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Title: The Experiences of Uncle Jack - Being a Biography of Rev. Andrew Jackson Newgent
Author: Snyder, W. Ed.
Language: English
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[Illustration: REV. ANDREW JACKSON NEWGENT
Latest Photograph.]
THE EXPERIENCES OF
UNCLE JACK
Being a Biography of
REV. ANDREW JACKSON NEWGENT
BY
REV. W. ED. SNYDER
a Minister in the United Brethren Church
[Illustration]
_Nineteen Hundred and Eleven_
_United Brethren Publishing House
W. R. Funk, Agent
Dayton, Ohio_
_Printed by
United Brethren Publishing House
W. R. Funk, Agent
Dayton, Ohio_
PREFACE
That which requires an apology should be left undone. Hence, the author
of this humble work offers no apology in sending it forth. If it finds
favor in the sight of those into whose hands it may fall, he will
appreciate it. If not, it is confidently assumed that the world will
pursue its wonted course, and no one will be the worse, if not the wiser.
No special literary excellence is claimed for it. It is a feeble, though
honest, attempt to preserve from the cold, merciless realm of oblivion a
life story that is well worth preserving—the life story of one for whom I
have come to have the profoundest reverence and affection. My only regret
is that it has not been done better.
Its chief value consists in the fact that it reveals the fundamental
elements of true character and true success. The life of “Uncle Jack”
Newgent is a conspicuous illustration of the fact that each individual is
the architect of his own fate or fortune, that the conditions of success
are internal and not external. This has been his life philosophy and has
been abundantly vindicated by his life record. His right to a proper
regard among his fellows rests upon his sterling qualities of manhood,
devotion to a great purpose, and personal achievements that have added to
the sum total of the world’s weal and worth. He belongs to a worthy line
of foundation builders whose work underlies the great superstructures of
both church and state of the present day.
Hence, two purposes have been kept in view in the writing of this
sketch—to acknowledge, if not to pay, a debt of honor and gratitude the
Church owes to a worthy man; and by giving special attention to those
personal qualities that make for success always and everywhere, and which
were so strikingly exemplified in his character, to preserve the lessons
of his life to the present and future generations in the hope that they
may thus contribute to the further progress of righteousness. If in this
unpretentious little volume these purposes are in any degree fulfilled, I
shall be abundantly satisfied.
W. E. SNYDER.
INTRODUCTION
The pleasing task of writing an introduction to the life of my noble
friend, Rev. A. J. Newgent, has fallen upon me. The intimate association
which I have had with him for many years gives me a peculiar pleasure in
seeing the record of his splendid life placed before the Church.
Biography is one of the most important departments of literature, and Mr.
Newgent is eminently worthy of the permanent place in history which this
volume accords him. I feel that fitting tributes in historic sketches
should not only be paid the men of God who have planted the Church in
this nation, but posterity should come and say over their graves, as
Pericles did over the bodies of his fallen fellow soldiers: “You are
like the divinities above us: you are known only by the benefits you
have conferred.” It is of such a man, though still living among us,
that Dr. W. E. Snyder gives the accurately drawn portraiture in the
chapters of this well-written biography. The work has been prepared
with good judgment and much skill. The incidents of his life are given
in sufficient detail, and make the volume exceedingly interesting and
instructive. Such a publication is of great value, not only to those
who enter the ministry, but to the whole Church, and especially to the
young. To study the career of one, who, by fortitude and zeal, has
carved his way from humble surroundings to a high place of honor among
his fellow-men—passing through varied and striking vicissitudes in the
struggle—can but inspire and ennoble other lives.
Entering the ministry before our pioneer style of life had passed away
in the west, Mr. Newgent adapted himself to the humblest conditions of
society. The fields of labor which he occupied in those early years
of his pastorate were sufficient to remind him of the privation and
hardships of those who had preceded him; but no condition was humble
enough or severe enough to deter him from the work to which his young
life had been consecrated. He could lodge in the loft of the lowliest
cabin and subsist upon the cheapest fare. In quest of souls he thought
little of anything else. Living among the people, a very small salary
would suffice for him. He knew what it was to live on a moiety of one
hundred dollars and less. There have been no dangers or hardships, no
toils or privations, no suffering or sorrow sufficient to daunt his
heroic spirit. Fortunately, Mr. Newgent is so constructed as to see the
bright side of every difficulty, and his inimitable humor has made his
family and friends laugh in the darkest hours of his ministerial life.
Unflinching loyalty to the Church has ever marked the career of Mr.
Newgent. Though he has been peculiarly free from sectarian prejudices or
bitterness, his attachment to his own people has been conscientious and
unwavering. All his energies have been devoted to the advancement of the
Church of his choice. He has stood for the defense of its doctrines and
polity, and those who have drawn him into debate over any feature of our
system have not challenged him a second time. In the earlier days of his
ministry he was many times called in debate with the strongest men of
other denominations, and has proved himself equal to any antagonist who
has met him in discussion. Many have gone down before his unanswerable
arguments, and not a few have been driven from the contest because they
could not stand before the torrent of his eloquence and the indescribable
power of his wit. In all his ministerial work these qualities have
often been of great advantage to him. Few men could possess such wit
and eccentricities as Mr. Newgent commands, and use them to advantage
without some objection by the people. But like all his other gifts, these
peculiar qualities have been consecrated to the service of doing good,
and in their use he has maintained his ministerial consecration and
influence with never a breath of suspicion cast upon his good name.
It is gratifying to his many friends that Mr. Newgent, though retired
from the active work of the ministry, is still in possession of all
his mental powers, and no doubt will live to read his own biography.
Few men have been so fortunate. To have spent his long and useful life
in the most interesting period of the history of the Church, and then
remain to read the part he has played in the making of that history,
is a privilege that most of Christ’s embassadors have never enjoyed.
Back when the Publishing House was struggling for existence, he loyally
supported the little plant, and never failed to circulate our books and
push our periodicals in every charge he has filled. When our institutions
of learning were in their infancy, and much opposition was brought
against education, he was a friend of the schools, and again and again
has gone into the field to raise money for their support. He has seen the
great benevolent boards of the Church and nearly all our connectional
institutions come up from the smallest beginnings, and has never failed
to espouse the cause of these important agencies for the promotion of
Christ’s kingdom. Even the conference in which he began his ministry has
grown in his day from a handful to a host, and no man has watched its
growth with deeper pride or more anxious concern than himself.
I could write much more in the line of these thoughts, but the chapters
of this volume will give in clear light the characteristics which can
only be hinted at in the limits of an introduction. The skilled pen of
the biographer will bring out in forceful and charming manner the noble
traits of the gifted brother whose career he has studied with great care
and painstaking interest. Let the book have a wide circulation, let the
youth read its inspiring sentiments, and the horizon of their thoughts
will be enlarged and the desire to be loyal to God and to every good work
will be stimulated and strengthened.
T. C. CARTER.
November 27, 1911.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Preface 3
Introduction 4
CHAPTER ONE
Ancestry—Picture of pioneer life—Imprisonment and release
of Pompey Smash—Little Jack’s short-cut in the study of
astronomy—The fate of his first pair of breeches 9
CHAPTER TWO
The tragic death of the father—Removal to Parke County—School
Days—Conversion—Change of church relationship—A remarkable
providence 23
CHAPTER THREE
Call to the ministry—First sermon—The boy preacher—Answering
a fool after his folly—Turning a camp-meeting tide—Quieting a
skirmish—Takes a wife 39
CHAPTER FOUR
Conference membership—Brulitz Creek ministry—The modern
knight and his steed—Abrupt closing of family devotions by
a dog-on-the-preacher—An original marriage ceremony—A case
of mistaken identity—A banner missionary collection—Shawnee
Prairie pastorate—A cold day in April—The redemption of Hell’s
Half Acre—Baiting for a perverse fish—An experience in the
whisky business 51
CHAPTER FIVE
Six months at Rainsville—A hot-bed of Southern sympathizers—A
mix-up with saloon men—A sermon on slavery—Fire and
brimstone—An antagonist outwitted—A sermon from the book of
Newgent—Can any good thing come out of Rainsville? 70
CHAPTER SIX
The war spirit in Indiana—Breaking up a traitorous plot—Narrow
escape from enemies—Assists in securing recruits—Becomes
chaplain of his regiment—Exchange of courtesies with a
Presbyterian minister—An embarrassing predicament—Saves his
regiment from capture—Organizes military church—Chased by
Johnnies—An exciting homeward journey 80
CHAPTER SEVEN
Plants the United Brethren banner in Terre Haute—Prairieton
pastorate—Difficulty with the sons of Anak—A prayer without an
“Amen”—Another community redeemed—Going to the wrong doctor—A
perverse colt—An unintentional immersion—One sermon that was
not dry 98
CHAPTER EIGHT
The New Goshen pastorate—An old grudge healed—Dry bones
revived—Memorable year at “Dogtown”—“Death in the pot”—The
Hittites captured—The “Jerks”—Other remarkable demonstrations—A
rooster in the missionary collection—First debate—Unpleasant
sequel to a horse trade 111
CHAPTER NINE
Labors at Mattoon, Illinois—A persistent campaign and a great
victory—Second New Goshen pastorate—A coincidence—Success at
Prairieton—Laboring in the shadow—The death of Mrs. Newgent—A
bishop’s tribute to her character 131
CHAPTER TEN
First great debate—The debate as an institution—The
challenge—Opponents get weak-kneed—Prolonging maneuvers—A
hungry multitude unfed—Battle begins—Questions discussed—An
improvised creed for his opponent—A premature baptism—An
opponent’s tribute to his genius—Crowning the victor 138
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Subsequent debates—The Owen contest—He got his
“Treat”—Opponent’s confession—Dressing “Stone”—A scared
Baptist—Invades the Lutheran ranks—Measures steel with Doctor
Ingram—Dissertation on infant baptism—Opponent’s early
flight—Concludes the debate alone—The Haw debate 155
CHAPTER TWELVE
Perrysville and Centerpoint—Industry rewarded from an
unsuspected source—A “slick wedding”—Fruitful labors at
Centerpoint—A one-sided union meeting—The doctrine of the
resurrection again demonstrated 171
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Becomes a missionary superintendent—Second marriage—An
unexpected welcome—Forms a Quaker friendship—The Spirit moves
in a Quaker meeting—A Quaker’s prayer answered—Builds a
college—Shows what to do for a dead church—Another tilt on the
doctrine of baptism—Conversion of a Dunkard preacher—Turns a
great movement in the right direction 180
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Autumn—The fading leaf—Fruit in old age—His later
labors—Present home 196
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Character Sketch 202
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Lights out,” a dirge of the war 219
CHAPTER ONE.
