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ROyAL OAK.
THE
ROYAL OAK,
AND
OTHER STORIES.
BY A WESTERN TEACHER
BOSTON:
HEATH AND ORAVES,
isKW EXGLAND S. S. UXIOX.
18 5 5.
Entered accordhig to Act of Congress, in the year 18^5,
By Heath & Graves,
in the Clerk's Office of the District of Massacliusetts
AUBURN UNIVERSITY '^*
RAl PH BROWN DRAUGHON LIBRARY
AUBURN UNiVERSlTY. ALABAMA 36849
R
ft
3/5%
PUEFACE.
ijs^h/ It is tlie duty of those who would make the best
•v|/ use of life, to improve by every passing incident,
however trivial. Even the falling leaves, or the
change of the seasons, may afford lessons of instruc-tion.
How much more then, should the development
of extraordinary piety under disadvantageous circum-stances,
a remarkable conversion in which confidence
has been established by a subsequent holy life, suc-cessful
labors for the spiritual ^ood of the young,
amid discouragements, and seasons of religious in-tercourse
of peculiar interest, not only be observed at-tentively,
but recorded for the good of others.
The writer of the following unpretending stories
resided several years in the South West, and gathered
during that time, many incidents that were treasured
in the memory or sketched as they passed, some of
which are here presented with the hope that they may
prove interesting and profitable to youthful readers.
It has been the aim of the writer to give incidentally,
a glance at the natural scenery of the country, a hint
^ respecting the habits of the people — to transfer the
IV PREFACE.
reader, for the time, to the place to which the narrative
relates. It will be perceived that he has not disturbed
the continuity of the story to moralize, or attempted
to enforce, by exhortation, the lesson it teaches. He
will have failed in the object for which the book
was written, if the stories do not teach tlieir own
moral.
With a sincere desire to be useful, these sketches
from my portfolio are cheerfullv commended to the
perusal of the youth, especially the younger members
of the Sabbath school, by
The Author.
THE ROYAL OAK.
In a village, which will be often referred to
in these stories, stands a venerable oak. Its
acred limbs have borne the blasts of more than
a century. It has been the shelter of the red
man, when free as the winds which whistle
through its branches, he ate his venison leaning
against its trunk, or rested in its shade from the
noonday sun. The leafy shrubbery which sur-rounded
it, has been torn away, and its contem-poraries
have fallen by the tornado which has
left many marks of its violence upon the neigh-borino-
forest, or by the more frequent encroach-raents
of the woodman's axe. It now throws
its extended branches over a large part of the
west side of the public square of the village.
Directly in front is the court house, towards
which its shadow points significantly as the sun
1*
6 THE ROYAL OAK.
sinks behind the western forest. In the rear,
and fully in its morning shadow, is the jail.
Almost against its base, and extending on either
side, are buildings, one of which is professedly
a liotel, but in the opinion of the citizens, and
in fact, is a rum shop of the basest sort ; the
others are offspring of the same parent— dens
of iniquity whose deeds of darkness, if brought
to light, would, poetically speaking, wither the
stern old tree which has been brought into un-willing
approximation to them. During the
day, especially court days, most disgusting
specimens of men — accountable, immortal
men, —may be seen in numerous groups,
seeking its shade, insulting the passing stran-ger,
and strenfftheninff each other in the most
abominable sin. No respectable female ven-tures
that way, and the children whose school-house
is situated some distance in the rear,
take a circuitous path, eyeing the spot askance
as they would the lurking place of ferocious
beasts.
THE ROYAL OAK. /
Exactly what is doiie inside of these build-ings,
I am not able to sa3^ Once, at midnight,
to relieve the ancruish of a forsaken wife, I ven-tured
into one of them, after a young man just
beginning, but becoming rapidly initiated into
a course of vice. At one end of a long room
were dice and billiard tables. The room was
filled with men whom I did not wish to stop to
contemplate, but hastily informing the first per-son
I met of my errand, I withdrew. Not suc-ceeding
in finding him, I v/as about to return.
But the thought of the unspeakable suffering of
Mrs. C, the wife, again inspirited my flagging
courage. At the same moment I heard the
rolling, as of distant thunder, of the balls of
the bowlhig alley, in the rear of the house.
Thither I ventured under an excitement which
the hour, the place, and the cause of my visit,
produced, such as I never felt before. The
door stood ajar, and, unseen, I viewed for a
moment the place of gambling and drunken-ness.
Near the door sat the object of my
8 THE ROYAL OAK.
search, pale, looking most frightfully from the
intense excitement to which he had been
wrought by ardent spirits, and the games of
chance in which he had been engaged. I
thought I could see the evidence of remorse
written upon his youthful brow, as he turned
his head away from his more desperate and
abandoned companions, who were filching from
him his last dollar. At a favorable moment 1
slipped in, and made known to him my errand,
in a kind and earnest tone. "Don't stay here
a moment," said he hurriedlj-, as if alarmed
for my safety—"this is no place for you."
" Nor you either, I fear," I replied — " your
wife has sent me—she is distressed for you —
will you not go home ?
"
I had no time to receive an answer, before a
most revolting lookinof man, not sober enough
to keep exactly perpendicular, slapped me upon
the shoulder, and with a fierce voice and rough
manner exclaiming, " Here now, stranger, take
a glass with me, won't ye," thrusting at the
THE ROYAL OAK. X)
same time, a glass of brandy to my very lips.
I involuntarily drew back, and jostling his ex-tended
arm, spilt a part of the liquor upon the
floor. " Then ye think yourself too good to
drink v/ith me, do ye," said he, raising
his voice to a perfect yell, and laying his hand
upon a bowie knife encased in his bosom.
Looking him steadily in the face, I receded a
few steps, and made no reply. Recovering, in
a moment, something like good nature, as if
conscious he was not bandying one of his own
sort, he gulped the contents of the glass down,
and tossino; it half the length of the room,
shouted, accompanied with a knowing wink,
towards me, *' Ye 're a lilly livered ccony ; ye
don't know what's good."
Not caring to encounter any more solicita-tions
to take a glass, especially if made em-phatic
by the gleaming of a bowie knife or the
clink of a pistol, I took the arm of the young
man, and hastily retired.
Standing at one time on the opposite side of
10 THE ROYAL OAK.
the square, looking at the wretched beings who
swaggered around the Royal Oak, I saw a des-perate
looking villain step deliberately to the
door of one of the stores, and level a pistol
within five feet of its owner. Crack went the
pistol, and in bolted the rabble to see what
damage was done. But nobody was hurt. Pro-bably
the hand which pointed the weapon was
not very steady, or perhaps the vender of rum
being used to the consequences of his trade
upon his customers, had learned to dodge. No
great account was made of the affair. Hancrinp*
would haye lost the rumseller a good customer,
and the precedent would have given the court
too much business of the same kind.
Why this tree has been christened the
" Royal Oak," tradition does not say. Perhaps
it is because Kinor Alcohol has reicrned there
over a most loi/al people, for several genera-tions.
But it seems slanderous to connect the
honest old oak in any way with his majesty's
titles or character. It is certainly true of this
THE ROYAL OAK. 11
veteran, as of all of its kind, as the poet has
sung,
" The oaks take water in their cups,
And that's the Avay the oaks 'get Mgh.^ "
We do not believe that it has ever willingly al-lowed
a particle of the poisonous exhalations
which ascend amono; its branches to moisten
its tender limbs, however parched with drought,
nor a drop of it to exhilarate its sturdy heart.
We must therefore exonerate the good old tree
from any implication in the crimes committed
about it.
Truth compels us to add another shade to
the dark picture of this place of sin, and then
it will be seen under more favorable coloring
than the reality fully warrants. But enough
will be told to enable the reader to appreciate
the benevolent labor which has subsequently
been bestowed upon it, which we are about to
describe
There was living, not far from the village, a
small family consisting of a man and wife, and
12 THE ROYAL OAK.
a son just old enough to feel the molding in-fluence
of parental example. They were, at
one time, possessed of a handsome property,
and lived in a quiet manner. His business,
that of a butcher, led him often to town, and in
an evil hour he paid a visit to the " Royal
Oak." From an occasional caller, he became
a constant visiter ; and from a single glass, he
learned to take the portion of a confirmed
drunkard. His wife became discouraged. The
reputation of the family was lost, and she begun
to sympathize with his wicked feelings, rather
than abhor them. The son, though very young,
learned the ways of his father, and it became
to him a privilege to ride to the " Royal Oak."
He obtained a few " bits" * for setting up nine
pins, which he spent for spirit, or hazarded in
games of chance. His fathe^: was in frequent
danger of losing his Jife, for a row at the
"Oak" was of constant occurrence. More
* Twelve and a half cents.
THE ROYAL OAK 13
than once has he gone home wounded with
the dirk, or bruised by a regular fisticuff
encounter.
There was living in the village, at this time,
an intimate firiend of mine, a physician and
surgeon, who was often called, at night, to bind
up the maimed or set the broken legs of our
loyal citizens. Sometimes he chose not to risk
his own limbs by visiting their place of revel-ing,
and not unfrequently he arrived just soon
enoucrh to see some victim of alcoholic influ-ence
expire. On one occasion a more than
usual noise disturbed the slumbers of the vil-lagers,
and our friend the physician, was called
in an earnest manner. He hastened to the
spot, and found the revelers at the Oak more
than usually sobered. Upon the ground, in
front of the '" hotel," lay two men. " Doctor,
I 'm afraid they 've hurt each other," swaggered
a drunken fellow, who had fallen beside thera.
Taking hold of the nearest one, the doctor
raised his head a little from the ground,
2
14 THE ROYAL OAK.
" Hurt^'' replied he, " hurt do you say. my
friend \ You should have called an undertaker,
not a doctor, — the man is dead." " Dead,
dead, doctor, did you say ? " said the drunken
man, springing to his feet, and becoming at
once sober. " And is he dead too ? " pointing
at the man who lay motionless at his side.
" Has my brother died a drunkard and a mur-derer
! " The doctor raised the hand of the
man referred to and felt of his pulse. It still
beat, though slowly. " You had better remove
that dead body from this place," said the
doctor, " and take yourself off with it, or ex-pect
to die like him, a drunkard and a mur-derer.
I will see what can be done for this one,
if the breath is still in his body."
The dead man was the butcher, the father of
William Becket, whom we shall more particu-larly
introduce to the reader.
Such was the state of things at the " Royal
Oak," when the special interest of several
picas persons was awakened in its behalf.
THE ROYAL OAK. 15
Many efforts had been made to reform the
place, but unsuccessfully. The citizens gene-rally
were by no means fairly represented by
the neighborhood in question. It was, on the
whole, a moral village, but being a shire town
and the largest in the county, the " Royal Oak"
was the depot of the rowdies of the whole sec-tion
of country. They were regarded as in-truders,
but they were many and desperate. A
law had, at one time, passed the legislature of
the state, prohibiting the retailing of ardent
spirits. An attempt was made to make it effi-cient
in this place. On the morning it was to
take effect, a high pole was seen erected on the
village green, Vvdth the effigy of the governor
perched upon its top, with a junk bottle pro-truding
from each pocket. Under the oak, sat
a tub filled with rum, and by it a man v/ith a
bell, which he rang incessantly, calling upon
all frequenters of the oak to drink and be
merry. What they failed to buy, that day, at
retail, they literally swilled from the tub with-out
charge.
16 THE ROYAL OAK.
Once a fire had caught in their place of ca-rousing,
and burnt two rum stores to the ground.
But neither fire nor the law, though both pretty
effectual agents, had been able to eradicate the
evil.
It was a beautiful Sabbath morning after the
events of v/hich we have been speaking, when
two or three Sabbath school teachers, with seve-ral
christian friends, were in social converse on
the transactions at the Oak on the preceding
night. They were joined by our friend, the
doctor. He rehearsed to them the whole tra-gedy,
and insisted that renewed efforts ought to
be made for the reformation of the place.
The children too, as they came over the
square, were deeply moved, and expressed much
solicitude for the " wicked men." The only
person who seemed to have a determined
energy for the undertaking, was a female. It
was Mrs. C, the wife to whose husband we
have referred. She had ventured to the place
often after him, and knew and felt more than
THE ROYAL OAK. 17
any of the group. She proposed to wait upon
the owners of those infamous places. It ap-peared
a desperate undertaking indeed, for a
female to engage in such an enterprise. Insult
appeared certain. But her husband was now
himself again, and the fear she entertained of
his relapse into vice so long as temptation
should be presented, impelled her forward fear-less
of danger. Prompted by her example, a
pious female teacher resolved to accompany
her. The time appointed to commence their
efforts was that very afternoon. Much of the
time intervening was spent in prayer by the
two friends, and others who felt deeply in-terested
in their success. At the appointed
hour they set forth, accompanied by the re-formed
husband, Mr. C, who, when he could
not dissuade his wife from what he considered
a desperate undertaking, resolved to go with
her. They first visited the " hotel." As they
entered the door, they were saluted by the
landlord.
2*
18 THE ROYAL OAK.
" Come back then, aye Bill, and with two
ladies, or I '11 be shot. Mean to bring me
some new customers, hey, for knocking off
awhile ago ? "Walk in ladies, into the bar —
soon wait upon you."
