 1839, he was sent to Brothertown, as before stated, the name on the Minutes being Deansburg. While on this Mission, he visited Fond du Lac, and preached the first sermon, as will appear in another chapter. He remained on this charge only three months, and was then sent by his Presiding Elder, Rev. Julius Field, to supply Oneida Indian Mission for the balance of the year, that charge having been left to be supplied. In January he was visited at Oneida by the Presiding Elder. While here the Elder fell sick, and desired Brother Halstead to accompany him on his round of appointments. In the line of travel they visited Madison and intervening charges, and then went to Racine, the home of the Elder.

Brother Halstead now started for his field at Oneida. It was in the depth of winter, and the line of travel was through the dense forests along the Lake Shore to Green Bay. But, nothing daunted, our Itinerant packed his books, which had been left with Brother Stebbins at this place on his first trip to the north, and other baggage, and started on his journey. The first day he reached Milwaukee, and here he laid in provisions and other necessary outfit, such as axe, auger, &c. Striking out into the forest he made twenty miles the first day, but during the afternoon found himself in a severe snow storm. The first night he stopped at a house located at the site of the present village of Grafton. On rising the next morning he found the snow three feet deep. He laid over one day, and on the following morning resumed his journey. He only made nine miles, as he was compelled to beat the track in advance of his horse; and at night he found quarters at Port Washington. The next day he pursued his journey, but at nightfall found himself without shelter in the woods. He built a fire, cooked a piece of salt pork to eat with his bread, and made a supper. But now for the night! He emptied his jumper, and in it he made a bed, and, as nearly as possible, a coil of humanity. The next morning he found his boots frozen. But, with a generous amount of tugging, they yielded to the pressure of his feet, and he was again on his way, breaking the roads himself, thereby aiding his horse in carrying his burden.

On the fifth day he found a house in the woods and remained in it for the night. The sixth day he reached Sheboygan Falls, and the seventh day Manitowoc. The eighth day he tried to reach Green Bay, a distance of forty miles, but was compelled to camp out for another night, and take the ninth day to complete his journey.

In 1840, Brother Halstead was sent to Fond du Lac, his charge including, also, Brothertown, of which a record will be made in a subsequent chapter. During this year he made a visit to Oshkosh. He took an Indian trail on the west side of Lake Winnebago, and after traveling twenty-five miles found himself on the bank of Fox River. He found no way to cross the stream, and, it being now dark, he was compelled to spend the night without shelter. A friendly Indian came along and joined him in his preparations for the night. The weather was quite cold and they were obliged to maintain a brisk fire to keep from freezing. In this duty they served by turns, but neither of them had any provisions. On the following day Brother, Halstead returned to Fond du Lac.

During the year Brother Halstead was abundant in labor, and at Brothertown there was an extensive revival, giving large accessions to the charge. The following year, he was returned to the work, but the name was changed to Brothertown. This year was also fragrant with blessing, and many souls were converted. After leaving Brothertown Brother Halstead was stationed at Monroe, and next at Hazel Green, where he had Rev. I.M. Leihy as a junior preacher. His subsequent charges were Prairie du Chien, Patch Grove, Mequon, Oak Creek, and Brothertown, when he took, in 1852, a superannuated relation.

Brother Halstead was always at his post of duty. In some of his appointments he had long moves, hard work, and very small compensation, but he and his good wife were always equal to the situation. It has been a pleasure to the writer to make this record, as also that of other veterans of the Itinerancy. But of the labors, the sacrifices and trials of such men, but little can be known here. It is a satisfaction, however, to be assured that their record is on high. It is also a pleasure to know with what views they look back upon the past. A line in hand from Brother Halstead only expresses the common sentiment of all. I will give it to the reader. "Among the most pleasant memories of my life, I reckon the hardships endured as an Itinerant minister of the Gospel of Christ. If I had another life to give I should not hesitate to throw myself into the work again with all the strength and purpose the Master has given me."

Rev. Hiram W. Frink was sent to Brothertown in 1842, and had nearly completed his third year when called away. Brother Frink is also a veteran, having entered the Conference in 1837, the year of Brother Halstead's transfer.

His first appointment was Sheboygan, including the territory between Milwaukee and Green Bay, and extending west as far as Lake Winnebago. Its principal appointments were Sheboygan, Port Washington, Brothertown, Two Rivers and Manitowoc.

Having shipped his trunk to Manitowoc, his future home, Brother Frink left Chicago on horseback, Oct. 28th, 1837, for his field of labor. At Milwaukee, the necessary outfit was procured to penetrate the deep forests which lay beyond, including an axe, steele and punk, a tin cup, blankets and provisions. The only road was an Indian trail, which pushed its devious way through the forest, around the swamps, and across bridgeless streams, without regard to the comfort of the traveler or the speed of his locomotion. As there were no houses along the line of travel, Brother Frink was compelled to spend the first night in the woods. Fortunately, however, he found a small, tenantless cabin by the wayside, in which he was safe from the wild, noisy beasts, that prowled without. The following day he reached Sheboygan.

And this journey was but a sample of the travel and exposures of the year of labor, on which Brother Frink had entered. Amid the drifting snows of winter, and the copious rains of summer, he was compelled to traverse the dreary, and almost unbroken forests of his field, and on more than one occasion he found the night around his camp-fire made hideous by the howling of wolves and the screaming of panthers. But in him the cause found a sturdy pioneer who was equal to the demands of the work.

In 1838, his appointment was Elgin, Ill., and, the following year, Watertown, Wis. In connection with the last named, we shall have occasion to refer to his labors in a subsequent chapter. At the close of his year at Watertown the charge was divided, and in 1840, he was appointed to Summit, the eastern division.

In 1841, he was returned to Illinois and stationed at Sycamore, and the following year was brought back to Wisconsin, and, as before stated, appointed to Brothertown. At the Conference of 1845, he took a location on account of family afflictions, but returned again to the work as soon as relieved of his embarrassments.

His subsequent appointments have been Grafton, Agent for Tracts and Sunday Schools, Palmyra, Rock Prairie, Albion, Dunkirk, Fort Atkinson, Footville, Burnett and Markesan. In 1865, he took a supernumerary relation, but the following year, being made effective, he was appointed to the Bible Agency, which position he has continued to hold up to the present writing. Brother Frink is still vigorous, and is doing effective service. He has kept a cheerful spirit up to the present hour, and is highly esteemed by his brethren.