_Ancestry—Picture of Pioneer Life—Imprisonment and Release
of Pompey Smash—Little Jack’s Short Cut in the Study of
Astronomy—The Fate of his First Pair of Breeches._
Once upon a time, so long ago that the chronology of it has become hidden
in the mists of historical uncertainties, a man with his family emigrated
from the hill section of northern Ireland to the vicinity of Dublin. What
his real name was also belongs to the realm of the unknown, but among
the unsophisticated rural inhabitants with whom he had cast his lot he
was characterized simply as the “new gentleman.” In course of time, the
somewhat cumbersome title became abbreviated to “new gent,” the original
appellation finally passing from common usage entirely. That this new
gentleman was a person of some force of character may be inferred from
the distinction he seems to have achieved among his new neighbors and the
fact that the name has been honored by men of rank and eminence among his
descendants, a conspicuous example being Lord Robert Newgent (or Nugent),
the celebrated Irish scholar and statesman.
Among the later descendants were three brothers who decided to cast their
fortunes with the land of dreams and fancies across the Atlantic. Their
names were Edward, William, and Thomas Newgent. On reaching America
Edward directed his course toward the sunny South, William remained
somewhere in the East, while Thomas struck out toward the vast region of
unbroken forests on the western slopes of the Alleghenies. His pilgrimage
terminated somewhere in the bounds of Kentucky. He secured a tract of
land near Cincinnati, and in process of time met, wooed, and won a
wealthy daughter of Virginia. He was contemporary with the Boones in
reclaiming this great region of possibilities for civilization; helped
to survey the State; taught school on both sides of the Ohio River,
winning for himself the title of “Irish Schoolmaster,” which, in this
case, carried with it no small degree of distinction. He was a soldier in
three wars, that of the Revolution, of 1812, and the Blackhawk War, for
which services he received a pension from the Government. He professed
religion at the ripe age of eighty, and was spared to redeem in part his
long neglected opportunities by spending almost a quarter of a century in
active Christian service, his long and eventful life closing, according
to an uncertain tradition, in the 103d year of his age. He was the father
of Charles Newgent, who was the father of Andrew Jackson Newgent, the
hero of this simple narrative.
In Charles Newgent the elements of character peculiar to his race were
exceptionally strong. A most marked propensity was his fondness for a
joke. He would take more interest in concocting some new trick to be
played on a neighbor or in devising a scheme for merrymaking than in a
critical study of the Sermon on the Mount, or in solving an intricate
theological problem. But while the religious faculty remained somewhat
dormant, he was warm-hearted and generous, a good neighbor and citizen,
according to the simple requirements of the times. In educational
attainments he was far above the average. He was a prominent figure
in local political circles, being a Jeffersonian Democrat of a rather
emphatic type. His ever ready wit and fluency of speech made him a
master on the stump and a formidable antagonist in political debates.
The ability to give a humorous turn to any remark or incident served
him well upon such occasions. His peculiar temperament gave him special
aptitude as an auctioneer, in which capacity he had no superior. People
would attend his sales as much to be entertained by his witticisms as for
the bargains he might have to offer, and those who came to laugh often
remained to settle a bill for something they had no thought of purchasing.
At the age of nineteen, in the year 1825, he was married to Mary Pugh,
of Shelby County, Kentucky, his native county. Her parents had come from
Scotland and were substantial citizens.
Soon after their marriage they moved to Parke County, Indiana, and
settled on a tract of land which the wife had received as a dower from
her father.
Pioneer life in Indiana need not here be enlarged upon. A solitary
dwelling in the interminable and trackless forest; the building
consisting of a single room built of unhewn logs, roofed with hand-split
clapboards; the chimney covering one entire end of the building; the
rough doors swung on wooden hinges; the small windows with greased paper
or the tanned skins of animals through which a bit of daylight finds its
way with difficulty; the huge fireplace used for both cooking and heating
purposes; the few pieces of hand-made furniture—these were some of the
outward aspects of domestic life out on the ragged edge of civilization.
The cabin of the Newgents was typical of those of their neighbors, the
nearest of whom lived some fifteen miles distant. The larger wild animals
were frequent visitors and the war whoop of the Indian had scarcely died
away.
After a brief residence at this place they moved to Sullivan County.
Here, on Saturday, September 15, 1838, the subject of this sketch was
born. He was the youngest of seven sons. Subsequently the family circle
was enlarged by the addition of two daughters. The father’s political
bias was again asserted in the name, Andrew Jackson, assigned to this
youngest son, after the great hero of early Democracy. The name often has
given occasion for humorous touches by the owner, especially in referring
to his early life. By the neighbors and older members of the family, he
says, he was dubbed General Andrew Jackson. Later the military title was
dropped and he became plain Andrew Jackson, and by successive stages the
name was further abbreviated until the boy was doomed to answer to the
simple cognomen of “Jack.” Whether this was a process of evolution or of
degeneration, he was destined to win for himself a title that would stand
for real worth and attainment; that would represent the love of little
children, as well as the esteem of men and women, when the affectionate
appellation of “Uncle Jack” would become a household term in multitudes
of homes.
Perhaps it is to the Scotch blood of his mother that he owes the more
solid elements of his character. The Scotch character stands for thrift,
energy, and integrity, so that wherever the hardy Scotchman goes he
carries with him the best elements of citizenship. These combined with
the quick wit and genial temperament of the sons of Erin produced in our
subject a personality rich in depth and resourcefulness.
The emigration instinct, always strong in the pioneer, again became
active, and the family set out for a new destination. This time it was
Paw Paw Bend in Knox County, Indiana, so named because of its location in
a bend of White River, and the prolific growth of paw paw trees for which
the fertile lands were especially adapted. Our subject was then about
eighteen months old. Here he spent the years of early childhood. Some
incidents numbered among his earliest recollections and which serve to
illustrate the home life and social conditions in which these years were
passed, will not be out of place in this connection.
During this period religious services were practically unknown in Paw
Paw Bend. The chief diversions were such social functions as shooting
matches, wood choppings, log rollings, husking bees, and dances. The
spelling bee was still of too intellectual a character to win popularity.
At all such gatherings the familiar demijohn of corn whiskey was
considered an indispensable adjunct.
Hence, the announcement of a preaching service to be held at the Newgent
home on a following Sunday morning was hailed throughout the settlement
as a new thing under the sun. Of course everybody would go. The preacher
was to be Rev. Nathan Hinkle, a Methodist itinerant. It was out of no
particular religious scruples that the host, Charles Newgent, volunteered
to entertain the assemblage on this occasion, yet he had no aversion to
preachers or churches, and in common with his neighbors, he was always
ready to encourage anything that would break the monotony and afford
social diversion.
It so happened that on Saturday evening before this memorable day, Pompey
Smash, a negro fiddler, was passing through the neighborhood and asked
to stay over night at Mr. Newgent’s. He was informed by the head of the
house that he would be furnished lodging on condition that he dispense
music for a family dance. The terms were accepted and there was a sound
of revelry by night as the little company beat time on the puncheon floor
to the droll tunes of their musical guest.
Early next morning the congregation began to assemble for worship. The
presence of the fiddler led to the suggestion that the time spent in
waiting for the arrival of the preacher be used to the best possible
advantage. Accordingly the Ethiopian turned his fiddle—for it was before
the violin was invented; the familiar demijohn was set in a conspicuous
place, and the gentlemen chose their partners. Lest the preacher’s sudden
arrival in the midst of such hilarious scenes be the occasion of a shock
or an offense to his ecclesiastical dignity, a member of the party was
dispatched to do picket service. The watchman, having imbibed too freely
of the contents of the jug, fell asleep at his post. The dance had gone
on merrily for some time in its rapturous excitement; the preacher and
church service were utterly forgotten. When, lo! the alarm was sounded.
The faithless watchman had allowed the company to be taken by surprise.
The approach of the reverend was discovered in the nick of time; the
dance came to an abrupt stop. To prevent the minister from “smelling a
rat,” a puncheon was removed hastily from the floor, and the fiddler,
the fiddle, and the whiskey jug were thrust unceremoniously through the
opening into the cellar excavation below. And the people put on their
Sunday faces for church.
After the services a part of the congregation, including the shepherd
of the flock, remained for dinner. This necessarily prolonged the
imprisonment of the negro, but when it is recalled that the whiskey
jug was a prison companion, we may surmise that the hours were not
so “tedious and tasteless” as otherwise they might have been. The
solemnities of the day came to an end with the departure of the minister;
the prison was then opened and the prisoner released. An “after service”
followed, which, it may be conjectured, was more in harmony with the
tastes of the congregation.