This he said with an insulting air, for he
knew the character of the wife too well to jest
in good humor. " We will walk into the sit-ting
room, Mr. O., if you please, and see you
with your family," said Mrs. C, kindly. " O,
my wife never sees company Sundays, and the
chddren are reading the Bible," he replied
sneeringly— " Walk into the bar — you're no
better than the rest of the company." " Then,
sir," said Mrs. C. resolutely, " I will say to you
here, that we are come to remonstrate with you
for keeping a place of such wickedness, and to
tell you plainly, though in love, that God, who
beholds no sin with the least allowance, will
visit your iniquity upon your guilty head. The
blood of the man slain at your door last night
cries to Heaven against vou."
THE ROYAL OAK. 19
This was uttered in a tone so decided and so
mild, and it came withal so unexpectedly upon
the guilty man, that he quailed under it like a
corrected child. But recovering himself, he
replied haughtily, " What has old Becket's
death to do with me, woman ? You would
make me a murderer, would you ? " and he
rudely pushed her towards the door. The anger
of Mr. C. was excited by the insult offered his
wife, and raising a cane he held in his hand, he
would have felled the landlord to the floor.
" No, husband, never," said his wife, seizing
his arm, " our weapons are not carnal. God
will fight for us."
Mr. C. was a young man of great physical
strength, and the landlord had more than once
felt the force of his strong arm, hence he was
again moved by the conduct of Mrs. C. He
dared not thrust her violently from the house,
yet he was vexed and tortured by the reproofs
ghe effectually administered. Lowering his
voice, and assuming a milder manner, he ad-
20 THE ROYAL OAK.
dressed her again. " You see, madam, this is
no place nor time to talk over these matters.
My customers will hear the row, and surround
us. Call again when it is more convenient."
" I know it is no place," she replied mildly,
** and therefore I requested to see you with
your family. I will instantly leave the house if
you will give me permission, with this lady,
to visit your family to-morrow."
" I want no interference with my family," he
replied boisterously. " I can take care of
them, and wish you would mind your own
business."
This request had touched him in a tender
place. Effort had been made to reform the
house through his family, and promised well at
one time, but the indignant and guilty man had
sworn vengeance on his wife if she received
any more entreaties upon the subject.
The loud talk had brought his wife from the
sitting room. Mrs. C. was calm, conveying by
her mild demeanor the reproofs of a courageous
THE ROYAL OAK. 21
piety. Her female friend, less bold, was firm,
Mr. C. could hardly be restrained by his wife
from laying his cane lustily over the head of the
landlord.
" Shame on ye, landlord," shouted a half-a-dozen
voices at once, as a drunken crew rushed
from the bar-room. " Shame on ye to quarrel
with a woman."
" I thought by the spunk ye showed just
now," said one, " that ye had all the black-legs
of Natchez on ye 're back. A man that
will jaw with a lady ought to be lynched ; but
if ye want to try a round with Bill, why here 's
give ye a ring and fair play."
Our landlord found himself contending in a
very unpopular cause. He reluctantly con-sented,
after enduring the jeers of his cus-tomers
awhile, that Mrs. C. should visit his
family. He, hovv'ever, resolved secretly to fore-stall
any influence against his business by en-joining
upon his wife to give her a cool recep-tion
and to consent to nothing favorable to the
object of her visit.
22 THE ROYAL OAK.
" You can do nothing with such an aban-doned
wretch," said Mr. C. as they left the
house. He made a fool and almost a ruined
man of me, and now he would kick my wife
out doors for remonstrating with him against
the continuance of the means of completing his
work. My cane would administer the most
wholesome reproof he has had this many a
day."
" You know not, William, what manner of
spirit you are of," replied his wife. " There is
yet an avenue to his heart, and by the blessing
of God, we shall find it. I will go to-morrow
and get acquainted with his family. I will pro-pose
no definite course for them to take, bui,
will try to convince them of a better way. I
shall reach the children, and perhaps get them
to the Sabbath school. They will carry to the
parents what they refuse to receive from me.
We may, at least, save them, though the pa-rents
are past recovery."
Thus consoling herself, and forming the plan
THE ROYAL OAK. 23
of operation for the morrow, Mrs. C. retired
with great peace of mind to her now quiet
home. Her husband was temperate and greatly
reformed, but not pious. She feared for him
while without real godliness, exposed as he was
to great temptations, ^he hoped that the com-pany
at the Oak would be more disgusting to
, him than ever, since their visit and reception at
the " hotel ;" and her expectations were fully
realized. He became interested in his wife's
efforts to reform his former companions.
The visit of Mrs. C. on the following day
was as successful as she anticipated. The
landlady, Mrs. O., was cool and reserved. Her
reserve, however, gradually gave way when she
perceived no disposition to urge any requests
with regard to her husband's business. Mrs.
C. caressed the children, who being unused to
such kind treatment, soon expressed an attach-ment
for her. She told them of the Sabbath
school, and how happy the children were in
studying the word of God.
24 THE ROYAL OAK.
" May I go to Sabbath school, ma ? " said an
interesting little girl about four years of age, to
her mother. "Why don't we go to Sabbath
school ? We do n't read the Bible neither."
" Mind your business," said the mother,
roughly, "or I '11 teach you something."
The little prattler was inclined to reveal more
than was agreeable to the ears of the parent.
Taking no notice of the remark, Mrs. C.
continued to address an older girl, *' Our chil-dren
take interesting books from their teachers
every Sabbath, which they read and return.
Are you fond of reading, my dear 1
"
" Father do n't never buy no books," mut-tered
the child, timidly eyeing at the same time,
her mother, and seeming to expect a reproof
The principal object of the visit of Mrs. C.
appearing to be accomplished, which was to
make a favorable impression upon the family,
and not wishing to press matters imprudently,
she retired.
The landlord was surprised on learning that
THE ROYAL OAK. 25
no reference was made to his business, and his
consequent good humor rendered somewhat
tolerable the commendation which the children
bestowed upon the lady. Still, to his guilty
mind, there was something which implied a re-proof
in the request for his children to attend
the Sabbath school. He heard them express
their desire to go, with a frown ; yet he inter-posed
no authoritative injunction, and the next
Sunday three of them were quietly seated among
a happy group of Sabbath school scholars.
The friends who had, on the preceding Sab-bath,
expressed so despairingly a wish for some
access to the Royal Oak community, were not
more thankful than surprised at the signal suc-cess
of the first effort. The children were
committed to the care of the most judicious
teacher. They were addressed kindly, and re-ceived
each a book to peruse during the week.
" It is the first fruit of a glorious harvest,"
said the devoted superintendent, exultingly,
" let us thank God and take courage."
26 THE ROYAL OAK.
A teacher's prayer meeting was held on the
following Monday evening. The children of
Mr. O. were made the special subjects of
prayer, and thanksgiving was offered to God
that a door had been opened whereby some ad-monition
might be given to their parents and
the wicked residents generally, around the Oak.
At the close of the meeting volunteers offered
themselves to visit other families, and secure,
if possible, the attendance of their children.
The benevolent design was faithfully carried
out during the week. But it was found no
easy task to influence people who had been ad-dicted
to sin so habitually, to correct in any
degree their course. To the attendance of
their children upon the Sabbath school, some
of them were not opposed, simply because they
knew nothinor of the institution crood nor bad.
The case of a German family was particularly
interesting. The husband and father, Mr. V,,
was a short, good-natured, close-fisted, money-making
man, who would never do a wrong
THE ROYAL OAK. 27
thing but that he loved filthy lucre better than
straightforward honesty. He kept one of the
worst houses on the square, as he averred, " To
get mine children bread," while he affected to
despise the wickedness he encouraged. He
was ahvays accessible, and easily persuaded to
most any course, except it interfered with the
source of " Mine few dollar for von rainy day."
He was esteemed and doubtless was, rich, yet
he was clothed in rags, and his family were
only decently attired. James, the oldest son,
had, only a short time before the events of
which we have been speaking, been introduced
mto the school of the writer.
With this family it was proposed to make
zealous efforts. James already seemed favor-ably
disposed towards the Sabbath school. By
him I was introduced to his father and pro-posed
to take his son, and if he pleased, the
smaller children to school on the following Sab-bath.
" And how many dollar does ye ask,"
said he, following his ruling passion of counting
28 TflE ROYAL OAK.
the cost. On being told it was free, he lifted
up both hands in joyous surprise. " Mine Got,
von school for nothing ! I vill ask mine old
voman." His wife was more cautious. No
difficulty was experienced in getting the con-sent
of the parents for James to attend. But
it was plainly perceived that the mother was
desirous for her little ones to make a somewhat
respectable appearance, and they were without
the necessary fit out. The females, however,
managed, in their visits, this business. By
kind attention they so far won upon the better
feelings of the miserly Dutchman as to get -a
small appropriation to clothe the children ac-cording
to the mother's notions of propriety,
which, after all, it must be confessed, was not
very extravagant. After some delay, and many
persevering calls of the ladies, the children,
three in number, appeared, full of curiosity,
at the school.
Thus was access gained, in some measure, to
two of the most hardened supporters of the
Royal Oak community.
THE ROYAL OAK. 29
Thus things remained for some time, the
children of these two families continuing to at-tend
the school, without any very apparent
good. Yet the labor bestowed upon them was
not without some good fruit, as may be seen by
the following incident.
I was passing to my school, one day, rather
nearer than usual to the Oak, when our old ac-quaintance
the landlord came hastening up to
me full of wrath.
" I say Mr. , what sort of school is that
ye keep on Sundays, to teach children to think
themselves wiser than their father '? Since my
girls have been there, they '11 not stay in the
bar a moment on Sunday, and they even look
sour at the business at all times. Last Sun-day,
I overheard one of them telling her
mother she wished father would not sell
rum any more, Now I reckon I know about
what's right as well as my girls. I don't
want their heads stuifed full of your pious
notions,"
3*
30 THE ROYAL OAK
" Are your children impudent then, Mr.
O., since they came to the Sabbath school ?
"
" As to that, I can't say that they are, only
they will be muttering over stuff which you fill
their heads with— about doincr to others —
and I do n't know what else— which I think
children needn't meddle with till they get
older."
" You think, then, older people are the only
ones to think of ' doing to others,' as your
children say, and as you cannot remember to
quote the rest, I will refresh your memory —
as we would others should do unto us."
" Come now, man," replied Mr. O. fiercely,
I did n't stop ye to preach me a sermon. I
have enough of that in the prating of the
children at home, since you bewitched them
with your superstitions. I '11 whip it out of
them, I will, shoot me if I do n't. And you,"
he added, stepping closer to me and shaking
his fist in my face, with a growl of a ferocious
beast, " I '11 have my revenge on ye yet ; ye
mean to set my family against me,"
THE ROYAL OAK. 31
It was time to be walking, for I had to do
with a man who was not to be reasoned into
sobriety. The encounter had been painful, but
there was one consoling fact developed. The
arrows of truth entrusted to the children, had
reached their mark. " God be praised for
that," I exclaimed. Besides, he had muttered
something, in the course of the conversation,
about the old woman's new notions. " Per-haps,"
I soliloquized, " he means, his wife has
some new notions begotten by the prattle of
her Sabbath school scholars. Who knows what
God can do 1 He can thrash these mountains
of sin with a worm. His Spirit can, by the
feeblest instrumentality, purge the vilest of
iniquity."
But there was another thought which
brought fresh occasion of trust in God's
providence. Mr. O.'s children would now be
prohibited further attendance upon the Sabbath
school. Of this I was certain. I knew well
the desperate wickedness of the man. The
32 THE ROYAL OAK.
next Sabbath proved my forebodings too true.
Their places were vacant for the first time since
their admission. As to the Dutchman, Mr. V.,
he endured almost any amount of reproof from
any source, so long as he saw the dollars pour-ing
into his coffers. Although always good-natured
and willinor to be remonstrated with,
his heart was without relentings, while he
stalked over his ruined victims to reach his
gods of gold. His children, though it seemed
strange, were not so susceptible of religious in-struction
as those of our landlord. Yet some
improvement could be seen in them. They
were the instruments, no doubt, of shooting at
a venture, by the repetition of the truth they
heard, some arrow through the joints of the
harness, into the heart of their obdurate parent.
Other families were visited, the seeds of Di-vine
truth were diligently sown and watered by
tears, and prayers went up to Heaven for the
openings of his providence. Since the remo-val
of the landlord's children, a spirit of partial
THE ROYAL OA.K. 3&
discouragement had come over the benevolent
laborers for the good of this neighborhood.
But God was not unmindful of his people nor
of his cause. He had other and efficient in-strumentalities
by which to accomplish his pur-poses.
The reader will be made acquainted with
William Becket, whose father died a vic-tim
to his love of visiting the Royal Oak.
He was made extremely useful to the com-munity
with which he had so sad an ac-quaintance.
He knew the men, and his al-tered
character, as well as the remembrance of
the wrong they had done him, was a cutting re-proof
to them. He visited their children, and
enticed them to the Sabbath school. The
children of Mr. O., the landlord, excited his
sympathies by their loss of religious privileges,
and, seeking opportunities to converse with
them, he was the means of keeping alive the
tender feelings which had been begotten in
them. They were kept supplied with books
34 THE ROYAL OAK
from the Sabbath school library, and William
occasionally induced them to attend a prayer
meeting. The effect was, by the blessing of
God, as was intended. Their father found
them no better satisfied with his business and
mode of life, than before. His wrath knew no
bounds. But he could not use that authority
he formerly had done, as the older ones were
verging to womanhood. Besides, his wife
was far from sympathizing with him in his
traffic so fully as she once did. He was there-fore
being left alone, but his wickedness
seemed only to grow the more outrageous. It
was evident, notwithstanding, that an improve-ment
had been wrought in the neighborhood of
the Royal Oak, by the few years' labor of
which we have been speaking. Sin had a less
bold front. It was still great, but somewhat
subdued. The reflecting looked with great
satisfaction upon the future, for there was rea-son
to hope that the offspring of these un«
reformed men would not walk in their steps.