While unlimited resources lay at the very doors of these pioneer cabins,
the backwoodsmen lacked the facilities for developing them. Their tastes
were not so exacting as in later days, and beyond the sheer necessities
and comforts of the household, ambition did not spur them on. While
ordinarily the family dined on homely fare, the industrious housewife
often became so proficient in the culinary art as to be able to concoct
most tempting dishes with the raw products that nature placed in easy
reach. The sap of the maple tree, wild grapes, paw paws, and persimmons,
as well as the products of garden, orchard, and field were utilized
in providing for their physical wants. Persimmons ripened with the
early frosts, and when put up in maple syrup, became a staple and most
delicious article of diet. By the addition of the proper quantity of
whiskey, the standard remedy for most of the ills the flesh is heir to,
the mixture afforded in addition to its other virtues, a sure cure for
ague, commonly called “ager.” This led to an episode in which little
Jack and three older brothers were the leading figures, and which he
facetiously labeled “a short cut in the study of astronomy.”
The children were left alone one afternoon. The oldest of the quartet
was familiar with the process of preparing the common ague antidote. The
necessary ingredients were, as usual, within easy reach. So he proceeded
to administer the remedy to his younger brothers on the principle that
“if a little did good, more would do better.” The bearing of this
procedure upon the science of astronomy becomes apparent when we
remember that among the unschooled of that day it was a mooted question
as to whether or not the world is round and revolves upon its axis, as
the geographies teach. Jack declared that after taking a few doses it
was painfully evident to him that the world did turn round and turned at
such a rapid rate that he found it difficult to keep from falling off.
When the mother returned she found the three younger boys lying on the
floor unconscious, and the author of the mischief sitting astride a joist
overhead the unceiled room in a hilarious condition. By the free use of
sweet milk the younger boys were restored to consciousness, but a special
treatment was reserved for the one who led them into temptation. However,
Jack found this short course in astronomy sufficient for all practical
purposes, and he has never had the occasion or inclination to extend it.
His early years were as happy and free from care amid these primitive
surroundings, as childhood life could well be, even in what might be
considered more favorable circumstances. Life was simple in the extreme,
even crude, but it was the best he knew. There was nothing in the lives
of his associates calculated to excite envy or cause discontent with his
own lot. But in this connection one incident stands out in bold relief to
mar the picture of boyish contentment.
A single garment of homespun, or “tow linen,” was all that was considered
necessary in the way of clothing under ordinary circumstances for a boy
of that age. It marked a new era in his life when the loose garment which
covered the anatomy down to the knees was supplemented by a pair of
breeches of the same material. Upon one occasion as Jack stood watching
his mother as she was measuring the material for the older boys’ winter
suits, he heard her remark that there would probably be enough scraps
left over to make him a pair of breeches. With emotions alternating
between hope and fear, he waited impatiently for the outcome. His joy was
unbounded when he found that his hopes were to be realized. His mother
laid him on the floor and thus marked the pattern. It was seen that the
closest economy had to be used to make the goods hold out; so instead of
the regulation number of two suspenders which were one piece with the
breeches, the material would only warrant the making of one. By extending
it from one side on the back diagonally across the shoulder, making
connection on the opposite side in front, the new habiliment maintained
its balance and no special inconvenience was suffered.
But alas! his rejoicing was soon to be turned into mourning. A few days
later, clad in his new outfit, he went with his brothers to the woods
to gather pecans. It was a warm autumn afternoon, and in climbing and
clubbing the trees and picking up the nuts, the boys found it convenient
to cast off unnecessary articles of clothing. As Jack had scarcely become
accustomed to more than one garment, he could easily dispense with the
breeches for the time. Accordingly they were removed and hung on a bush
near by, and for a time forgotten in the fascination of nut hunting. When
the party was ready to start home with the fruits of their toil, he was
alarmed to find that his cherished breeches had disappeared. The boys
searched diligently but found them not. When about ready to give up in
despair, they chanced to observe, a short distance away, a mellow-eyed,
crinkly-horned, brindle cow making a meal off the lad’s wearing apparel,
or perhaps using it for dessert, as though it were a dainty morsel. And
the last Jack saw of his first pair of breeches was the lone suspender
dangling from the innocent old brindle’s mouth, the major part of them
having been engulfed in her capacious maw. And to the sorrow of his
heart, his wardrobe for another year was limited to the single piece of
homespun.
CHAPTER TWO.
_The Tragic Death of the Father—Removal to Parke County—School
Days—Conversion—Change of Church Relationship—A Remarkable
Providence._
Thus far our narrative has covered the childhood of our subject up to
the ninth year of his age. At this juncture occurred an event that cast
the first real shadow over his youthful pathway. It was the death of
his father, the tragic nature of which and the subsequent effect it
was to have upon his career, made the shadow all the deeper and more
significant. Charles Newgent went with a company consisting of sixty
adventurous spirits, upon an expedition to the West, the real object
of which seems to be somewhat indefinite. The restless and venturesome
spirit of the pioneer, a curious desire to penetrate the mysteries of the
great western world, the dream of untold treasures that nature had in
store for those who dared to conquer the dragons that guarded them—all
may have figured in this ill-fated enterprise. However that may have
been, while crossing the western plains the company was attacked and
massacred by a band of hostile Indians. As in the calamities that befell
Job’s household, one of the number was left to tell the story. This one
was supposed by the savages to have shared the fate of all the rest,
being left on the field for dead; but it so happened that in his case the
weapon of death did not do complete work. He was picked up the next day
by a party of hunters to whom he was able to give a vague account of the
preceding day’s terrible tragedy.
After the father’s death, the mother with her nine children moved back to
their former home in Parke County. Life then took on a sterner aspect for
the boy. His tender hands must perform their part in the maintenance of
the family. Accordingly he hired out to Mr. Jesse Maddox, a neighboring
farmer. His wages the first year were to be a pair of shoes, ten bushels
of corn, and the privilege of attending the district school. The market
price of corn was ten cents per bushel. Even at this modest stipend
he admits that he made money, “though not very much.” While in after
years of fruitful labors in the ministry he often remarked that the
question that most perplexed him was how to earn what he received, it
is not probable that the question at this time had assumed very serious
proportions.
The most important stipulation in the contract was the privilege
of attending school. But even this is subject to shrinkage when we
recall that the school system of Indiana was then in its first stage
of development. It afforded no royal path to learning, and the common
thoroughfare was neither smooth nor flowery. We would scarcely expect to
find in the schoolroom comforts that the home itself was a stranger to.
Strikingly suggestive of the interior aspect of those primitive seats of
learning are the lines from Whittier’s “In School Days”:
“Within, the master’s desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The battered seats, the warping floor,
The jack knife’s carved initial.
“The charcoal frescoes on the wall,
The door’s worn sill betraying
The feet that creeping late to school,
Went storming out to playing.”
To fit the particular building in which our subject first tasted
the fruit of the tree of knowledge, the picture needs but slight
modification. If anything, it should be made even more simple and
primitive. The “battered” seats were made of puncheon. Since this word
is passing from common usage, it may be well to explain that puncheon
is made by splitting a small log in two equal parts. The split edges
are then trimmed down, and the pieces thus treated served as a rough
substitute for sawed lumber. To make them into seats, two holes were
bored near each end in the unhewn side. These being at proper angles,
wooden pins were inserted into them for legs. The rude seat was then
ready for service. It is not to be taken for granted that these seats
were always made perfectly smooth. What was lacking to smooth them down
by the workmen was expected to be completed by the pupils. They finished
the task, but often it was a long and painful process, with many a
protest from a new gown of homespun or a pair of “tow-linen,” home-grown
breeches. Thus, with no rest for the arms or the back, with one side
scorched by the heat from the great fireplace and the other chilled by
the winter winds creeping through cracks in floor and walls and roof,
the children wore away the dreary hours. The floor, being composed
of this same puncheon, did not easily warp. The recess recreation
consisted mainly in carrying fuel from the surrounding forest to feed the
every-hungry fireplace.
Whatever dignity the schoolmaster may have possessed in the eyes of his
pupils, certain it is he was not the original of Goldsmith’s creation in
the “Deserted Village,” of whom the wonder was “that one small head could
carry all he knew.” Beyond the traditional essentials of scholarship,
consisting of reading, writing, and ciphering, with a specially intimate
acquaintance with the spelling book, he did not pretend to lead. His
chief business was to govern the school. He proved his divine right
to his throne in the schoolroom by his ability to handle the most
obstreperous cases the district could produce. The scholars were on hand
as a challenge to his generalship. The hero of the school was the one who
held out longest against his despotic authority. To lick the teacher was
the height of his ambition. This realized, his place in the local hall of
fame was secure. According to the philosophy of the times “lickin’ and
larnin’” went hand in hand, lickin’ being essential, while larnin’ was
incidental.
The school house was three miles from the Maddox home. The school was
maintained on the basis that “whosoever will may come.” There was no
penalty for tardiness or absence, but as young Newgent possessed a
real thirst for knowledge and was in the habit of making the most of
whatever he undertook, his attendance was more regular than the average.
However, the sum total of his schooling was limited to three terms of
about three months each, an aggregate of nine months. Meager as were his
school advantages, they were well improved and furnished a foundation
for self-culture upon which he built as only a genius can. He learned
to read in less than four weeks, and his progress was correspondingly
rapid throughout. His real school was not bounded by the walls of the
log school house; it was rather the great school of life with its harsh
discipline and inexhaustible curriculum; and in this he grew to be the
peer of the ripest products of educational institutions. “Opportunities,”
he says, in his characteristic way, “the woods has always been full of
opportunities. I had splendid opportunities when I was a boy, and so did
my companions; but many of them, like some young folks now, failed to see
them.” He saw what many fail to see, that opportunities are not so much
in our environment as in ourselves, and that success is not determined by
outward circumstances, but by one’s own will and energy.
A habit early formed was that of turning everything to account in the
pursuit of knowledge. Mrs. Newgent, anxious to encourage her children’s
propensities for study, furnished the home with such reading matter as
her means would permit. Though the family were separated most of the
time, they came together at frequent intervals. On these occasions the
time was well spent in reading and in discussing current topics. Whatever
was read became the subject of conversation. These conversations often
took the form of argument, in which the various sides of a subject were
presented and zealously defended. Thus, he early displayed and developed
an aptitude for argumentative discussion, which made him a master in
debate, and is a strong element in all his public discourses.
His conversion occurred when he was about ten years old, while still in
the service of Mr. Maddox, a benefit which was not considered in the
contract with his employer. This took place during a gracious revival
at the Canaan Methodist church, of which his employer was a member and
was serving at the time as class leader and janitor. The meeting had
been in progress for a number of days; many had found the Savior, and
the community was deeply stirred. He had been sent to open the church
and build the fire for the evening service. While going quietly about
his duties, all alone, the impression came to him quite vividly that he
ought to be a Christian, and he resolved to go to the “mourner’s bench”
that night. He was never long in making up his mind, and when a decision
was once made, it was as a law of the Medes and Persians. So he went to
the altar that night and each succeeding night for more than a week. One
evening as he was listening to the sermon, conviction became so intense
that in his extremity he left the house. Though it was a cold night and
the ground was covered with snow, he stole out in the woods. Kneeling in
the snow, this youthful Jacob wrestled with God in prayer. How long he
tarried, he could not tell, but faith triumphed, and the next he knew
the woods were resounding with his shouts of victory. Rushing into the
church while the preacher was yet talking, he put an end to the sermon
by his shouting and praising God. The congregation was electrified. Soon
the demonstration became general, and for a time pandemonium held sway;
but it was of a sort in which there were both method and meaning, for its
source was from above.
Like God’s servant of old, he could say, “My heart is fixed.” He joined
the church and from that time never missed an opportunity to pray and
testify in public or private. At that time children did not receive much
attention from the church. Churches were strong on saving souls from
damnation, but the idea of saving the entire life for service had not
taken deep root. As a result of the revival there was a large class of
“probationers.” When the period of probation had expired, according to
the church law, and they were to be admitted into full membership, his
name was not on the list. He was not considered a member; at least that
was his version of it, and the only logical conclusion the case would
warrant. It was a sore disappointment, but of too delicate a nature to
mention to his elders. So he kept his feelings to himself.
Thus matters stood for little more than a year, when he learned that
there was to be a quarterly meeting at the Otterbein United Brethren
Church a few miles away. This church belonged to the Rockville Circuit
of the Wabash Conference. Rev. William Sherrill was the pastor. The
presiding elder, who was to hold the quarterly conference, was Rev.
Samuel Zuck. Both were strong and good men. Jack had never attended a
United Brethren service. What knowledge he had of the Church was gained
through conversations overheard in the Maddox home. Ministers being
frequently entertained there, conversation at such times naturally took
to religious channels. As this was an age when churches did not entertain
the most fraternal feelings toward one another, these conversations were
not calculated, as a rule, to produce a favorable opinion of a rival
denomination. His interest in churches and religion was genuine, born of
a desire to know the truth. Hence, is was not mere curiosity that led him
to obtain his employer’s permission to spend Saturday and Sunday with a
neighbor in the Otterbein community so that he might attend the services
of the quarterly meeting.
The Church proved to be his affinity. Whatever misgivings he had,
vanished one by one. The general atmosphere of the first service
harmonized with his temperament. There was spirit in the singing. His
heart burned within him as he listened to the eloquent sermon by the
presiding elder; and when the pastor followed, as the custom was, with a
warm exhortation, he was enraptured. He resolved to join the Church. As
usual, the decision was made without much preliminary. He knew where he
stood, and stood there with both feet. When he returned, his employer, as
well as his own folks, was thunderstruck to learn that he had become a
full-fledged United Brethren. Having put his hand to the plow, he never
turned back. “I have been so busy,” is a common saying with him, “that I
have never had time to backslide.”
It should be said in justice to the church where he first joined, that
his name had been entered upon the book, but by mistake it was placed
in the list with the full members. This accounts for his not being
received with the probationers, to which class he belonged, and led to
the conclusion that he was not considered a member. Thus an apparently
insignificant thing may prove to be a matter of vital importance.
As a boy he possessed pronounced convictions and a keen sense of
religious obligation. This is demonstrated by an incident which occurred
while he was in the employ of Mr. Jerry Rush, a short time after leaving
the service of Mr. Maddox. Mr. Rush was a well-to-do farmer and stock
dealer. Neither he nor his wife made any profession of religion, though
their lives were regarded as exemplary and above question in other
respects. Some of the men who worked on the farm, however, were of the
baser sort. It seemed strange to young Newgent that a man of Mr. Rush’s
habits would surround himself with men who were utterly destitute of
moral scruples or of the commonest decencies. To him their vulgarity
and profanity were a source of constant annoyance. At one time as their
coarse jests were grating on his sensitive ears, he was impressed with
the idea that this uncouth crowd afforded him a field for missionary
work. The impression was not long in taking definite shape. It came with
the force of a challenge, a bugle call to duty, a call that he never
failed to heed. His mind was made up that he would offer prayer with
these men before they retired that evening if Mr. Rush would grant him
the privilege.
It was a bold resolve, an ordeal from which a braver heart might well
have shrunk. Let eloquent tongues proclaim the praise of those who face
death at the cannon’s mouth, or the inspired pen immortalize the hero,
who, amid the applause of admiring multitudes, imperils his own life to
save another; but who would not count it a worthy act to place a laurel
wreath upon the brow of a fourteen-year-old lad who dared to face, not
one Goliath, but a company of Goliaths, with the simple weapon of faith,
and demand that they bow before their God while he offered a petition in
behalf of their needy souls? Yet this resolute purpose was to undergo
a severe test. The fiercest battles are fought in our own hearts. As
the time drew near, he felt his courage slipping away. He stole out to
the barn for a time of secret prayer, that he might be equal to the
emergency. Feeling comforted and strengthened, he started to the house to
execute his plan. On reaching the yard gate his courage seemed to take
flight, and he could go no farther. He went back to the place of prayer.
On the second venture he got as far as the door, when his strength again
vanished. Not to be beaten, he went back to the barn to fight the battle
to a finish. The third effort won the day. He hastened to the house,
determined not to give the enemy a chance. The men were sitting about
the fire. Without a word by way of preliminary, he stepped up to Mr.
Rush and asked permission to kneel with them in prayer. The permission
was granted, and a solemn hush came over the startled company as they
listened while the boy, with trembling voice and stammering accents,
poured out his soul to God. He then sought his bed with the consciousness
that he had done his duty. A sweet peace filled his soul and he lay for
hours in ecstacy of joy.
The next evening the family devotions were repeated. But on the third
evening the prayer was forestalled by a preconcerted plan on the part of
the men. As the time for prayer approached, one after another, they arose
and stalked out of the room, and the victor in two hard-fought battles
was left alone—defeated and dejected. His spirits dropped down to zero.
The fiery dart had pierced him through and through. In agony of soul he
sought his bed, but not to rest. Out of the depth of his troubled heart
he called upon God for comfort. But the fury of the storm seemed only
to increase. In his desperation he felt that something must be done.
So, about the hour of midnight, he arose, dressed himself, and left the
house to go—he knew not where. Through the remaining hours of the night
he wandered, directing his course toward the West. Daylight came, the
sun rose above the horizon and pursued its course toward the zenith,
but his pilgrimage continued. At noon he found himself in the city of
Terre Haute, then a mere village. Here he tarried for a time to seek
employment. Failing in this, he resumed his westward journey. He asked
for work at the various farm houses which he passed. While he found kind
hearts who, touched by pity for the youthful pilgrim, gave him food and
temporary shelter, he found no man to hire him until he reached Mattoon,
Illinois, nearly a hundred miles from whence he started. Work at that
season of the year was scarce, and his term of service at Mattoon was
brief. At the end of three days his employer gave him his wages with the
intelligence that his services were no longer needed.
He now decided to go back to Indiana. With his three days’ wages in his
pocket, with which he expected to pay for his transportation at least
part of the way, he set out upon the return journey. Within the vicinity
of Terre Haute he succeeded in finding steady employment and a congenial
home.
There were two sides to this story, and some months after Jack was
settled in his new home he learned the other side. It was glorious news
to him. The sequel was that Mr. Rush was converted, joined the Baptist
Church, and became a zealous leader in religious work. It came about in
this way: When Mr. Rush found that Jack had disappeared and diligent
effort failed to solve the mystery of his disappearance, a feeling of
remorse over his unchristian conduct so possessed him that for days he
was almost in a state of frenzy. Remorse took the form of spiritual
conviction and genuine repentance which led to a glorious conversion.
On learning of the whereabouts of his young benefactor, Mr. Rush at once
went to see him, and told him his side of the story. He confessed to
Jack that he was a guilty party to the scheme the men had used to defeat
him. The boy’s awkward prayer together with their own antipathy for such
pious exercises was a source of embarrassment to the men, and they agreed
among themselves to use the method described to rid themselves of further
annoyance. Little did Mr. Rush realize that those awkward prayers were to
be the means of his salvation.
“God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform,
He plants his footsteps on the sea,
He rides upon the storm.