THE ROYAL OAK. 35
Such was the state of things, when an un-expected
providence visited the village. The
epidemic which had at times raged in the river
towns, had never reached this place. A single
case in it had never been known, though it was
the resort of hundreds during its prevalence in
other places. But God's judgments are a great
deep. At a time when the adjacent villages
were enjoying prosperity, this one was selected
for the sword of the avenger. From the month
of June to September, four hundred out of the
six hundred inhabitants which remained in the
place, had been attacked, sixty had died, and
the disease prevailed without abatement. It
could be said truly that,
" The Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed."
All classes were prostrated, especially those of
irregular habits. The community at the Oak
were struck by the invisible hand. The land-lord
was one of the first that fell. He died in
his sins, unrepented, and unforgiven. His
36 THE ROYAL OAK.
grave, scarcely out of the common path of %
little thicket, is seldom visited by those who
drop upon it a tear of regret. The bitter
moaning of those vv'hom he made widows and
orphans, sounded like an accusing spirit in his
ears as he expired.
Our friend, the Dutchman, was most vio-lently
attacked. The community upon which
he preyed were scattered —many of them lay
cold in death. His hope of gain was gone.
Faithful christian friends visited him, and re-iterated
their frequent invitation of mercy from
God.
" O ! mine Got," he would exclaim, " Vot a
a sinner." His children's talk over their Sab-bath
school lessons, was not forgotten. " Mine
children," he would say, " tell dat von story
about Jesus dat died for poor sinner like your 'n
poor fader." The story of the cross was re-peated,
and was music in the ears of the dying
man.
'* I bless mine Got," he would repeat with
THE ROYAL OAK. 37
emphasis, " for dat von day when mine children
go to dat blessed school." Christian attention
cind instruction was bestowed upon him until he
expired. There was hope in his death. His
children are still under religious instruction,
and James professes faith in Christ.
The Royal Oak is not what it was. Though
the same old tree shades it by day, and seems to
throw its protecting arms over it by night, the
wickedness of the place is not so great as for-merly.
The children of the landlord are re-spectable
and moral in their conduct. There
is neither gambling nor drinking about their
premises. A few places of infamy remain, but
they seek the darkness to conceal their evil
deeds. The children now go straight across
the square —not heeding the nearness of the
Royal Oak, and sometimes even sit down in its
shade. Mrs. C. continues her benevolent labors,
blest by the conversion of her husband. God's
judgments have wrought with his people, and the
Royal Oak is now the Reformed Oak.
4
See page 42.
WILLIAM BECKET.
The reader will permit me to introduce him
to a real, not an imaginary spot, of romantic
beauty in the far West. The mighty waters of
the Mississippi have sometimes, when breaking
away from their accustomed course, circled the
base of its mimic hills, and then hurried back
again to their proper channel. The evening
breeze of the Gulph of Mexico, laden with the
perfumes of its waters, is distinctly felt in its
groves. No large city is near it. It is a village
of the forest. The tall, primitive growth of
pines shut it in on every side, through which
the roads, overshadowed by the branches which
meet at the tops, pass in various directions into
a country with extensive clearings, covered the
most of the year with snow-white fields of cot-ton.
Within this enclosure of trees, are three
4*
43 WILLIAM BECKET.
small churches, unpretending yet inviting in
their external appearance, a few places of busi-ness,
and the dwelling houses of less than one
thousand inhabitants. Near the road which
passes through that dense growth of trees on
the south, not out of town, yet nearly in the
forest, you will observe a neat little building
painted white, with green blinds, and having a
beautiful play-ground in front. In that building
it was my lot to spend several years as a teachei
of a private school for boys.
Early one Monday morning, a lady, neatly
attired, stooping more with infirmities than age,
with a countenance expressing at once intelli-gence
and pious resignation, presented herself
at the door. At her side stood a young lad
about fourteen years of age. There was nothing
in his appearance which, at the time, made any
impression on my mind, except his extreme
modesty of deportment, perhaps the more ob-servable
from the contrast it exhibited from
most other boys around me. His dress was
WILLIAM B&CKCT. 43
neat, but of the coarsest materials. His health
was evidently suffering from exertions too great
for his strength and years.
" Sir," said the lady. *' I wish to introduce to
your school, my son William. A good 'boy has
he been to me, and I can but poorly spare him
so much from home ; but you know it would be
cruel to rob him, at his age, of the chance of a
little learning. I know, sir, he '11 not be a dis-grace
to your school."
The last words were uttered with an empha-sis
so honest, that they struck me as something
more than mere parental praise. The mother
embraced her son most affectionately, blest him
and retired.
William took his seat with the boys of his
age. My attention was arrested during the
week, by his obliging spirit and perfect recita-tions.
He seemed to possess less aptness for
learning than most of his class-mates, yet at
the close of the week his bill showed the great-est
number of perfect lessons. The kindness
44 WILLIAM BECKET.
of his spirit had prevented that jealousy, on the
part of his class-mates, which is sometimes
shown on such occasions. No other evidence
of persecution had occurred, than the appella-tion
of " Pious Billy," which was quickly put
down, not wishing to encourage any nicknames.
So great had my interest become on Friday
evening, the time for closing the school for the
week, that I determined to know more of Wil-liam
and his parent, and accordingly planned a
visit to his residence the next day. '
William was exceedingly pleased with my
intention, and, after giving me the necessary
directions, added rather despondingly, " Per-haps
you will prefer a ride to Frances M.'s
father's, as I heard him say he would send a
carriage for you. Mother is too poor to own a
carriage."
On assurinor him that his mother's want of
ability to show the customary courtesy of send-ing
a horse and carriage, would make no differ-ence,
and that I should certainly come, his
WILLIAM BECKET. 45
countenance lighted up with joy, and, thanking
me, he darted away like a bird, towards home.
The next morning found me wending my way
towards the residence of Mrs. Becket, about
three miles from the village. It was very early,
and the servants were just going to their tasks
in the fields of newly opened cotton. On ap-proaching
the end of my ride, I was not a little
surprised to see, among a company of negro
men and women, my young friend William
;
not idling nor acting the part of a driver, but
busily picking cotton. He did not observe me,
so I passed by into the cottage, or rather quar-ters^
of his mother—for her residence was
nothing more than a cabin, built for the negroes
of the plantation. Every thing was neat, and
even inviting. Around the door were a few
melon vines, and a gourd had grown up and
covered the front and a part of the roof At a
little distance lay a few dry limbs, evidently
just drawn by hand from the woods to supply
the fire.
46 WILLIAM BECKET.
Mrs. Becket received me with an unpretending
kindness. " William," said she, " will soon
return from his labors with the servants of the
owner of this plantation. I need not make any
apology to you for his employment, for i know
that in your section of country it is customary
for boys to know something of the duty of
earning their own bread, but here we seldom
teach our children industry, except from severe
necessity. But William is not ashamed of his
business, but goes merry as the morning birds,
to his task. When, this morning, I proposed
that he should dispense with labor to enjoy
your visit, he said that you would not probably
be here until nearly noon, and he would rise
earlier than usual and accomplish something
before you arrived. I do not believe he slept
more than half the night. Before he could see
to go into the cotton field, he was away to the
woods, and returned with that heavy drag of
wood you see yonder for a Sabbath's supply.
Besides being a good while in prayer in the
WILLIAM BECKET. 47
little arbor, he has been in the field ever since
it was light enough to see a ball of cotton.'*^
William then prays as well as works, I ob-served.
*' Yes, and I have much to tell you about
that, but here he comes, and he will want his
breakfast by this time, for he has eaten nothing
to-day."
Nothing like apology or shame accompanied
William's recognition of me, though he was at-tended
by several negro boys, his fellow la-borers.
He sat down to a breakfast of sweet
potatoes and Indian cakes, baked in the ashes,
with a gourd of pure water from the spring
which gushed out near his arbor of prayer.
My stay at this time was short but profitable.
My reflections on returning were peculiar.
Angels, thought I, visit that log cabin and the
walks of that lad, with more interest than they
ever called at the palace of Napoleon, or
watched his course of worldly grandeur.
William was punctual at school, and his pro-
48 WILLIAM BECKET.
gress was surprisingly rapid, without giving evi-dence
that he possessed superior abilities. The
geniuses were left behind, but so fairly and
kindly, that not a jar was occasioned in
the good feeling existing towards him. My
visits were frequent to the log hut of his
mother, who on one occasion gave me the fol-lowing
history of her son, connected necessarily
with her own.
" Less than two years ago, my husband was
killed in an affray under the ' Royal Oak ' of
your village, so w^ell known as the resort of the
rowdies of our county. His life had been
awfully wicked, and I had shared fully in his
guilt. Our only son William, as might be ex-pected,
drank of our spirit. He was dis-obedient,
dreadfully profane and quarrelsome,
and delighted in nothing so much as to go with-his
father in his visits to the * Royal Oak.' For
a month after his father's death, William added
to my afflictions by his long absences from home
with the worst boys he could have chosen. For
WILLIAM B E C K E T . 49
his wickedness I should have cared but little,
if my own wants had been supplied; but 1
needed what little help he could afford me in
getting a support. One morning he went to
the village, and night came on, but he did not
return. I sat up late, watched, and for the first
time felt some self-reproach that I had led and
was still leading my boy to ruin. I lay down,
but not to sleep. I thought of my murdered
husband, and that perhaps my son would be
brought home dying or dead from a fatal stab
of the bowie knife. What an awful nigrht I
spent ! Before day, I rose and walked towards
the village. My attention was arrested by
some one, as I thought, in earnest conversation.
I listened ; it was William, evidently in deep
distress. ' Mother,' he cried, * can you help
me ? ' I thought they had murdered my boy,
and the thouorht drove me almost mad. ' I feel
dreadful here,' he repeated, laying his hand
upon his heart. ' I just stepped into the Me
hodist church where Jim Smith said they were
5
50 WILLIAM BECKET.
having what they called a quarterly meeting
and we should have fine fiin ; but the minister
pointed his finger right at me, and told me all
about myself; he meant me, I know he did. I
ran out of the house and came home as fast as
I could, but I felt worse here, and thought I
should die, and God would be angry with me
for ever. The minister said Christ came to
save sinners. I have been here all night crying
to him, but I fear he can't save wie.' I knew
not what to say, but thought that the priest had
made bim crazy, and I was determined to cure
him. I laughed, scolded, and threatened, but
to no purpose. He spent most of his time, for
several days, in the woods, praying and crying.
One morning he came in, quiet as a lamb,
seated himself by me, and looking pleasantly
up in my face, said, * Mother, how I love you !
how I love every body ! God is not angry with
me now !' From that time my William has
been like an angel at my side. My heart was
hard, but I could not resist the prayers I heard
WILLIAM BECKET. 51
him oflfer for me in that little thicket of trees
yonder. My hope of heaven has come through
him. Nothing that he could do for my good has
he omitted. It is rather humbling, you know,
for a boy of his age to go into the field with
the slaves, to work for a living ; but it was his
own proposal, and by it he has earned enough
to help me considerably, and to attend school,
the expense of which he pays by his labor. He
has, every day since he commenced, walked to
town and back, studied by the fire at night,
_seen all my wants supplied, and besides, it
seems to me he prays in the thicket more than
ever. Every Saturday, as you see, he works all
day picking cotton."
Mrs. B. proceeded, in detail, to tell the ad-vantages
of William's piety to herself and
others, but my limits forbid further particulars.
Soon after William entered my school, he
joined the Sabbath school, where he was found
every Sabbath morning at eight o'clock, after a
walk of three miles ; after the Sabbath school.
63 WILLIAM BECKET.
he remained to hear a sermon, the only one
preached during the day, and then returned
home, and thus finished, as I for a long time
supposed, the labors of the day. But it was not
so. The negro children of the plantation had
observed the change in William, and had been
the subjects of his kind admonitions. Involun-tarily
almost he had become their instryctor in
religious things, and Sabbath evenings they
would assemble around him in his little cabin
no better than theirs, and he would repeat what
he had learnt himself during the day, or read
in the word of God. Thus the neglected, un-taught,
and perishing slave, was taught the way
of life.
William's influence became more and more
extensive and pleasing in the week-day school.
He attracted, after some time, the attention of
the father of one of the more favored children,
and is now being educated by him for college,
and by God, I trust, for the ministry.
I could draw from this story lessons of in-
WILLIAM BECKET. 53
struction for my young readers, and ask them
to think what made William Becket so in-teresting
a boy. But the story speaks for
itself. They will all say it was the advan-tages
OP EARLY PIETY.
5*
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
A Family Sabbath School may sound
strangely to the children of New England who
are accustomed to assemble, in Sabbath school,
with scores or hundreds of their youthful com-panions.