“Judge not the Lord with feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace,
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.”
CHAPTER THREE.
_Call to the Ministry—First Sermon—The Boy Preacher—Answering
a Fool After his Folly—Turning a Camp Meeting Tide—Quieting a
Skirmish—Takes a Wife._
Providence seemed to ordain that there should be one preacher in the
Newgent family and that that one should be Jack. As has been observed,
his religious zeal from the time of his conversion at the age of ten,
was exceptional. Just when the first impression looking toward the
ministry came to him he could scarcely tell, such impressions having been
associated more or less with his religious experience from the beginning.
By the time he was thirteen the conviction that he had a “divine call” to
preach the gospel became clear and definite. And the conviction deepened
with the passing of time. Of course, no one dreamed of the emotions that
were stirring the boy’s breast, and to him the ministry was so high and
sacred a calling as to seem infinitely beyond his possibilities. Hence,
he dared not express his feelings to even his most intimate friends, and
so received no sympathy or encouragement from any human source. He went
about his Father’s business in his own way, rendering such service to
the cause of his Master as a boy of his years was capable of. His zeal
knew no abatement, and such diligence is sure to lead to recognition and
reward.
The minister who first took a special interest in him was Rev. Ira Mater,
an able preacher and a sympathetic discerner of the thoughts and intents
of the heart. Between the man and the lad there sprang up a beautiful
friendship, suggestive of that between Paul and Timothy. Rev. Mr. Mater
frequently invited his young friend to accompany him to his appointments,
and by way of stirring up the gift that was in this prospective Timothy,
sometimes called upon him to open the service, to exhort after the
sermon, or perform such other public ministrations as were convenient.
Rev. Mr. Newgent has always gratefully acknowledged his indebtedness to
this spiritual father.
This association with Rev. Mr. Mater was during his sixteenth and
seventeenth years. He was small and rather delicate for one of his age.
His entire youth was a continual conflict with disease, the entire
category of which seemed to try their hand upon his slender frame.
But while his body was frail, his mind was strong and alert. That
his positive temperament and seeming disposition to never give up had
somewhat to do in staving off the grim monster, death, is not at all
unlikely.
His first regular discourse was preached at the Stedd School House
near Fontanet, in Clay County, Indiana. The school house was used as a
preaching point and weekly prayer meetings were maintained. He was a
frequent attendant at these services, and one evening, on entering the
house, he was met by the leader who said, “Jack, the people are expecting
you to preach to-night.” That he was to preach was simply a surmise, his
association with Rev. Mr. Mater being the probable foundation of it.
But some one surmised out loud and the rumor gained currency. Observing
his surprise at this intelligence, the leader continued, “You had
just as well begin here and now,” in a manner that indicated that it
was a foregone conclusion that preaching was to be his life business.
And Jack preached. At any rate, if the effort could not be classed as
preaching, it was a splendid substitute for it. He announced as a text,
“If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the
sinner appear?” The congregation was visibly affected by his fervor and
earnestness, some of the more demonstrative ones giving vent to their
feelings in shouts of praise. He was urged to preach the next night, and
the meetings were continued for more than a week, being held at various
private homes, Newgent preaching at each service. The divine seal was
thus placed upon his ministry, and the meeting marked the beginning of a
new epoch in his career.
A few weeks later the Rockville quarterly conference granted him a
license to preach. The action was taken in his absence. J. P. White
was the preacher in charge and Thomas M. Hamilton was the presiding
elder. The action of the quarterly conference was almost a superfluous
formality, as he was now so greatly in demand that he could not well
avoid preaching.
The boy preacher was a popular character. To see a man on the _ante
meridian_ of life in the pulpit was at that time quite unusual. The
popular prejudice was in favor of men who had spent the major part of
their lives on the farm or in business, thus acquiring a competence
that would enable them to proclaim that salvation is free without being
embarrassed or embarrassing their congregations on the money question.
Hence, a diminutive lad of seventeen, weighing only about eighty pounds,
exercising the ministerial function was in itself sufficient to attract
the multitudes. Wherever he preached he was greeted by immense audiences.
By many he was regarded as a prodigy, though he could not be classed as
such, prodigies seldom accomplishing more than to afford amusement for
curious spectators. It is true, however, that he displayed qualities
unusual for one of his years, though it must be admitted that the greater
part of his power lay in his intense religious zeal and earnestness.
Some characteristic incidents in this part of his ministry will not
only be of interest in themselves, but will at the same time serve to
illustrate his unique individuality. He went on one occasion to fill
an appointment at what was known as the Rough and Ready School House.
The name was justified by the prevailing social conditions. Like Paul
on Mars Hill, he found that at least some of the people were very
religious, though their religious energy was not always directed to the
best advantage. Not infrequently does it transpire that men will fight
for their religion even when they are utterly averse to the practice of
it, a fact which had a forcible illustration in this particular service.
He preached with his usual energy. The house was crowded and the sermon
seemed to be well received. There happened to be present a minister of
what was designated as the Campbellite persuasion. Evidently the sermon
did not coincide with his theological bias. He asked permission to
say a few words as the speaker took his seat. The permission granted,
he sallied forth with a tirade of abuse and denunciation of the young
preacher and his theology in which his passion played a larger part than
either his judgment or his conscience. When he finally ran down, Newgent
arose in a calm manner and said, “Brother, with your way of applying
Scripture, I can prove that Eve was the mother of a turkey buzzard.”
“Prove it, then,” shouted back the irascible theologue. “Well, the Bible
says that Eve was the mother of all living, and that includes turkey
buzzards. Let us be dismissed,” and calling the audience to their feet,
he pronounced the benediction before his assailant had time to reply.
At another time, with his brother, John Newgent, he happened to drop
in at a Methodist camp meeting in Sullivan County. They arrived just
in time for the morning service. A number of ministers were seated on
the platform, among them being Rev. Hayden Hayes, the presiding elder.
Rev. Mr. Hayes had met Newgent on a former occasion, and as soon as he
saw him enter the camp, rushed back and taking him by the arm, led him
to the platform. Hayes was a strong, portly man, and the delicate lad
was helpless in his grasp; thus he was led as a lamb to the slaughter,
and was informed that he must preach. Though he vainly sought to be
excused, yet he was equal to the emergency. He had proceeded about ten
minutes with his discourse, when a man sitting a few feet in front of the
platform was converted and began to shout. He continued, and four others
in the congregation broke loose in like manner, all of them having been
converted through the effect of the sermon, and the discourse disappeared
in a whirlwind of praise that completely drowned the speaker’s voice. Up
to that time there had been no move in the meeting.
John Newgent was imbued with the old-school Baptist doctrine and had not
sympathized with his brother’s preaching propensities. After resuming
their journey they rode for a time in silence. Finally the older brother
said, “Jack, you know I have always opposed your preaching. But I want to
say that I have no further objection to it; but,” he added with quivering
lips, “I want you to pray for me.” The sermon had touched his heart.
Though urgent demands were made upon the boy preacher to stay and assist
in the meeting, he was unable to do so, and heard nothing further from
it until after he had returned from the war, when by chance he again
passed through the vicinity. He stopped at the home of a Mrs. Mayfield,
on whose farm the camp was located, to get his dinner and his horse fed.
As he was taking his leave, having paid his bill, he chanced to observe
the camp ground a short distance away. Up to that time he was not aware
that he was in the immediate vicinity of it. He inquired of his hostess
concerning the camp meetings. She told him that but one such meeting had
been held, though the intention was to make it a permanent institution.
The unsettled condition of times during the Rebellion prevented the plan
from being carried out.
“How was that meeting?” Newgent asked, as one who had a peculiar interest
in it.
“Oh, it was a grand success. There was a little Baptist preacher from
near Lafayette happened in and preached one morning, and just set things
on fire. From that time on the meetings were powerful.”
“What was the fellow’s name?” he asked, but she could not recall it.
“Was it Newgent?” She said that sounded like it.
“Well,” he said, “I know him. He isn’t considered much of a preacher up
there where he lives, but,” he added, “you are mistaken about his being a
Baptist. He is a United Brethren.”
She looked at him curiously for an instant and said, “I believe you are
the fellow.” And his smile told that she had guessed aright.
His money was returned at once, and she insisted that he stay and preach
at the Methodist church near the camp ground that night, assuring him
that he would have a good hearing as there had been much talk about the
little preacher who had “set the camp meeting afire.” This he was unable
to do, but promised to return at a later date.
A short while after the camp meeting, he filled an appointment for his
pastor, Rev. J. F. Moore, at the Leatherwood church, which was a part
of the Rockville charge. The pulpit arrangement of this church was in
strict harmony with the fashion of the times. It consisted of a sort of
wall which shut the preacher in almost completely from the congregation,
suggesting a military fortification. Newgent, being small of stature,
could with difficulty peer over the top of the ramparts. He was led to
believe, however, that the fortification was a necessary precaution,
for his artillery had been turned loose but a short time when it was
evident that there was a hearty response. Bang! Some sort of a missile
struck the rampart just in front of him with a loud report. It was
followed immediately by another, and the bombardment, continued until
six discharges were fired. The preacher withdrew within the breastworks
that small fraction of his anatomy that was exposed, and waited for
hostilities to cease. The congregation was at once thrown into a
state of confusion and excitement. When the preacher finally surveyed
the situation after the heavy batteries were silenced, he saw that a
hand-to-hand skirmish was on between two men in the rear of the room.
One was making a desperate effort to get the other to the door and out
of the house. With the help of the congregation, he succeeded in putting
down the rebellion, and going back to his fortifications he finished
the discourse and the service was concluded in fairly good order. The
difficulty was only a side issue, the culmination of a grudge between
a couple of natives. The missiles were not aimed at the preacher, but
were fired from ambush through the open door; the man for whom they were
intended happened to be sitting in range with the pulpit.