But they will not think it so strange
when they are reminded that in the new settle-ments
of our Western country families are often
located in the woods far from each other.
Perhaps a rude church is erected of logs where
it will best accommodate the people, the most
of whom travel many miles to hear the. preach-ing
of God's Word. And even this privilege
they are not favored with every Sabbath, but
only occasionally, as the minister can serve
them, who has many such places to supply. Of
course, the children of these families can have
no regular Sabbath school. I am sorry to say
58 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
many of them spend this holy day in the woods
with their horses and guns, or in sinful amuse-ments
at home. Some of them do not even
know what'a Sabbath school means, and conse-quently
understand little of those truths which
make children wiser and happier.
I once lived in a family thus situated. The
village, in which there was regular preaching,
was fifteen miles distant. Once in a few weeks.
Divine service was held in a rude log oabin in
the woods, reached by a circuitous foot-path,
about five miles from our residence.
On a slightly rising ground, from which the
trees and shrubs have been cleared to a short
distance only, stands a beautiful white house,
which has recently taken the place of a log
building of much humbler appearance. The
pine trees on every side lift up their tall heads
so high that the grey squirrel which sits eating
his nuts on some lofty branch appears no larger
than a mouse. The veteran oak stretches out
its brawny limbs as if to defy the stormy winds.
ft
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 59
The numerous magnolias, ever dressed in the
richest green in spite of winter's chilling breath,
present a cheering and delightful contrast when
the sear autumn leaves are mantlincr the forest.
The encroachment of the woodman's axe ap-pears
in the numerous patches of cleared
ground planted with cotton and sweet potatoes.
By a little spring, a short distance from the
house, is a neat, small building, shaded by thick
bushes and branching trees. This is the school
house where the children, seven in number —
six boys and one girl — are taught by a teacher
employed for them alone.
In this little house they were assembled one
Monday morning. The chapter in the Bible
was read, and the teacher had prayed. The
children looking unhappy, he requested them to
lay aside their books and give an account of
the manner in which the Sabbath had been
spent. They all raised their hands in evidence
of their readiness to begin.
" James shall speak first," said the teacher,
addressing himself to the oldest.
60 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
" Edward and I," replied James, " took our
horses and dogs, and went a hunting. We
started a deer and halloo'd our do^s on, and
rode through the bushes and creeks, over the
fences and fallen trees, until our horses were so
tired they could not go an inch. We then
shouted for the dogs to come off, but could not
make them hear, so we had to come home with-out
them. And pa scolded us this morning,
and says we shall not ride again for a long time,
for the horses are so stiff they will not be able
to work for a week, and he is afraid somebody
will shoot or steal the dogs."
" But did you enjoy yourselves," interrupted
the teacher.
" No sir. Edward quarrelled with me be-cause
I would not let him ride my horse, and
told pa I made him ride so fast."
" Now you may tell us how you spent your
Sabbath," said the teacher to the next younger
boys,
** We went to hunt rabbits," replied a
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 61^
bright-eyed, active, amiable little boy. " John
caught one and put him in the oven there,"
pointing at the same time to the stove oven in
the middle of the school room. The teacher
walked deliberately towards the stove, in which
there had been no fire for some weeks, and
opening the door, out jumped a half-grown rab-bit
and hopped trembling into the corner of the
room. The children were much amused, but
after order was restored, the black-eyed boy
went on to tell that on Sabbath morning the
rabbit was frightened into the hollow of a
partly decayed tree, the bottom of which the
children filled with dry leaves, and, setting them
on fire, caused the rabbit, half dead with fear,
and nearly suffocated with smoke, to try to es-cape,
when he was easily taken. After amus-ing
themselves most of the day with their pri-soner,
they had shut it up in this iron cell
during the night. A contention had in the
mean time arisen on the question of ownership
— one claiming it because he first saw it, and
6
62 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL
another because he caught it as it sprung from
the hollow tree. The Sabbath's sun went
down in ^ cloud to the little hunters, and they
retired to bed unhappy. They had arisen and
come to school, saying hard words to each
other and indulging in harder thoughts.
" You have n't asked how little sister spent
her Sabbath," said the same chattering little
fellow who had given so honestly the history of
the preceding day.
" Well," replied his teacher, smiling, " you
may speak for her." But before he could an-swer,
his sister, a forward little girl of four
years of age, was on her feet to answer for her-self
*' O ! I fell in the water," she exclaimed
with much earnestness, while the other children
looked serious at the remembrance of her nar-row
escape from drowning. She had gone, in
the absence of her brothers, to play by the side
t)f a creek below the spring which issued out
of the hill-side, near the school-house, and but
for the timely assistance of a servant, who
heard her cries, would have drowned.
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 63
When the history of the Sabbath had been
repeated, the teacher repeated the question
.
" Were you happy yesterday ? " None an-swered,
for they felt they had done wrong. He
continued, " you see, children, what a Sabbath
misspent has brought forth. The horses are
injured ; the dogs valued so highly by your
father, shot, perhaps, by some wanton Sabbath
breaker ; the poor rabbit, who loves liberty as
well as yourselves, most dead with fear and con-finement
in its iron prison ; and your little
sister, for the want of your care at home, in
danger of being drowned."
" We'll let the rabbit go," said black eyes,
his feelings beginning to show themselves in
tears. To this, all consenting, the door was
opened, and the poor rabbit sprang off into tlie
woods. The children looked happier than they
had done since their emancipation from school
on Friday evening,
- " Now," said the teacher, " I shall propose
before the week closes, a better way to spend
64 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
God's day, to those who think the last to have
been badly spent. Every scholar expressed a
disproval of yesterday's conduct, and they pro-ceeded
to the duties of the day.
On Friday afternoon all studies were laid
aside, and the children manifested great curi-osity
to know what proposals were to be made
to them. It must be remembered that they
knevv nothing of a Sabbath school, except by
name, and had formed no clear idea of its na-ture.
The older children suspected a plan to
keep them at the duties of the week, and looked
as if determined to make a stern dissent. The
smaller ones were thinking of some innocent
and novel amusement, in which the teacher
would preside, and were ready to have it begin
on Saturday.
The teacher introduced the subject by ask-ing,
" Are you pleased to hear me relate
stories 1
"
" Yes, sir," answered every one with earn-estness.
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 65
" Some stories about the wars," said little
chatterbox, who always had a thought upon
every subject which was introduced, and whose
unruly tongue was sure to let it slip out. The
teacher had often relieved the monotony of the
school hours, by relating some stirring incident
connected with our country's history, and it
was upon these stories that his mind dwelt.
" It is not about the wars," continued the
teacher, that I propose to talk to you on the
Sabbath. But are you all willing to trust me
to interest you, and to promise not-to engage in
any play, but come to the school-room in the
morning, and listen to the stories which I shall
relate ? After one Sabbath, you will be better
prepared to bear the plan which I shall then
further explain to you."
The children gladly consented, and the little
ones scampered away to rehearse the whole
matter to their parents.
Leaving the children until Sabbath morning,
I will introduce the readers to their parents,
6*
66 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
dThe father, Mr. M., was a strictly mora*
man, though destitute of experimental piety.
He commenced the business of life, when a
young man, on the spot where he now lived, by
clearing the forest and opening his present plan-tation.
He was enterprising and industrious,
and a goodly portion of the wilds about him
smiled under his hard labors, and his rude
cabin had given way to a splendid mansion.
The wife of his youth had died less than two
years before the time of which we have been
speaking. Though an intelligent and faithful
mother, she had lacked the one thing needful,
and the children had received no religious in-struction
from her lips. The present wife had
just been introduced into the family. She came
from a distant village where her own children,
young ladies arrived almost to womanhood, re-mained
in a female boarding school. Mrs. M.
was a lady of superior talents, good education,
and genuine piety. She felt a deep anxiety for
the religious education of her husband's chil*
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. . 67
dren. With this feeling he had but little sym-pathy,
because it was a subject he could not ap-preciate.
Yet he was willing to co-operate, so
far as its importance was impressed upon his
mind. With the plan to employ his children
in a serious manner on the Sabbath, he was
pleased, not only because he thought it more
creditable to his family, but because it gave
pleasure to his wife. But Mrs. M. entered
into the plan with another feeling and different
motives. She felt like a christian, and was
ready to tict as an experienced Sabbath school
teacher.
On Sunday morning the children assembled
in their school-room at an early hour, with
cheerful countenances and glad hearts. Mrs.
M. accompanied them, to lend the influence of
her presence and to assist in affording interest
to the occasion. After singing and prayer, the
teacher commenced in an easy and conver-sational
manner the history of the offering of
Isaac upon the altar of sacrifice. It may seem
68 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
strange to children brought up by religious
parents, and taught to study God's Word, that
to them it was entirely new. They did not
even know from whence the story was taken.
But they were particularly interested because
it was related io them, explained, and made a
subject of conversation.
" Would Isaac's father have killed him, if
God had not called 1 " asked the little talker
whom we will now introduce by his name,
George.
" Yes, certainly, he was just about to do it."
" And would it have been right?"
" Yes, if God had commanded him so to do.
Did not God take the life of your little sister a
year ago, by sickness ; and will he not take
you when' he pleases? God had the same right
to take Isaac by his father's hand. But He
could have restored him again to life, and some
good men think Abraham expected him to do
it."
The questions and deep interest of the chil-
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 69
dren had drawn out the feelings of their mo-ther,
who gave the subject a happy turn.
" Was it not that Abraham loved God, that he
was willing to offer up his son Isaac 1 " she in-quired.
'* Yes," said Edward, '* but I do n't see why
God wanted him to offer up his son."
" Because, my son, God would, by Abraham's
example, teach all men who read his Word,
what faith in him means. Abraham believed
God would do right, and trusted fully in him,
and that is ca\]ed faith."
" Now," interrupted James, " I know what
the preacher in the log-cabin meeting-house
meant, when he told us last Sabbath we must
believe in God, and that would make us please
him, and would cause us to act right."
" True, if we believe God as Abraham did,
and do what He commands us, though we can-not
see whi/ He commands it, the Bible says it
is accounted to us for righteousness. It is
God's way of making us holy. But, children,
70 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
I will tell you of another great and good Being
who had an only son. This son was very dear
to him, and he ruled over a great many happy
beings. Yet his father sent him a great dis-tance
to a miserable people to die for them.
" Was he tied as Isaac was, and did his
father kill him ? " asked George.
" No, his father did not kill him, the wicked
people themselves killed him."
" Then," interrupted George again, " I
reckon his father made him alive, because
you said God would make Isaac alive, if his
father killed him."
" Yes, God did raise him alive three days
after he was laid in the tomb."
y^ The children here held up their hands, indi-cating
that they knew of whom their mother
was speaking.
" I see," said Mrs. M., " you understand me
to mean Jesus Christ. He is the Son who died
for you. Isaac represented Jesus Christ. Wh6l
you think of this story you must also think of
Him who was slain for you."
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 71
The children were now dismissed with a re-quest
to read the story over so many times
during the day, that they might be able to re-peat
it to their teacher the next morning.
George ran directly to the cabin of an aged
servant, who had nursed him in his infancy, to
tell her the story ; little sister started off to in-form
her father of what she had heard, and the
larger children to commit the story to memory
^for the morning.
Far different was the appearance of our
young friends, on the following morning, from
what it was a week previous, as they now came
with cheerful countenances and glad hearts to
the school room. The oldest brought their
Bibles, and the younger longed to show their
readiness to rehearse what they had heard.
The teacher began by repeating the question
of the preceding Monday. " Were you happy
yesterday ? " Not a moment of silence fol-lowed
this question, for all felt thai they could
answer, '' Yes," without any violation of truth-
72 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
After each had showed his knowledge of what
he had read or heard, the instructor addressed
James and Edward — " Why were you more
happy yesterday than on the preceding Sab-bath,
when in the woods with your guns and
dogs?"
" Because," replied James, " Edward and 1
did not quarrel, but talked together all day
about what mother and you had told us. At
night we went to the stable and looked at the
horses, and were glad they had not been rode
most to death. Besides, father spoke pleasantly
to us all day, and told us this morning we
should ride on Saturday to uncle John's.
" And little sister and I," said George, " got
mother to tell us all about Isaac again, and
great deal more she told us too. She said
that children who had a Sabbath school, learned
all about the pretty stories in the Bible. I
reckon we are going to have a Sabbath school."
" Was that a Sabbath school we had yes-terday,"
asked all the larget scholars in a
breath.
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 73
George's unruly tongue had, by naming Sab'
bath school, awakened a new train of thought.
They were none too fond of a7ii/ school, and
the kind of one just mentioned had always
been thought of with prejudice, as something to
infringe upon time which they claimed for other
purposes. It had been thought wise to win
them into a proper course of conduct on God's
day, rather than divulge at once a plan at which
they might start, because they could not be
made to understand it. They were told in an-swer
to their question, that thej/ should name
the kind of meetings they were to have, after
they fully understood them.
" Now," said the teacher, " since you are all
satisfied that yesterday was better spent than
the Sabbath preceding, I shall propose a regular
plan for spending each Lord's day. The larger
scholars will study the Bible story which I
shall give them, and the smaller ones get the
hymns which tTleir mother has promised to re-peat
to them during the week. If you are all
7
74 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
willing to trust me, I will promise to make
it a very pleasant day to you ; besides, I have
much to say about the Sabbath, for what it was
made, and the way it should be spent. This
week is the preaching in the log-meeting house,
and you are all to attend with your mother and
me. On the Sabbath I shall inquire of you
concerning the sermon, and we will talk about
it."
Leaving the children to attend to their daily
lessons, we will return to the parents. Mrs. M.
was determined to enter in good earnest upon
the work of forming a family Sabbath school,
with the co-operation of the teacher. She knew
the difficulties of her task. The project had
beorun well, it was true ; but there was a nov-elty
in the movement, to the children, which
would soon wear off. Besides, something more
must be done than to relate stories, however
proper and profitable in their place. A love
for the study of the Scriptures was to be in-duced,
old habits were to be broken up, and
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 75
good ones cultivated. The example of the ser-vants
was a great hinderance. Mr. M. could
not be expected efficiently to co-operate. Ano-ther
serious embarrassment v/as the frequent
call, on the Sabbath, of friends who demanded
the presence of the children as well as her own.
Ail these difficulties she laid before God in
prayer. He alone could keep her tender lambs
from the devouring influence of sin. On
rising from her knees she felt comforted and
strengthened. She made an errand to the vil-lage
the week following the events of which we
have been speaking, consulted her pastor, and
procured from him some tracts and such Sab-bath
school books as he could furnish. It was
a meager library in comparison to the numerous
and pretty volumes which the New England
children are permitted to take from the hands
of their teachers every Sabbath. But they
would be new to her scholars, and her pastor
promised to procure for her from the North a
choice supply by the time these became unin-
76 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
teresting. She returned home truly thankful
for the encouragement, she had received.
On the following Sabbath, the scholars were
punctual at their school-room. The story for
recitation and conversation was the history of
Joseph. George's eyes sparkled while he showed
how much he knew of the story, and while he
plied his mother with questions which the wisest
persons could not have answered. " Sister,"
as the youngest child Emily was always called,
thought she loved *' little Benny" most as well
as she loved Joseph, while George contended
stoutly that Joseph was much the best. Mrs.
M. entered with deep feeling into the appli-cation
of the moral of the narrative. She
pointed out the wickedness of the envious feel-ings
of Joseph's brethren—dwelt upon the im-portance
of kind feeling among children, and
the certainty that God would take care of those
who, like Joseph, trusted in him. The sermon
of the preceding week was then discussed.
Many parts of it were brought to the children's
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 77
r«»collections, explained and enforced, so that
they felt certain they could remember more of
the next sermon they heard. George thought
he could have recollected it if it had been
made of stories.
They were now surprised by the presentation
of each a book with which to employ the re-maining
part of the day.
By degrees their old habits were in an en-courao-
incr deorree removed, but not without
much patience and toil on the part of Mrs. M.
She found the corruption of their youthful
hearts tenacious of its control. Often did she
weep in secret ; but a resort to the source of
wisdom and strength in fervent prayer gave
her new fortitude. There were occasions of
special trial, of which the following is not an
unfair example.
The children had been to see " uncle John,"
according to the promise of their father. Their
cousins, with " uncle John," returned the visit
ori the Sabbath as they were accustomed to do.
7*
78 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
The boys came with their guns, expecting to
spend a part of the time, at least, hunting. Our
young Sabbath school scholars felt as they had
never done before. They now knew it was
wrong, and that such a course would grieve
their mother. But their cousins taunted them
with being pious, ridiculed their scruples, and
finally succeeded in persuading away the four
oldest boys. It was a sad and tedious day to
them. Mrs. M. wept bitterly in secret. Even
their father regretted sincerely the enticement
to which they had yielded.
Little George and Emily, his " sister," as we
have called her, for she was seldom called by
any other name, kept closely to their mother,
and unknowingly reproved the visiters by in-quiring
why she did not talk to them and tell
them " good Bible stories" as they called them.
The boys returned, and the cousins left earlier
than usual. The little ones then had their
Sabbath school, but their brothers did not ap-pear.
They felt unhappy, and longed to un-
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 79
burden all their feelings to their mother. Yet
that was too humiliating. The consolation of
confession and forcriveness was not so much a
matter of thought, though they remembered to
have heard their mother say that whenever we
have done wrong we must acknowledge it im-mediately.
" We will tell her," said Edward,
" that the cousins made us go." For a moment
this seemed to quiet their feelings, and almost
caused them to go with boldness to their
mother.
" No," replied James, resolutely, " they did
not make us go, they only coaxed us off. I
reckon I would n't go again a hunting on the
Sabbath for all the cousins in the world."
" Nor I," said John. "It was real mean in
them to laugh at us because we did n't want
to go when ma disliked it so much. They
may go hunting alone the next time for all me."
" I do not think," said James, " that they
will come again on Sunday, for when uncle
John asked me if we had a good time, I told
80 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
him no. And cousin Charles looked mad, and
said all we cared about lately was to hear
mother's pious stories. I only wish I had
heard ma's ' pious stories,' as he called them,
instead of going with them, and I 'm going to
tell her so."
" So am I," answered every one, for they
were both sorry for and ashamed of the day's
proceedings. It was evident that with their feel-ings
of sorrow and shame, there was some anger
towards their cousins for the instrumentality
they had had in their wrong conduct. They
resolutely, however, proceeded together to their
mother's room. On reaching her door, they
heard her voice. She was in prayer. She
prayed for them, that they might see their
error ; for herself, that wisdom might be given
her to teach them ariaht, and for their cousins
who had led them astray. On rising from
prayer, she kindly and cordially received them.
They were surprised that they were not re-proached.
That mild and meaning inquiry,
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 81
" Have my children been happy to-day ? " fell
with more weight upon their feelings than the
most severe rebuke.
" We did not want to go," said the youngest
boy hesitatingly, as if more than half dis-satisfied
with his attempted palliation. " The
cousins laughed at us, and said we were getting
amazing pious since we got our new mother,
and they should like to know what she had to
do with our taking a little amusement as we
always had done. They said boys of real spirit
never were tied up by such silly notions."
" I did n't hear them say that," replied
James, his indignant feeling flashing from his
eyes and mantling his cheeks. " I '11 do as I 'm
a mind to for all them, and they shall not
speak against ma neither."
" Children," interrupted Mrs. M., quietly,
" do not reproach your cousins. They have
not been instructed properly with regard to re-ligion
and God's day. It is but a short time,
you must recollect, since you spent most of
82 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
your Sabbaths in amusement, and you have
often gone to your cousin's for the very purpose
for which they came to see you to-day. You
should have told them how interesting your
present employment on the Sabbath was, and
have invited them kindly to have heard our
exercises. They might have been won by them
as you have been. If they had have refused,
you could have declined politely accompanying
them in their excursion. They would most
likely have yielded to your wishes, and if it
was reluctantly, they would have been satisfied
with themselves afterwards. Now, though you
yielded, you are not satisfied with yourselves,
nor are they fully pleased. The course of
wrong doing, children, is always hard. When
we are led into sin, we wrong ourselves and
those who entice us. Your cousins had a right
to expect you to influence them in what was
right, because you have had more instruction
than they have."
" I was afraid to tell them," said Edward,
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 83
" about our Sabbath school, because I knew
they would laugh at us. But I mean to go to
see them and tell them all about it, and invite
them to come."
In this determination all the children joined,
and received the commendation of their mother.
They were not pressed closer with regard to
their own fault. " Milk for babes," Mrs. M.
used to say. *' It will not do to urge the con-sideration
of a fault upon the unenlightened,
as it should be urged upon the more perfectly
instructed, lest they be discouraged." She was
satisfied that the children felt keenly their mis-conduct,
and assured them of her forgiveness,
and commended them earnestly to God.
When the children had retired from her
room, Mrs. M. began to realize the new re-sponsibilities
which they had proposed to bring
upon her, by inviting their cousins to attend
upon her instructions. Her first purpose was
to get them admitted into the week-day school,
and thus secure the more eifectiial co-operation
84 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
of the teacher. But Mr. M. steadily resisted
this proposition, not being willing that the
quiet of the family should be disturbed by the
constant presence of so many unrestrained
youth. Upon more mature consideration, Mrs.
M. herself rejected this plan. They might
come occasionally, at least, on the Sab-bath,
for the express purpose of entering into
the religious exercises. This therefore must
be the arrangement. But the responsibility !
it was very great. It was virtually coming in
contact with the irreligion of the whole of
" uncle John's" family. She felt that her help
was in God, and earnestly did she implore His
assistance. She dared not doubt that He who
had so much blessed her in her labors thus far,
would support her under new and more diffi-cult
exertions.
In a few weeks James and Edward visited
their cousins. With much hesitation and trem-bling,
James extended the invitation.
'* To tell you the truth," replied their cousin
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 85
Charles, " I don't think much of your father's
pious wife, nor of her Sunday school neither.
I like to have my liberty to do what I please."
The blood mantled the face of James at this
rebuff, and his first impulse was to resent
fiercely the slur upon his mother. But remem-berincr
what she had told them concerning the
ignorance of their cousins in these matters, and
remembering, too, how he once felt about the
same things, he said to Charles, calmly, " Cou-sin,
we have a kind mother, and I do not wish
you to speak disrespectfully of her, or to call
her merely my father's wife. I once felt as you
do about having my liberty on the Sabbath, but
I am sure when you have heard the interesting
stories which the teacher and mother relate,
and how kindly they talk to us, you will not
wish to have any liberty to go into the woods
with your guns and dogs.
" Stories !" said Charles, " do they tell you
stories ? I thought they did nothing but pray
and preach sermons, while you sat like my dog
8
S6 A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
Spot after I have whipped him, and heard them
through."
*' No, Charles, you are mistaken. We read
some in the Bible, to be sure, and have prayers,
but mother and the teacher explain the Bible
lesson we get, and tell so many interesting
things, I am never tired. Besides, we don't
keep so silent as you suppose, but they love to
have us ask questions, and never seem tired of
answering them."
" Well," replied Charles, " if that is the
way, I may come ; but I reckon it will seem
queer for any of us bucks to go to Sabbath
school."
With the other cousins they were not so suc-cessful.
They sneeringly resisted all entreaties,
and more than once caused the unrenewed feel-ings
of our young friends to show themselves
in repelling the slurs cast upon their " pious
habits." Charles was overruled by the rest,
and he finally declined a visit for the avowed
purpose of attending the religious instructions.
A FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL. 87
Thus this apparently open door for renewed
usefulness was, for the time, closed. Yet the
cousins came occasionally on the Sabbath, and
were sometimes induced to listen to their exer-cises
with interest. Sabbath visiting, however,
at Mr. M.'s, was soon discontinued. The
friends learned the new order of things. Some
came on the week-days as cordially as ever,
and a few broke off their acquaintance. After
some time, the cousins so far abandoned their
prejudices as to come on the Sabbath to attend
the school. What the ultimate influence on
them will be, eternity alone can disclose.
Mrs. M. labored with real success among her
own charge. The family Sabbath school be-came
permanently established. The arrival of
a library of fine books from the North, through
her pastor, gave new interest to the under-taking.
Bat God, " whose ways are past finding
out," removed this faithful teacher to higher
field service, in less than five years from her
assuming the duties of a mother to these chil-
88 \ FAMILY SABBATH SCHOOL.
dren. She died in great peace. She had the
satisfaction of seeing, before her removal, her
own children, two of her foster children, and
her husband united with the church of God,
having professed faith in Christ.
THE COTTAGE IN" THE FORREST.
JJWhE EEUBEN,
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE.
In the midst of a dense and beautiful forest
stands a neat but unpretending cottage. The
jessamines climb the trees in front, and perfume
the air to a great distance. The squirrel is
frequently seen springing from tree to tree, or
sitting on the rude logs before the door, and the
birds of the most beautiful plumage sing all
day long their merriest songs. Not far distant,
the Mississippi rolls its majestic waters, just
where the Red River pours in its tribute to
swell the mighty tide as it hastens on to the
Gulf of Mexico.
A ride to this cottage from the nearest town,
is very delightful. The road, unless after a
heavy rain, is smooth and hard ; the tall trees
92 UNCLE REUBEN,
shade the traveller from the warm sun, and the
clear, running streams occasionally crossing his
way, are refreshing and beautiful. The visitor
who used to stop at the gate, whether acquaint-ance
or strancrer, was received with a cordial
welcome. If on horseback, the usual mode of
travelling in that country, he would scarcely
have thrown the reins of his horse over the
post near the door, before a venerable looking
negro man, with a staff in his hand, would be
ready v/ith his services. His locks were white,
his form, once strong, was 'sbent with years.
The tones of his voice were clear, and always
expressive of the greatest kindness. His coun-tenance
was almost angelic. It seemed to tell
the business of his life, which was prayer and
praise. This was Reuben, or " uncle Reuben,"
as he was familiarly called, a negro slave. He
moved readily about the yard, to which he was
accustomed, but he was entirely blind.
It was in the summer of 1838, that I spent
the first night at this cottage, and became
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE- 93
acquainted with " uncle Reuben." I was
awakened in the morning, before the sun had
begun to gild the tops of the tall trees, and be-fore
the stars had entirely faded away into the
brightness of the sky. The darkness was dis-appearing,
and the birds were singing their
joyous songs. But there was a sound above
the songs of the birds ; it was the voice of
fervent and melting prayer. It came from the
dwellinor of uncle Reuben. He first, in a sub-dued
tone, thanked God that he had preserved
him during the night, that his days and nights
were crowned with his mercies, and his cup
made to run over with benefits. He dwelt with
peculiar feeling upon the goodness 'of God in
his own conversion, and his expressions were
the strongest and most movingr I ever heard.