Rev. Mr. Moore resigned the Rockville charge during the year and Newgent
was appointed to serve the unexpired term. This was his first experience
in the pastorate. His brief term of service here was characterized by a
revival of extraordinary results at Otterbein, his home church. Converts
were numbered by the scores and the community was shaken by such a
spiritual upheaval as it had never known.
[Illustration: REV. ANDREW JACKSON NEWGENT
When he traveled his first circuit.]
Another adventure should be chronicled here. It has been said that there
are but three real important events in a man’s life, namely, his birth,
his marriage, and his death. The second of this great trio in the life
of our subject occurred during the period embraced in this chapter. It
is a common saying with him that he does not believe in early marriages,
hence, he deferred this important step until he was eighteen years
old. And on the seventh of January, 1857, he took to himself a wife in
the person of Miss Katharine Copeland. She proved to be a worthy and
sympathetic companion, heroically assuming her part of the burdens and
responsibilities that belong to the family of an itinerant preacher.
That her lot was not an easy one may be readily assumed when we consider
what the ministerial calling involved in that early day. Its peculiar
hardships fell most heavily upon the wife, yet these she endured without
protest. Brave in heart, gentle in temper, and in heartiest accord with
her husband’s interests, she proved to him a real helpmeet, and an
inspiration to his loftiest endeavors.
CHAPTER FOUR.
_Conference Membership—Brulitz Creek Ministry—The Modern Knight
and his Steed—Abrupt Closing of Family Devotions by a Dog on
the Preacher—An Original Marriage Ceremony—A Case of Mistaken
Identity—A Banner Missionary Collection—Shawnee Prairie
Pastorate—A Cold Day in April—The Redemption of Hell’s Half
Acre—Baiting for a Perverse Fish—An Experience in the Whiskey
Business._
Rev. Mr. Newgent was received into the Upper Wabash Conference at
Milford, Indiana, in the spring of 1859. Bishop David Edwards presided.
The Conference had been formed the preceding year by a division of the
Wabash Conference territory. As a matter of coincidence he was ordained
four years later at the Conference in session at the same place with the
same Bishop presiding. He was now in his twenty-first year, having been
quite prominent in ministerial labors for about four years, and had a
record for zeal, earnestness, and success in revival work that commended
him favorably to the Conference.
He was appointed by this Conference to the Brulitz Creek Circuit, which
gave him an unlimited field for the exercise of his zeal and talents.
The circuit consisted of eighteen appointments, only two of which were
at church-houses; the others were at school houses and in private homes.
With little or no competition, the circuit-rider was monarch of all
he surveyed, though in most cases when he received his appointment he
found enough already surveyed to tax his time and energy to the limit.
Preaching services were not confined to the Sabbath, but would fall upon
any day of the week, and even then the intervals between appointments,
except during the periodic “big meeting,” were usually not less than five
or six weeks.
The standard mode of travel was by horseback, and the circuit-rider,
in addition to his other qualifications, needed to be efficient in
horsemanship. This was scarcely necessary in Newgent’s case, however. Not
being able to own a horse at this time, he secured the loan of one from
an accommodating neighbor. The horse was as accommodating as its owner.
It was quite well “broke,” having endured the rigors of some nineteen
winters, and was experienced in the various departments of farm work.
It had sowed and reaped—and eaten—its wild oats, and was absolutely
reliable, at least to the limit of its physical endurance. At any rate
the horse had many acknowledged good points, as a faithful portrait
would have demonstrated. While it may not have been in its real element
on dress parade, it served the more practical purpose of locomotion—to a
somewhat limited extent.
As the rider weighed scarcely a hundred pounds, the horse had no cause to
complain at his burden. And when it came to matters of appearance, the
odds were not so unevenly balanced as might be supposed. The spare-built,
smooth-faced youth, clad in his suit of homespun, which was made with a
reckless disregard of the lines and proportions of his anatomy, might
well have recalled the lines of Shakespeare:
“Would that he were fatter, but I fear him not;
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I know of no one whom I would so much avoid.”
Thus, mounted upon his trusty steed, armed with all the weapons of
spiritual warfare, this modern knight errant of the saddle-bags rode
forth valiantly to the scenes of the year’s conflicts and triumphs.
En-route to his first appointment, he found an opportunity to do some
pastoral work which led to an episode, without mention of which these
chronicles would be incomplete. Passing by the home of one of his
prominent members, he stopped for a brief call. The house stood on the
side of a hill, some distance from the road. A flight of steps led up to
the front door. Ascending the steps, he rapped at the door and was kindly
admitted by the good housewife. All went merry as a marriage bell and the
time of his departure was at hand all too soon. He asked the privilege of
bowing with the family in prayer before going, which was freely granted.
The weather was warm and it was not thought necessary to close the door,
though had it been done in this case, it would have prevented a bit
of embarrassment and incidentally spoiled a good story. As all was so
congenial within, the pastor anticipated no molestation from without, and
so injudiciously knelt with his back to the open door.
As he warmed up to his devotions, he aroused from his slumbers a large
Newfoundland dog, that had evidently not noticed the approach of the
stranger, and up to that time was unaware of his presence. The aroused
canine at once began an investigation, and when he saw what was going on,
seemed much offended that he had not been consulted about the matter.
He bounded up the steps into the room, and, seizing the preacher by
the luxuriant growth of black hair that covered his dome of thought,
affording an excellent hold for his teeth, he zealously set about the
task of removing the supposed intruder from the premises. The preacher
was taken unawares. Before he could assume a defensive attitude, he and
the dog were rolling pell-mell, higgledy-piggledy over each other, down
the steps, and landed in a confused heap on the ground. Devotions thus
came to an abrupt close; the family came to the preacher’s rescue. All
formalities were dispensed with for the time. By the united efforts of
the family, the dog and preacher were finally separated without either of
them being seriously damaged, and the new pastor of Brulitz Creek Circuit
went on his way to face new adversaries and new experiences.
[Illustration: Family Devotions Interrupted.]
He reached the home of Mr. Jacob Wimsett, in Vermilion County, on
Saturday evening as the sun was dropping below the horizon, and there
put up for the night. This was in the vicinity of his Sunday morning
appointment. It was an old-fashioned home even for that day; the home
atmosphere was more hospitable than conventional. As the preacher himself
was quite democratic in his temperament, no formalities were required.
He noticed among the various members of the household a young man and
a young woman who seemed as unobtrusive and as awkward as himself. No
introductions being given, he took it for granted that they both were
members of the family and so gave them no particular thought until he was
ready to start to church the next morning. As he was about to take his
leave, the young man approached him rather diffidently and requested him
to wait a few minutes.
“Me an’ the girl,” he explained, pointing to the blushing lass on the
opposite side of the room, “are a goin’ to git married, an’ we want you
to say the words for us before you go.”
“All right,” said Newgent, in a manner that left the impression that he
understood the situation all the while, “give me your license.”
The document was produced and the twain took their place in front of the
preacher, while the rest of the company looked on. Up to this time he
had never served in that capacity and had not the slightest idea of a
marriage ceremony. Examining the document in a seemingly critical manner
for an instant as if to make sure that it conformed to all requirements,
he looked gravely at the trembling young couple. “If you are agreed
to live together,” he said so rapidly as to render his words scarcely
intelligible, “according to the marriage covenant, join your right
hands.” Scarcely had they time to heed the injunction when he continued,
“In the name of God I pronounce you man and wife.” And the twain were
made one.
He then hastened to his morning appointment, reaching the church before
the people began to gather. This was one of the two church-houses on
the circuit, and was called Nicholls’ Chapel. “Father” Nicholls, one of
the wheel-horses of the church, and in whose honor it was named, was
sweeping the floor and putting the house in order. His task completed,
he went home to get ready for the morning service, without making the
acquaintance of the young stranger. Ere long the people began to arrive.
By the time Sunday school commenced the house was quite well filled.
Newgent took his seat in the rear of the house and received no particular
attention. He was not even invited to a place in a Sunday-school class.
However, his presence _incognito_ gave him a good opportunity for taking
notes. He overheard frequent remarks concerning the new preacher. The
people had heard nothing of him and were expressing doubts about his
being in the neighborhood. And when Sunday school closed without his
presence being made known, their doubts seemed to be confirmed.
Rev. William Jones, a retired preacher and a member of the local class,
came in just as Sunday school was closing and at once made inquiry
concerning the pastor.
“We haven’t seen or heard anything of him,” was the information he
received from Father Nicholls.
“Why, there he is now,” and Rev. Mr. Jones pointed to the diminutive lad
near the door.
“That fellow?” Father Nicholls was dumfounded. “That fellow has been here
all morning. I supposed he was some hired hand in the neighborhood that
had just happened in.”
Explanations and apologies were freely indulged in, the supposed hired
hand entering heartily into the joke. He was introduced to the astonished
congregation, and the service proceeded to their entire satisfaction
and delight. Father Nicholls treated him kindly; he piloted him to the
afternoon appointment, introducing him to all whom they chanced to meet,
invariably accompanying the introduction with the story of the forenoon
experience.
“If I had been out hunting for preachers,” he would say, in telling the
story, “I would not have snapped a cap at him.”
The year’s work on this field was a most fruitful one. The membership was
doubled, and though the charge was not above the average in financial
strength, he received the largest salary of any member of the conference.
Little attention was given, at this time, to the cause of missions. Money
was not generally recognized as a vital factor in Christian service.
Salaries were meager and often consisted in provisions rather than cash.
In many places a strong sentiment prevailed against a paid ministry.
Poverty and ignorance were considered necessary prerequisites to
ministerial piety. The General Missionary Board was only about nine years
old, and missionary sentiment had not taken deep root. But Newgent sowed
missionary seed with a lavish hand, and had the pleasure of reaping at
least part of the harvest. His ability to lead men to loosen their purse
strings even then began to be asserted in a marked degree. More than half
of the missionary contributions of the entire conference that year was
reported from Brulitz Creek Circuit.
His report attracted attention and won him considerable distinction
at the annual conference. According to custom each pastor reported in
person in the open conference relative to the different interests of his
charge. When asked about his missionary offering, Newgent replied, “Here
it is,” and taking a woolen bag, commonly called a sock, from his pocket
he emptied its contents on the table. The contents consisted of coins
of various denominations just as he had gathered them to the amount of
$33.40, the small change giving it the appearance of a larger sum than
he actually had. However, this was considered remarkable. Most of the
pastors reported nothing. Dr. D. K. Flickinger, the first missionary
secretary of the Church, was occupying a seat on the platform near the
Bishop, and joined heartily with him in applause at the splendid report
and the unique manner of presenting it.
The year’s work placed the “boy preacher” in a most favorable light, and
led to his appointment to the Shawnee Prairie Circuit, the strongest
charge in the Conference. The charge had had the pastoral service of
Rev. Thomas H. Hamilton, a mighty man who stood high in the counsels of
the denomination. It was characterized by more than the usual amount of
wealth and culture, and withal an air of aristocracy that led to demands
upon a pastor that were most exacting. Rev. Mr. Hamilton was a favorite
on the circuit, and the people had no thought of losing him. His election
to the office of presiding elder, however, necessitated the change, and
when the awkward, and, as they thought, inexperienced lad came among
them, they felt that their aristocratic tastes were outraged. It was a
wet, chilly day in April when he arrived, and the crestfallen spirits of
the people made it still more chilly for him. And when he learned that
the matter of rejecting him was being seriously considered, the situation
was anything but cheerful.
He told the people he would remain until the first quarterly meeting,
when the presiding elder, Rev. Mr. Hamilton, would be present, and that
he would willingly abide by their decision at that time. This was a
judicious step, as it gave him an opportunity to prove himself. So he
went to work with his usual zeal and by the time of the quarterly meeting
he had sixty conversions with about an equal number of additions to the
church. All thought of rejecting the pastor had completely vanished. In
fact they would not have swapped him off for the “biggest gun they had
ever heard fired.” Such success as the charge had never known crowned the
labors of that year—great revivals at all the appointments, the circuit
more than doubled in strength, and enthusiasm at high tide. Thus their
mourning was turned into laughing. A unanimous demand was made for his
return for another year, but his restless spirit sought new worlds to
conquer. His motto has always been that it is better to go to a needy
field and build it up than to go where further advancement is impossible.
On this ground he asked to be sent to a new field.
One experience on Shawnee Prairie Circuit is worthy of special mention.
Contiguous to the circuit, near Attica in Fountain County, was a section
of country known as Hell’s Half Acre. Its leading spirit was an infidel
doctor. His influence and teachings had so dominated the community that
it was found impossible to maintain religious services there. Ministers
were considered proud, indolent, and altogether an undesirable lot.
Newgent determined to do some missionary work in that benighted place,
though repeated efforts to that end had been made in vain.
In order to make a favorable impression and avoid the imprecation of
being proud, he dressed in his everyday clothes and visited the district
school, which was the geographical and social center, and the only place
where meetings could be held. He announced that there would be services
at the school house that evening, to be continued indefinitely, and urged
the children to spread the news.
The announcement, however, did not produce satisfactory results. The
attendance the first three or four evenings did not exceed a half-dozen.
The atmosphere was rather chilly and the spiritual barometer did not
indicate an early change. It soon became apparent that the old doctor was
the key to the situation. If the people were to be reached, it must be
done mainly through him. How to capture this Goliath was now the problem,
and this problem Newgent set about to solve.
The Sunday services having been no better attended than the preceding
ones, he decided upon a bold move. On Monday afternoon he called at the
doctor’s home. The doctor answered his knock at the door in person. The
old fellow’s rough demeanor and uncouth appearance, his ancient cob pipe
that had long been entitled to a superannuated relation, the musty, dingy
room which the half-open door disclosed—all seemed in striking harmony
with his attitude toward religion. The preacher introduced himself and
explained that he was holding a revival over at the school house. The
grizzled old sinner looked him over from head to foot, but said nothing,
though the expression on his sin-hardened face seemed to say more plainly
than words, “Well, you little rascal, you had better be at home with your
mother.”
“I understand,” persisted the preacher, ignoring the old gentleman’s
contemptuous frown, “that you are a good singer and a prominent citizen,
and I would like to consult you about the work and get you to help me.”
“Help in a revival? Why, don’t you know that I don’t believe in the Bible
or churches, or religion of any sort?”
“Well, that needn’t stand in the way. The evenings are long and the young
people want somewhere to go. You can do the singing and I’ll do the
preaching.”
[Illustration: The Boy Preacher Visiting the Infidel.]
That put a different complexion on things. Here was a chance for some
fun, and incidentally an outlet for his musical propensities, for he was
well versed in music. The idea seemed to take hold. The grim features
began to relax. The boys were called and told to “put up the preacher’s
horse,” and the preacher was invited into the house. The invitation was
heartily accepted. Newgent understood fishing; he had fished before.
The hook was baited and he now perceived that he had got a nibble. The
afternoon was spent to a good advantage. Conversation flowed in various
channels, but fought shy of religion—no time for that yet. He waited for
his fish to take the cork under before pulling in. The doctor had a large
family of children, and their appearance bore testimony to the fact that
they were strangers to church and Sunday school. The boys spread the
startling news that “dad was goin’ to help the boy preacher in the big
meetin’.” And such news traveled as it were with seven-leagued boots.
That was all the advertisement the meeting needed. The infidel
accompanied the preacher to the meeting, taking his place up front, and
led the singing after the droll manner then in vogue. An earthquake or a
man from the dead would not have created more excitement or comment. From
that time the little school house did not accommodate the crowds.
The sermon that evening was not calculated to create a very profound
impression. It was more saturated with Irish humor than with real gospel
truth. The time for seriousness had not yet arrived. But the axe was
laid at the root of the tree, and the kingdom was nearer at hand than any
of them supposed. As a fisher of men, the preacher was still baiting for
the fish.
The next night he took for his theme the Judgment. This was the occasion
for solemn and serious facts. He turned loose all the artillery at his
command in storming the batteries of infidelity and sin, and felt the
presence of the Spirit in directing the message. As he neared the close
of his discourse, he turned to the doctor. The wind had been taken out
of the old man’s sails; his face was in his hands and he was weeping
bitterly.
“What’s the matter, doctor?” he shouted, in a strong, firm voice,
striving to make his words as impressive as possible.
The doctor did not answer.
“Get down on your knees,” he commanded as one who spoke with authority.
And the great exponent of infidelity went down, and his example was
followed by a number of others. He wrestled in agony and prayer until
near midnight, when the light broke in upon his long benighted soul—and
the fish was caught. Such demonstrations had never been seen in Hell’s
Half Acre as took place in the rude school house that night. The tide
had surely turned and the redemption was at hand.
As he dismissed the service, Newgent announced that he was ready
to go home with the first man who invited him. A tall, threadbare,
weather-beaten fellow accepted the challenge. But when the preacher
started to go, he explained that he didn’t mean it. “I can’t take care of
you; I haven’t any room,” he protested.
“Go ahead,” said the preacher, “I can sleep on dry coon skins and eat
roasted potatoes.” And he went in spite of the protests of his host.
The man was surely honest in his protest. He dwelt in a hut built of
round poles. In one corner was a badly cracked stove that had long
done service for both cooking and heating purposes. Two large box-like
arrangements partly filled with leaves gathered from the forest, together
with some ragged covering, served as feeble apologies for beds, and
between these beds was a barrel of whisky. Though it was past midnight,
the wife was sitting up. She was scantily clad, yet her face, though
careworn, revealed a high degree of intelligence, bearing evidence that
she had seen better days. Two little girls whose appearance harmonized
only too well with their wretched surroundings, completed the family
circle. As Newgent entered this hovel his eyes rested upon such a picture
of destitution as he had never seen. The whisky barrel, however, told the
whole story.
Newgent soon had the entire family feeling perfectly at ease. He played
with the children and proved himself a most congenial guest. But he was
there for their spiritual good. That night the wretched home, for the
first time, became a house of prayer. Before the light of a new day
dawned the light from heaven broke in upon the sad heart of that wife and
mother, and a new day dawned in her life. The next morning the husband
likewise found the Savior, and the whisky barrel, the cause of so much
misery and poverty, vacated its place in the home, for old things had
passed away and all things had become new. Another stronghold was lost to
the enemy. A glorious night’s work it was, and a mighty step toward the
final conquest of this spiritual Canaan.
The man asked Newgent to roll the barrel of whisky into the river. But he
said, “No; let us sell it to the druggist. We can use the money to a good
advantage.” So he borrowed a team and wagon, and hauled the whisky to the
nearest drug store, and received eighteen dollars for it. With the money
he bought some much needed clothing for the wife and children. It was his
first and only experience in the whisky business.
The entire community was swept by the revival. Multitudes were converted,
a church was organized, and a church-house built. The whisky man and the
ex-infidel became pillars in the church, one serving as class leader
and the other as steward. Never was a work of grace more complete,
or the power of God more wonderfully or graciously displayed in the
transformation of a community than in the case of Hell’s Half Acre.