He denounced himself as " de wretch, de sin-ner
plucked from de burnings." As he pro-ceeded,
his feelings became more intense and
his voice louder, though there was evidently an
eflfort to subdue it. He prayed for " massa,"
94 UNCLE REUBEN,
that God would give him a new heart, and for
mistress, that she might " ove and praise de
Lord more," and for all the little " massas,"
because they were so kind " to poor old uncle
Reuben." " The parson" was next remembered,
that he might be a man loving God with " all
de heart," whose words would " make de poor
sinner tremble." He then closed with a prayer
for sinners, in which his soul seemed to be in
an agony. No one could doubt that he had
been in their situation, and that his soul then
realized, in a painful degree, their danger. In
this way this man of God spent about two
hours every morning, and much of his time
during the day.
After uncle Reuben had performed the little
service required of him in the morning, I
stepped into his " quarters." The " quarters"
are the houses or huts in which the negroes
live. They are most always made of logs, with
one room, a chimney of sticks lined with clay,
and one door, but no windows. Sometimes
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE. 95
they have what they call a gallery, or portico, in
front, and as the weather is warm in summer,
the negroes frequently chose to sleep upon the
gallery during the night, with no softer bed
than the plank floor. But uncle Reuben's
quarters were much better than common. It
was a frame building, with two rooms and
several windows. I entered, and sat down with
pleasure ; for it seemed to me like a house of
prayer.
" Good morning, uncle Reuben," said I, ad-dressing
him respectfully.
" Oh, it be a blessed good morning, massa !"
" Yes, it is pleasant, and a good morning for
uncle Reuben to feel his way about the yard."
" O '. God bless you, massa, I mean it a good
morning with uncle Reuben's soul."
No theme was interesting to this servant of
God but religion, and every topic of conversa-tion
was happily turned to introduce it. After
stating that he had lost his siaht since his con- es o
version five years previous, he exclaimed, " But
96 UNCLE REUBEN,
bless de Lord, massa, I was blind, a poor blind
sinner, but now I sees."
After this interview I became intimately ac-quainted
in the family of his truly kind master,
and had frequent interviews with uncle Reu-ben.
He was always rejoicing, and full of
earnest prayer. He frequently sung,
" Not a cloud doth arise, to darken my skies.
Or to hide for one moment my Lord from my eyes."
They seemed truly the expressive language of
his heart.
On the Sabbath, one of his fellow-servants
would lead him to the house of God, where he
would sit receiving the Word in a most devo-tional
attitude. As the preacher dwelt upon
the compassion of the Savior for sinners, the
tears would suffuse his sightless eyes, while the
half-stifled groan indicated his irrepressible
emotion. He was particularly pleased with
preaching which concerned the every day expe-rience
of christians, not only because it was
within the grasp of his understanding, but be-
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE. 97
cause it seemed to him most like the preaching
of Christ. He was once asked his opinion of
parson B., a well-known and popular preacher.
" Ah !" said he, " he go up and up till me lose
him," meaning that his language was so flowery
—that he soared so high he could not understand
him. '' Well, what do you think of parson W. ?
"
an excellent but very profound and argumenta-tive
preacher. " Why, he go down, down, and
me lose him." " But what do you think of
parson C. ? " a minister remarkable for the sim-plicity
and clearness with which he explained
God's truth. *' O ! he preach right into uncle
Reuben's heart."
The sacrament was an ordinance in which
he very much delighted, because, he said, it
made him think of Jesus, and what he had
done for poor sinners, particularly for such a
sinner as uncle Reuben.
If I were writing of a hero — a man whose
life had been spent in making widows and or-phans,
and increasing the misery of this sin-
9
9:!^ UNCLE REUBEN,
stained world, it would be considered in place
to dwell upon the minutest incident of his life,
and describe accurately the time and place of
his birth. The man of God, though a slavey
has a better record—a record on hicrh of a
spiritual birth, celebrated by angels, and to be
held in everlasting remembrance by the blood-washed
and glorified spirit. This was the birth
of which Reuben loved to speak, and for which
he seemed never satisfied with his expressions
of orratitude. The circumstances of it were
somewhat peculiar. Up to the year 1833, his
life was one of distinguished wickedness. Pos-sessed
of a giant frame and an unconquer-able
spirit, he was ready to plan, and bold to
carry into effect, the most daring deeds against
the quiet of the neighborhood in which he
lived. These mischievous feats obtained for
him the name of " Rowdy Reuben," a name
strikingly expressive, in that section of country,
of an unprincipled and reckless man. The
house of God he seldom visited. He was truly
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE. 99
a messenger of Satan to buffet those of his
fellow servants who professed the name of
Jesus. But God had reserved a simple, but
successful instrumentality for his conversion.
He had just retired to bed one night, after a
day of unusual wickedness, when he was
suddenly awakened by the frantic cry, "The
stars are falling !" " The judgment is come !"
He started instantly from his slumbers. The
heavens were lighted with a brilliant, meteoric
liorht. The " falling stars" were flashins: and
shooting across each other's tract in every di-rection,
balls of fire seemed to light amoncr the
tall trees and threaten the burning up of the
earth. The owls and night-hawks, dazzled and
startled by the unusual light, screeched most
dismally. The oldest and most intelligent per-sons
had never read nor heard of any thing of
the kind so solemn and interesting. They
could give no explanation of the phenomenon
to the untaught and superstitious African ; no
wonder, therefore, that they thought the day of
100 UNCLE REUBEN,
doom was corae, and that Reuben was fully of
this opinion. Guilt increases fear ; and in
dread expectation of standing before God to
give a fearful account, his conscience, which
had been a long time silent, lashed its victim
into tortures. He rolled upon the ground like
one already doomed. He cried for mercy, but
dared not lift his eyes to heaven, nor believe his
prayer would be heard. Every sin which he had
ever committed, with all its enormity, seemed to
come upon him swifter than lightning, and so
inexpressibly oppressive, that he thought him-self
sinking to hell. All around him were too
much overwhelmed with the appearance of the
heavens to notice, much less to comfort Reu-ben.
The cause of his-alarm passed away, but
not the sense of guilt it created. The arrows
of conviction had sunk deeply into his heart, —
its utter hatefulness had been reflected before
his eyes, and the voice of an angry God had
sounded awfully in his ears. He toiled through
the day, and retired to his quarters at night to
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE. 101
groan for relief from his intolerable load of sin
and misery. God, who had used an extraor-dinary
means for his conviction, had prepared a
simple, and to Reuben, a mortifying instrument
for his conversion. He sought in his distress
one of the persecuted and despised of the pious
servants, named Jurdon, to whom he communi-cated
his feelings, and requested to be taught
how to obtain forgiveness. Jurdon was greatly
rejoiced. " Bless de Lord," said he, " dis Saul
prays," and taking Reuben by the hand, he led
him to an oft-frequented spot where he himself
had resorted for relief in prayer from this now
humbled persecutor. The recollections of that
prayer were always present with Reuben. Jur-don
had an important case. His prayer was
the eloquent language of the Holy Ghost speak-ing
through a consecrated spirit, and never was
eloquence purer or more effectual. With un-affected
simplicity he described the great wicked-ness
of Reuben's past life, until the inquirer
was alipost overwhelmed with the solemn truth
9*
102 UNCLE REUBEN,
which the Holy Spirit was writing still more
deeply upon his heart. He then changed his
strain, plead the goodness of the Savior, the
confusion which would spread through the camp
of the enemy at the conversion " of de great
Goliath which defied the army of de mighty
God," the unspeakable joy which his brethren
would have in so great a victory over their foes,
and finally that God had promised " Jest dis
very ting, to pardon de sinner when he cry."
Such a prayer the Holy Ghost only could in-spire
in an untaught, simple African, and such
a prayer never failed of its object. Reuben's
heart melted. The clouds rolled away. Light
burst into his mind, and he sprang to his feet,
and throwinor his arms around Jurdon's neck,
exclaimed, " God no angry now." The lion
was a lamb. He returned to his abode, hum-bled
and subdued as a child, yet fearless for
God as he had been for sin. His spirit seldom
fainted beneath the load of reproach which was
cast upon him. The signal success of Jurdon's
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE. 103
prayer had unfolded to him a grand secret, of
which he learned more by this single lesson,
than many christians, more highly privileged,
learn in a long experience. He learned how
powerful a weapon prayer is, and well did he
use it, as the reader has already been informed.
Soon after Reuben's conversion, he was de-prived
of his sight by a painful disease of the
eyes. The Providence which shut out the light
of the natural sun from his sensual organs,
opened more fully to him the spiritual illumina-tions
which made him a burnino: and shining
light. He was truly shut in with God, and, ac-cording
to his capacity he spent his declining
moments in prayer and praise. A vivid con-ception,
and an abiding sense of the solemn
scenes of the judgment, were striking charac-teristics
of his experience. When he spoke of
that day, it was with a pathos which could not
fail to secure attention, and often produced
deep conviction. He would say, alluding to the
event which occasioned his awakening, the time
104 UNCLE REUICN,
will come when the stars w. J truly fall, when
fire will burn up the earth, and every sinner
will feel more dreadfully than [ felt, and it all
be a reality. He would then a id an exhorta-tion
full of the Holy Ghost and overwhelming
emotion.
Reuben held no office in the « aurch of God
as a teacher of relicrious truth. He was un-taught
in most of those thinors wh ch the world
consider necessary to wisdom, bu? it was evi-dent
to the pious, that he entei ed into the
sanctuary, and learnt things uni evealed to
the worldly wise, or even to ordinar} christians.
Hence the humble, though more higl .y favored
of his acquaintance, loved to sit at hi& feet and
learn. But if he ever occupied the p ace of a
teacher, the fact did not seem to occui to him.
In his own estimation, he was always tl e child
and always the pupil.
Returninor one Sabbath evenino; fron a, dis-tant
place of worship, I called at Reubi n's re-sidence.
The refreshing breeze of a & immer
THE PIOUS NEGRO SLAVE. 105
evening was just setting in. On stopping at
the gate, my friend, Squire J., himself, appeared
to welcome me. The voice of simultaneous
rejoicing arose from the woods in the rear of
the cottage. " Reuben," said the squire, " has
anticipated your arrival, and has gathered the
servants together for a little preliminary exer-cise,
before the preaching. You can rest
awhile, as they will be sure to enjoy Reu-ben's
ministrations." On inquiry, I learned
that this faithful servant of God was accus-tomed
to spend a part of each Sabbath in reli-gious
services with his companions and neigh-bors.
Without seeming to know it, he had as-sumed
the office of a religious teacher, which
was instinctively yielded to him.
Not willing to disturb the services, and being
pressed by curiosity to observe the proceedings,
I crept through a circuitous path and came
upon the back of the assembly with Reuben
full in front. The congregation was composed
of all ages and characters, decently clad and
06 UNCI-E REUBEN,
profoundly attentive. They numbered perhaps
about two hundred. They had just risen from
prayer, in which, as is usually the case with the
negroes, they all hnelt. Reuben had led the
devotions. The effect of his wrestling, for he
always wrestled when he prayed, was apparent
in the suffused faces, the unutterable emotion
and profound attention everywhere prevailing.
Reuben stood upon the fallen trunk of an aged
oak, his head uncovered, his white locks waving
in the wind, and repeated in a subdued and
"remulous voice,
" Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God ;"
The whole conorrecration rose, and with an ira-pressiveness
which forbade the indulgence of
an unholy passion, sung the two lines. Again
Reuben repeated,
" He to rescue tm from danger,"
and too much overcome by his feelings of grati-tude
to proceed, he clasped his hands, and lifl-
THE PIO IS NEGRO SLAVE. 107
ing his sightless ey es to Heaven, shouted with
impassioned energy, " Yes, me, blessed be de
Lord." The effect was electrical, and one
hearty, loud, united "Amen" reverberated
through the woods, r /id all was silent again,
while Reuben procee /ed,
" He to rescue ne from danger,
Interposed hj ! precious blood."
I have often lister ed to the deep-toned organs
of our city churches, accompanied by the well
trained voices of popi> far singers, but never did
I hear music which sc thrilled through my soul,
as that sent up by th s rude, untaught choir.
There was an inspirati m, a spiritual influence
accompanying it, which can no more be imi-tated,
than the livinjr soi«) can be transferred to
the painted canvass.
Such is a faint sket' h of " uncle Reuben."
The fruit of the Spirit ^'as begotten in him in
beautiful maturity. W\at rebuke, I have often
thought, to me, a Bible eading, Sabbath school
108 UNCLE REUBEN,
taught professor of our holy religion. How
much nearer the throne must he stand ! How
much brighter his crown ! When the name of
Napoleon shall be forgotten, when those exalted
by this world's approbation shall be brought
low, and the humble be exalted, then shall
uncle Reuben be exalted in the kingdom of
our Savior, and he be known among the re-deemed
as he is now eminently beloved by Him
who seeth not as man seeth. If I am despond-ing,
if my faith is feeble, and I am tempted to
repine at my lot, I feel rebuked, and my faith
quickened, when I recall to mind the unwaver-ing
confidence and joyful spirit of my old
friend, Uncle Reuben, the Pious Negro
Slave.
AN INCIDENT UPON THE
MISSISSIPPI
;
OR,
THE BROKEN YOW.
During a residence of several years in the
Mississippi Valley, I became acquainted with
many of the early settlers of that country.
Among these was Judge N., a man of the most
exemplary piety, of more than ordinary talents,
of extensive influence and great wealth, which
the providential changes of the country had
poured profusely into his coffers. He did not,
however, suffer his riches to become moth-eaten,
but gave as freely as he had received.
The poor of his own neighborhood, the widows
112 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI;
and the orphans, the exemplary young men,
the destitute churches, all shared his libe-rality.
His home was truly a hospitable man-sion.
Situated a short distance from the depot
of trade, in the midst of a forest of primitive
growth of trees with winding paths to the
various clearings of his plantation, it was in-deed
a residence of romantic simplicity and
beauty.
I considered myself fortunate, soon after an
attack of the " chills and fever," to be fivored
with a note, one beautiful Monday morning, from
the judge, inviting me to the comforts of his
mansion until my recovery. A fine saddle horse
accompanied the note, and it was not long be-fore
I was jogging merrily towards his planta-tion,
despite some emphatic indications of a
shaking from my fast friend, the ague. It was
during this visit that I received from the judge
the following narrative, which, though not given
in his own words, retains, as far as possible, his
graphic style.
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 113
In the year 18—, being then a young man
full of enterprise, and having a few thousand
dollars left me by my father, I determined to
make an excursion from Alabama, my native
State, to the upper valley of the Mississippi and
Ohio. It was then a daring expedition, but its
dangers only acted as a stimulus to my young
blood. The plan was no sooner conceived than
preparations were begun for its execution. A
trusty companion, and a few servants, were ne-cessary
to carry out fully my purpose. The
former was obtained in the person of my bro-ther
Caleb, the latter in a stout young negro,
John, raised in my father's family, the com-panion
of many a boyish sport, and a pious,
aged servant, Lewis, who retained much
of the fire of youth with the prudence of
age.
Our route lay directly through the Indian
country, almost untrodden by the foot of the
white man, to Natchez, from thence, striking
the Indian trail, we were to proceed along as
10*
114 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI ;
nearly as possible, the bank of the Mississippi.
During the fourth day of our journey, we
reached the very spot on which ray house now
stands. The canes were growing thick and
high, and we cut our way through them with
knives across what are now my finest cultivated
fields. We marked the spot as one of surpass-ing
fertility and beauty, and continued our
course towards Natchez. The deer, wild tur-kies,
and squirrels, afforded us abundant
provisions, and a camp at night on the
bank of a runninor stream with a blazinor
fire on one side, gave us a comfortable resting
place.
We reached Natchez in the morning just as
the sun was gilding the tops of the tallest trees.
I stood upon the high bluff upon which
the city is built, and viewed the majestic
Mississippi, sparkling in the rays of the rising
sun, extending beyond its banks into the
forest on the opposite side, and rushing furi-ously
onward, seeming to defy all restraint.
OR, THE BROKEN VOW 115
The arks* laden with the produce of the
upper country, were drifting rapidly with the
strong current towards New Orleans, and the
several ports intervening. Having left home
without any definite object of speculation, my
purpose was now formed. It was to visit the
vicinity of Pittsburg or Wheeling, load an ark
with the produce of the country, float it down
to some of the lower ports of the Mississippi,
and discharge it, if fortunate, at a good advance
of the purchase.
I remained in Natchez a sufficient time
to form some idea of its moral character,
which, at that time, was bad, almost beyond
conception. There was then, as at the pre-
* An ark is a flat and wide boat made of rough
hewn timber, to float with the current upon the West-ern
waters. They are generally made for a single
voyage down the river, and, after the freight they
bear is discharged, they are ignorainiously doomed
to be broken up for firewood, or to build a temporary
shanty.
116 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI ;
sent time, a settlement under the bluif,
reached from the top by a circuitous path,
occupied by men of nearly every country,
language and color, ready for deeds of dark-ness
and desperation. Those living upon the
bluff were persons of a better character, but
absorbed in the idea of extensive lands and ul-timately
of great riches and influence. There
was, however, a redeeming feature of the com-munity.
The pioneer preachers had commenced
their attacks upon the strongholds of sin, and a
few families were converted. They lifted up
their voices fearlessly in its high places, de-nounced
its darinop wickedness, while at the
same time, the plan of salvation was un-folded
with simplicity and power. The fruits
of their labors remain, but the most of them
have gone to enjoy their reward.
The novelty and grandeur of the father of
waters and its tributaries, threw so much that
was romantic over our expedition, that it
greatly stimulated us in our toils and dangers.
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 117
At times, as we reached the bank of the Mis-sissippi
at a point of land around which its waters
bent, the opposite shore seemed distant' almost
beyond the reach of the eye. It appeared like
a vast lake, rather than a river, inspiring feelings
of inexpressible sublimity. At other times, as-cending
a swell in the land, we looked upon it as
it wrought its silent way in the narrow channel,
circling the mimic mountain for a moment, and
then bursting away in derision of its pent-up
course, again sweeping over an almost bound
less extent of country. Disdaining the chan-nelled
path of its ancestral waters, it ever and
anon took a shorter cut, burying old channels
and forming new ones, and, in anticipation of
modern fashions, innovating without improving.
The sawyers* bowed gracefully to the passing
* Sawyers are tall trees whose roots, in their voy-age
down the river, catch on the bottom and thus an-chor
them, while the tops, reaching just above the
surface, bow most gracefully as the waters rush by
them. They are very dangerous to steam boats
118 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI;
voyager, and the snagt lifted up its jagged top
in stern defiance. Instead of the present
steamers, which at a distance seem to carry
prows of fire, buffeting the winds and the cur-rent
with a noise which awakes the silence of
the forest, and causes the deer to dart away
trembling with fear, the light canoe of the In-dian
glided like a thing of life over its unyield-ing
waters. I love the forest and the mighty
waters as they loere, before the hand of civili-zation
had marred nature's frst and sublimest
impressions. When the tall trees stood as they
had stood for aofes, battlinsf the storm, with
here and there a leafless veteran slowly and re-luctantly
yielding to the influence of age, going
down to dust full of years, a book of wisdom to
the simple Indian who leans against its trunk.
going up stream. Striking them with great force,
they run them through their bottom, and sink almost
immediately,
f Wholly sunken trees are called snags.
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 119
The axe levels all such ; a sacrilegious deed
!
And I protest that the Mississippi itself is not
SO grand, so romantically wild as it hurries along
its time worn bed, as it used to be. It is dis-spirited
and tame at the conquests of the white
man over its rushinor current. No lonorer con-tent
to guide his wealth down its waters, he as-cends
^xom. its mouth to its very source, in de-spite
of its ancient right to carry all before it.
Then, the poor Indian ! he is no longer the
lord of his wide domain, fearless as the panther,
and fleet as the deer, but a miserable depend-ent
upon its scanty bounties, waiting in sullen
silence, until both the forest and his people
shall fade away.
Passing over further account of our voyage,
the particulars of our purchase, and the build-ing
of our ark, I shall proceed to detail an in-cident
which occurred during our homeward
voyage and its important consequences to one
of our company — an incident which has called
forth this narrative from me, for it has often
120 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI ,
caused me to review and keep in distinct re-membrance
the entire enterprize with which it
is connected. *
The surface of the Ohio was unruffled, when
far above its juncture with the Mississippi we
pushed our ark from the shore, laden with the
riches of the country. A long oar extended
from the stern, which, swinging upon a peg as
a pivot, served for a helm, while two others
from the sides were managed by the negroes to
keep us in the stream. I took the office of
helmsman, while Caleb, the most of the time,
stood in the fore part of the boat to watch for
the. snags and sawyers. We were " green
hands " at this kind of navigation, and more
than once did we whirl round in the eddies in
spite of oars and helm. Our cargo being cov-ered
over even with the sides of our ark, made
a flat deck upon which a cabin of the rudest
sort had been built for a sleeping place, and
another slight shelter for our cooking opera-tions.
OK, THE BROKEN VOW. 121
Our voyage commenced prosperously. We
floated silently and smoothly along about four
miles an hour, seldom touching the oars. No-thing
of special consequence occurred until we
cached the Mississippi. Here we found the
river, though no wider, more rapid, and the
navigation more dangerous. We were occa-sionally,
notwithstanding all our efforts, whirled
through the new channels among trees half
fallen into the water, while our clumsy vessel
was severely bruised and racked by the uncere-monious
usage of the snags. The summer sun
had melted the snow upon the mountainous
sources of the Missouri, and was pouring an ir-resistible
tide into the Mississippi. It became
i!riprudent to proceed, and, pulling up to the
brink, we made the ark fast to the trees, wait-ing
for the swollen river to subside.
I was quietly watching the immense quanti-ties
of wood floating by us—the vigorous young
oak which seemed destined to flourish for ages,
the old and decaying branches which had fallen
II
12'2 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI;
from a venerable sire, with all the small stuff,
which, sometimes when together lodged upon a
point of land, turn the entire bed of the river.
The negroes had lain down, and Caleb sat
thoughtfully on the side of the boat. Suddenly
our fastening parted. It did not seem possible
for us to float in such a current, especially with
such unfriendly voyagers as were plunging
under our prow, and scraping our bottom.
Lewis, the pious negro, started up and looked
out upon our situation with perfect composure.
John looked as if he was ready for a desperate
effort to save himself, whatever became of the
craft and its crew. Caleb w^as frantic with
fear. We were, the while, shooting forward
like an arrow. Just ahead was a recently
formed " cut off," and a submerged point of
land projecting into the river, against which its
divided waters were rushing with terrific fury.
To strike this point would sink us instantly.
Our only hope was that the pliant, overhanging
bran-ches mio-ht break the force of the collision.
OR, THE UaOKEN VOW. 123
or, at least, we might seize them and save oui-selves
before the ark went down.
'* Seize 'em fast," shouted John, as we shot
with the lightness of a bubble towards the
point.
" God save massa Caleb, cause he no ready
to die,'^ cried Lewis, emphasising the last
clause in a manner to cause more conviction in
the mind of my brother than consolation.
Caleb had been a great scoffer at reliaion
during our journey, and Lewis had labored for
his spiritual good with an untiring diligence.
I had just time to hear from Caleb the subdued
"God have mercy," and the responsive " amen"
from Lewis, as we glided fairly in among the
branches. We seized them with the despera-tion
of doon>ed men. The receding current
drew powerfully upon the ark to force it into
the channel again, but with the obstruction of
the trees, and our grasp upon their limbs, it
was stayed. But it was evident we could sus-tain
the contest but a short time. To be driven
124 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI J
from our moorino-s aofain was certain death.
To forsake the boat for the branches was an
uncertain safety.
The constant labors of Lewis, his last ex-clamation,
together with the solemn and critical
situation in which we were placed, had turned
Caleb's thoughts to his eternal salvation.
" I bless God heaven so near," exclaimed
Lewis, as his aged limbs refused any longer ser-vice,
and letting go his hold, he sunk exhausted
upon the boat.
" I cannot die,^^ said Caleb, in a tone that
thrilled our very souls.
A new purpose seized the mind of Lewis.
His vioror seemed to return. He knelt beside
Caleb, and, lifting his voice clearly above the
noise of the rushing waters, he poured forth a
prayer full of moving eloquence, nay, more of
mighty power with God. At short intervals he
would stop, slap Caleb on the shoulder, ex-claiming,
'* Pray, believe, massa Caleb, God
hear de teaf when he cry." Not one word
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 125
d?d he utter concernincr deliverance from our
perilous situation. He had made up his mind
to go to heaven from the waters of the Missis-sippi,
and his soul was in an agony for " massa
Caleb" to be prepared to accompany him. Not
so with Caleb, He still thought of deliverance ;
and while he was holding with a convulsive
grasp to the yielding branch, and Lewis was
wrestling in prayer, he offered one of the most
solemn vows to God ever uttered. He prayed
for deliverance ; promised his substance, his in-fluence,
his all to God during life, if he would
avert the present danger. Lewis' faith began
to fail.
" I say, massa Caleb," said he, stopping sud-.
denly, and rising to his feet, "it no matter
when you dies, if you give God de heart now."
" Ah," he added, with a sad expression of
countenance, " you no 'pent by 'em by," and
walked towards a distant part of the boat.
I pointed to a small piece of rope left when
it parted, which was before unnoticed, and di-
11*
126 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI J
rected him to secure it to an overhanging limb
Our boat had in the mean time become firmly
wedged in by the trees, so that it remained un-moved
when we all, from sheer exhaustion, let
go our hold.
When we again ventured into the river, we
were rapidly, but without further accident, hur-ried
along until the waters became less powerful,
and our ark was secured to the bank. Near us
was a rude log cabin of an enterprising settler.
We were welcomed with a cordiality character-istic
of the rouojh men of the woods. A bountiful
repast was set before us, and after our appetites
were satisfied, we were entertained by incidents
in the stirring adventures of our host. His
stories were of a sober character, bearinof the
impress of truth ; after their recital, he was
urged to relate his early history in reference to
religion, for we had learned by his conversation
that he loved God. The chastening hand of
God had been laid heavily upon him, and his pro-vidential
dealings were of a striking character.
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 127
*' My father," said our friend, drawing up
close to the blazing fire, and looking thought-fully,
" was one of the early Puritan ministers
of New-England. I was taught the strictest re-gard
for religion. The Sabbath was a holy day
with our family, beginning with Saturday even-ing,
when we gathered around the big fire and
listened to instruction from our parents con-cerning
the regulation of our future lives. My
life passed swiftly and sweetly away until I left
the home so dear to me for a distant school.
Surrounded by boys nearly of my own age from
all parts of New-England, many of whom had
received but little religious instruction, I was
led away from the path of virtue step by step,
until mv teachers, having received the strictest
injunction from my parents so to do, if neces'-
sary, informed them of my conduct. I re-ceived,
soon after, a letter from my mother,
which merely alluded to my waywardness, re^
questing my immediate return home, stating as
a reason the serious illness of my father, \
128 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI J
packed up my little wardrobe, and left imme-diately.
It was late in the fall, about the season
set apart for our Thanksgiving festival. I re-membered
how happy I had been in days past,
when innocently feasting upon the bounties of
the occasion, and receiving the annual gifts of
our dear parents. A deep gloom shrouded my
mind. I was going home robbed of my inno-cence,
to meet a grieved, sick, and perhaps
dying parent. Every sight and sound, as I ad-vanced,
was a burden. The merry shout of the
children just loosed from school, the song of
the farmer as he sauntered beside his richly
laden cart returning from the harvest ffathering
of corn, pumpkins, and other riches of the
fields, were painful sounds. They reminded
me of my own happy days, before my feet had
wandered from virtue's paths. As I approached
my home, the sun was hiding behind the hills
from which I had often watched his last beams.
It seemed to me as if the last rays of peace
were departing from my breast. The carriage
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 129
of the family physician stood at the door. I
entered. All was quiet as the house of mourn-ing,
as it truly was. My mother met me at the
sick room door, pressed my hand affectionately,
and, without uttering a word, led nie to the
bed-side of my father. His face was pale and
deathly, his eyes were closed, and his lips trem-bled
as if striving to give utterance to some
deep feeling of concern. I placed my ear close
to his mouth, and heard the words ' My erring
boy.' I could bear to hear no more, but sunk
upon my knees by the bed-side. My heart was
full to overflowing. I prayed that I might but
have my father's blessing and forgiveness, that
my life might be less a burden if he died.
While I knelt, he roused up and recognized his
wayward child, laid his hand gently upon my
head, and whispered in a feeble voice, ' Does
my son come home penitent for his sins ?
'
*'
' Yes, father ; do you forgive me ?
'
" ' My child, what is the forgiveness of your
earthly parent, who, but for the blood of
130 AN INCIDExNT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI J
Christ, were for ever undone. Go seek forgive-ness
of Him vi'hose Holy Spirit you have
grieved.*
'•'I do, father ; but say do yon forgive me be-fore
you die 1 I cannot live unless I hear you
say you forgive your prodigal son. Father, O !
my father, can you forgive ?
'
" 'Yes, freely, all ; but, my child, tell me if
your heart is tender — do you seek pardon
now — is my son a real penitent 1 ' and his
voice trembled with his unutterable emotion.
I stood beside his bed while life seemed slowly
but surely drawing to a close. The faint whis-per
escaped his lips, ' Now, now, does he —
does my son,' and my imagination rapidly sup-plied
those painful words ' repent,' ' believe,'
' pray,' for v/ell I knew if it were my father's
dying injunction, it would be in accordance
with his living instruction — * immediate re-pentance.'
I knelt again beside his bed. ' Yes,
Lord,' I cried, ' I will repent.' But my heart
seemed to deny the assertion of my lips. I lin-
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 131
gered at the bed-side in an agony, I knew not
how long, until I was gently removed to my
room by my mother, and left alone. The night
was spent in solemn vows uttered in the ears of
angels as well as God. But my father, I could
not have him die. Could he but recover, I
would sacrifice every thing to live a religious
life.
" Before day I crept slowly to his bed-side.
He breathed more freely. The physician, whose
experienced and watchful eye had been con-stantly
upon him for the last twenty-four hours,
spoke encouragingly. A burden seemed re-moved
from my heart. I hurried back to my
room to renew my vow.
" My father steadily recovered, contrary to the
expectations of all. My mind continued thought-ful,
but not changed. Present resignation to
God seemed impossible, but of course it was
not. I soon learned I had trusted too much to
my vow, and thought too little of my father's
importunate injunction to seek for present
pardon.
132 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI ;
" My father, after a short time, reluctantly con-sented
for me to return to my studies. I was
placed cautiously in the hands of a neighboring
clergyman, free from the influence of my former
associates. But I continued irresolute. The
present never seemed my time to become pious.
My interest in my soul, and concern for my
vow, gradually left me. I was soon removed to
college, and before my collegiate course was
finished, I had well nigh forgotten the voice
that once whispered as from my father's grave,
' Repent now.'
" It was thus with me when T received a let-ter
from my mother "
Here our friend and host stopped, as if re-luctant
to proceed. Tears suffused his manly
face.
" Yes," he murmured so low as scarcely to
be heard, " a letter from my mother. It lies
in those drawers," said he, turninor round and
pointing to a rude apology for a case of drawers,
of his own fabrication. "It informed me of
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 133
my father's death. But there was a sting in the
information which it gave of his last moments,
that pierced me through.
" * Your father,' said my mother, * had long
mourned irreconcilably in consequence of your
impenitence, and I have no doubt it brought
him prematurely to the grave. My son, think
of your parent in heaven, who lisped a prayer,
with his dying breath, for your conversion —
think of your desolate mother, of your broken
vows, and give your heart to God.'
*' I awoke as from a dream. Had I mur-dered
my father ! was my mother to die, and
leave me impenitent ! It was too much. I
locked the door of my room and knelt, hum-bled
in the dust. I prayed, wrestled, and wept.
No relief came. My broken vows ! ! O how
they oppressed me and, shut me out from any
confidence in my approaches to God. I arose
and sought the counsel of a pious student,
whose father and mine had been intimate
frkruL? To him I poured out my complaints.
1-2
134 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI ;
I begged to be instructed, but most of all
sought to know if there could be forgiveness
for such a sinner. He encouraged me, read to
me the V/ord of God, and carried my case, in
fervent prayer, to a throne of grace. My heart
melted, and my burden rolled off! I trust I
have since known the consolations of religion.
My delay nearly ruined my soul : soon, I have
often thought, would the living in the neglect
of that solemn vow have rendered my repent-ance
extremely improbable. And since my con-version,
painful clouds have crossed my mind
when I have thought of my father's wounded
feelings at his dying hour. God be praised
that it was not renewed again to be broken !
God forgive me that I ventured so far upon his
forbearance !"
Our friend closed. A silence and solemnity
pervaded the room. Lewis cast an inquiring
look at Caleb. Caleb remained silent, disturbed,
and irresolute. Lewis could not forbear to
make an application of this experience, so prov
OR, THE BROKEN VOW 135
identially related, to rivet the pious purposes
of my brother.
" You see, massa Caleb, 'pentance by 'em
by dreadful unsartin. Heart get harder —
devil say God no forgive — you believe it, die,
and be lost — God by 'em by knock no more at
massa Caleb's heart. Poor old uncle Lewis soon
die — go to heaven — wait, look, see if massa
Caleb coming. He no come. Judgment day
come. I look for him all round in de happy
company. No massa Caleb. He promise, then
he no live better, then he promise 'gen, live
worse — by 'em by God get angry — say cut
him down — he die — he lost
!"
Thus Lewis expostulated. We all knelt and
prayed. First our friend to whose experience
we had listened, offered a prayer accompanied
with earnest ejaculations and gushing tears.
He brought in grateful remembrance God's for-bearance
with himself, renewedly confessed hi.s
sin of procrastination, so hateful to him now,
and upon which he looked as an awful vortex
136 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI;
of ruin from which he had been saved, as the
sailor looks back on the waves angrily dashing
upon a dreaded rocky shore, toward which his
bark was just now rushing.
Caleb rose and rushed from the room. The
emotions within him were almost too strong for
endurance. But he did not yield to the strong
persuasions of God's spirit. It was not then
apparent to me why he did not, but since it has
appeared plain. The love of riches — clear
prospects were before us of large profits. The
people of this Western country were then in-toxicated
with the idea of great wealth, and
Caleb had caucrht the mania and set his heart
upon idols of gold and silver. Hence his severe
struggle, his hesitation and procrastination.
We parted reluctantly from our friend, who
bestowed many kind admonitions upon Caleb,
and bade us all a prosperous voyage as we again
committed ourselves to the waters of the Missis-sippi.
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 137
Thus far my friend, Judge N., detailed to me
the experiience of his brother Caleb's connection
with the expedition and incidents upon the
Western rivers. Being interrupted, I heard no
more, at that time, of his brother's future ex-perience,
or the subsequent events of their re-turn
home. But during my frequent visits to
the Judge's house, I became acquainted with
Caleb. He was somewhat advanced in years,
mild and gentlemanly in his address. He was
communicative, except when religion was the
theme of conversation ; he was then silent, or
maintained a reserve which prevented any dis-closure
of his feelings on that subject.
On a Sabbath morning, in the spring of
18—, all was in busy preparation at the house
of Judge N., for a visit to the sanctuary of
God. A saddle-horse was ready at the door for
each of the male members of the family, and a
carriage for the ladies. The servants, too, were
seen sallying out from their humble habitations
in their best attire, and wending their way along
12*
138 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI J
the shaded path. All was anxiety to be in sea-son
at the place of worship, for it had been an-nounced
that parson W. would preach— a
man of great power in the pulpit, and a great
favorite withal of the sons of Ham. It was a
deliorhtful morninor. The birds were carollinor
upon every branch, and the breezes were as
soft and the sky as clear, as imagination could
conceive. The house was crowded at our ar-rival.
The preacher took for his text " Quench
not the Spirit." His manner of presenting Di-vine
things was strikingly original and con-vincing.
His personal appearance was rougli
and repulsive ; his annunciation of the truth,
severe, yet accompanied by an evident honesty
of purpose and depth of feeling which secured
profound attention. But the prominent charac-teristic,
was the strength of thought and clear-ness
with which it was uttered. The most
common subject had a freshness under his touch
which made it enchanting. On this occasion
he siirpasse4 himself, not so much in the new-
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 139
ness of the thoughts as the pathos with which
they were delivered. His soul was full of sym-pathy
for the dying sinner. Toward the close,
speaking of the abuse of the Spirit's influence,
he described in glowing colors the case of
those who had been the subjects of its special
drawings, and the wickedness of trampling
upon the tender feeling it produced. I could
perceive the net was being drawn closer and
closer around my friend Caleb, who had ac-companied
his brother to church. 1 watched
with intense anxiety for its effect. There was
a stern inflexibility in his countenance —some-thing
which seemed to say, I have no ear nor
heart for the truth. But soon he was subjected
to a more overwhelming attack. The preacher
charged with terrible effect and cutting power,
perjury upon the soul who broke his engage-ments
with the Spirit of God. " And all for
what," said he, " is this perjury against the
Spirit of God 1 For the gratification of blind
passion, or for gold, the dust of earth. Hea-
140 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI J
ven offended, and the soul bargained for the
paltry dust of the earth."
Caleb's fortress yielded under this discharge
of powerful feeling and awful truth. Whether
the preacher actually knew his case, and di-rected
a shaft at him, or drew the bow at a ven-ture,
I never knew. The subject of our story
had not been moved for years. Having accumu-lated
great wealth, he had forgotten or chose
seldom to recur in thought to his vow on the
Mississippi. Now the whole of his convictions
rushed with renewed force upon his conscience.
The sweat rolled freely down his face. He
looked around as though he felt he had been
addressed by name, and the attention of the
whole congregation drawn towards him. He
remained and heard the sermon, rivetted by a
solemn, heart-searching prayer. Sympathy and
concern for liim seemed to be its moving spring,
so applicable was it to his case.
Poor Caleb! it was a critical time with him;
but he yielded not, The last tender feeling re-
OR, THE BROKEN VOW. 141
specting his salvation was driven from his breast.
He had thrown himself upon the tide of his
worldly feelings, which were driving him with
fearful velocity toward the vortex of eternal ruin.
After some months, during which I heard no-thing
concerning my friend's religious feelings,
news came to me of his death, an account of
which may be learned from the following ex-tract
of a letter from the judge.
" You inquire concerning the circumstances
of my brother's death. The details are painful,
but as you were informed of his first prominent
step in hardening himself in sin, and were wit-ness
to the last special call of God to him under
the sermon of the Rev. Mr, W., I will inform
you of the last fearful tragedy, especially as
the recital may be used by you in warning
others.
" When I was called to the bed-side of my
brother, it was apparent he could not live. I
informed him of this fact, and also addressed
him upon the subject of his soul's best interest.
142 AN INCIDENT UPON THE MISSISSIPPI ;
He turned his face away with cold indifference
I reminded him of the sermon. For a moment
he awakened to some sensibility. He acknowl-edged
what we had surmised of its effect, and
said furtherjthat it was the last season of religious
sensibility he ever experienced. Feeling en-couraged,
I tremblingly hinted at the vow made
on the Mississippi. A painful, agonizing feel-incr