CHAPTER FIVE.
_Six Months at Rainsville—A Hotbed of Southern Sympathizers—A
Mix-up with Saloon Men—A Sermon on Slavery—Fire and
Brimstone—An Antagonist Outwitted—A Sermon from the Book of
Newgent—Can Any Good Thing Come Out of Rainsville?_
In 1861, the time of holding the Upper Wabash Conference was changed
from spring to fall. Hence, two sessions were held that year with an
interim of but six months between them. This period was spent by Rev.
Mr. Newgent on the Williamsport Circuit in Warren County, Indiana. He
moved with his family to Rainsville, a village of about one hundred and
fifty inhabitants, located on Vermilion River. The town was still in the
rough, its chief activities centering about two rival saloons. As it had
no church and not a single inhabitant who professed religion, the saloons
had things pretty much their own way. The Newgents occupied part of a
building that formerly did service as the village inn; the rest of it was
occupied by one of the saloon keepers. The two families, however, did
not have undisputed possession of the place, as it seemed to have been
preempted by bed bugs and fleas, which were no inconspicuous feature of
life in Rainsville. While the saloon keeper and the preacher maintained
peaceable relations with each other, these aboriginal neighbors
maintained an attitude of hostility with a persistence that was worthy of
a better cause than they represented.
Another thing that made life in Rainsville interesting during this period
was the war which was then in its first year of progress. The sympathies
of the inhabitants were decidedly with the South. But one man could be
found who claimed to be loyal to the Union, and as might be expected
under such circumstances, he was not very enthusiastic about it. They
could safely be counted on the off side of any question or movement that
involved a moral element. With the war agitation to stir their blood, the
well patronized saloons doing business seven days and nights in the week,
and the absence of any religious institution or influence, Rainsville
might well have served as a basis for the doctrine of total depravity.
The Williamsport Circuit, like most of the country parishes of its day,
afforded a man plenty of room to grow in. If a pastor rusted out it was
his own fault. But Newgent, with his active temperament and fondness for
adventure, was not the man to rust out. Not only the Sabbath, but most
of the evenings between Sabbaths were taken up with preaching services.
Each alternate Sabbath during the Williamsport pastorate he preached four
times, which entailed forty-two miles of travel by horseback. The day’s
program was as follows: Leaving home at daybreak, he rode twenty miles
to a ten o’clock appointment. After the service he would get a “hand
out” for dinner and reach the next appointment at two o’clock, then to a
4:30 service, and on home for meeting at night. Life was both simple and
strenuous in the extreme.
The first Sunday in this village was a memorable one. Leaving his plucky
young wife to hold the fort, the new pastor made his forty-two-mile
round, reaching home about sundown. No provision had been made for
preaching in town, but Newgent resolved to give the inhabitants of this
inferno a chance to hear the gospel. A rowdy mob was collected about
each saloon. An air of general lawlessness, recklessness, and cussedness
prevailed. Games and sports of various sorts were maintained on the
streets. Horseback riders were galloping here and there, firing pistols
and performing various stunts in imitation of life among the untamed
cowboys and Indians. Their boisterous talking and hollowing, with here
and there a man staggering under his load of Rainsville’s chief product,
all combined, might well have led to the conclusion that the demons of
the lower regions had been liberated and were holding high carnival in
celebration of the event.
When Newgent told his wife that he had decided to preach at the school
house that night, she tried to dissuade him, fearing for his safety. And
well she might after what she had seen of life in Rainsville that day.
But he gloried in heroic tasks and heeded not her wise counsel. He at
once set about to publish the appointment. In order to find the people
he went to one of the saloons. The saloon was full of men, and the men
were full of the saloon. Stepping up to the bar-tender he told him that
he was going to hold a religious service at the school house at 7:30. “As
there are no church services in town,” he said, “I am sure you will be
willing to encourage such a movement by closing your place of business
and attending.”
“You can preach all you d—— please; I haven’t been to church for twenty
years,” answered the booze dispenser with a look that seemed to add,
“and I don’t propose to commence now.”
“But I am a stranger here, and you don’t know but I am the smartest man
in the country, or may be the biggest fool. You had better come and find
out for yourself.”
The idea of a church service struck the saloon patrons as a desirable
innovation, and as they were in favor of anything that promised a
diversion, they began to take sides with the preacher. Their enthusiasm
waxed intense, due mainly to the reflex influence of tarrying long at the
grog shop. They were unanimous and emphatic in demanding that the saloon
be closed and that all go to church.
The proprietor finally said that he would consent on condition that his
competitor would do likewise.
“All right, I’ll see him,” and Newgent broke for the other saloon where a
similar situation prevailed. Several of the men volunteered to accompany
him and assist in enforcing the demand, so that an ambassage that carried
with it no small authority presented itself before the high priest of
Gambrinus of the rival saloon. A delegation from one saloon to another,
headed by a preacher, was an uncommon sight, especially in Rainsville,
but it had the desired effect. For once the saloons were closed and
the center of interest transferred to the school house. News of the
meeting spread in short order. The new preacher made himself an object of
curiosity and comment by his establishing diplomatic relations with the
governing bodies of the village, and everybody was anxious to see more of
him. So all Rainsville turned out to church—men, women, boys, girls, and
dogs—all entering heartily into the novelty of a religious service with a
real, “sure enough” preacher at the head of it.
Newgent prudently made the service brief. The sermon was not as spiritual
as it might have been under different conditions, as the congregation was
quite sympathetic and responsive, and he considered it injudicious to
encourage their emotions at that time. He was more especially concerned
about laying plans for the future. How to get them back was the question,
which he sought to solve by a bit of strategy. So, in addition to giving
them a few morsels of wholesome advice, well sugarcoated with his native
good humor, he made the startling announcement that at the next meeting
he would preach on the subject of slavery. If anything were calculated to
bring them back, surely that was.
It was taken for granted, of course, that he was an Abolitionist and
would denounce the South. The blood of those southern sympathizers at
once began to boil. Everybody anticipated a lively time, and interest
became intense. All felt that the foolhardy young fellow did not realize
the danger to which he was exposing himself. An old gentleman, the
village blacksmith, whose father had been a United Brethren preacher,
felt it his duty to warn the reverend gentleman and have him to call
off the entire proceedings. As usual, Newgent was firm. He told the
gentleman, however, that he wanted to be fair to both sides, so if those
who disagreed with him desired, they might get a man to follow him and
present the other side of the question.
This they were only too anxious to do. When the time came, they had their
man. By the time Newgent and his wife arrived at the little school house
that evening it was completely packed and an immense crowd was gathered
on the outside. It was with the greatest difficulty that they forced
themselves through the anxious throng and made their way to the front of
the building. The opponent was on hand, ready to take his measure and
smash all of his arguments. As might be surmised, sympathy was plainly
and emphatically with the southern advocate. If he could not demolish
the frail Abolitionist, there were enough present who were ready to lend
all the assistance he needed. The smell of brimstone was in the air,
indicating the presence of that commodity in unlimited quantities. All
that was lacking for a real conflagration was something to touch it off.
And that something was momentarily expected.
After a brief preliminary exercise, the preacher opened the discussion.
Like the great apostle on Mars Hill, he complimented his hearers on their
seeming interest in the subject at hand. “As the subject of slavery,”
he said, “is stirring our country from one end to the other, and as it
is a subject of such vital importance, I take pleasure at this time in
presenting one phase of it.
“I wish to observe in my remarks, First, the slave; Second, his master;
Third, the law by which he is held in bondage; Fourth, how he is to be
liberated; Fifth, where he is to be colonized.” Thus far, well and good.
These were familiar topics, and had been discussed pro and con even
by the school children. Hence, his opening remarks were according to
expectations, and breathlessly they awaited what was to follow.
Their consternation and chagrin can only be imagined when he proceeded
to state that the slave is the sinner; his master is the devil; the law
by which he is held in bondage is sinful lusts and habits; he is to be
liberated through the blood of Christ; and heaven is the place of his
colonization. Around these propositions he built his discourse without
any reference to slavery as a civil institution. It was strictly a gospel
sermon, and his antagonist had no disposition to reply.
“Well, we are beat,” said the old blacksmith after the service was
dismissed, “but the boy is the sharpest fellow that ever struck this
town.” And he was not alone in his conclusion.
With a view to holding the audience for the next appointment, he
announced that he would preach at that time from the Book of Newgent, the
twenty-eighth chapter and thirty-third verse, “Can any good thing come
out of Rainsville?”
A few days after this announcement, he received a call from an old
gentleman. The unsuspecting brother had been having trouble over the Book
of Newgent. He stated that he and the old woman had been searching the
Bible all week and were unable to find it. He was kindly urged to be
present at the preaching service and assured that his troubles would all
be cleared up. Presumably the matter was explained to his satisfaction,
as he was not heard from again.
The Rainsville pastorate, though brief, was full of thrilling interest,
and was not without substantial results for good. He won the respect and
confidence of this uncouth people, and had the satisfaction of seeing
many of the grosser evils disappear under his ministry. Before he left,
the signs of a brighter day were plainly discernible. His influence with
them was turned to good account, as will be seen in the next chapter.
CHAPTER SIX.
_The War Spirit in Indiana—Breaking up a Traitorous Plot—Narrow
Escape from Enemies—Assists in Securing Recruits—Becomes
Chaplain of his Regiment—Exchange of Courtesies with a
Presbyterian Minister—An Embarrassing Predicament—Saves
Regiment from Capture—Organizes a Military Church—Chased by
Johnnies—An Exciting Homeward Journey._
Indiana was a storm center during the Civil War. Her position was a
strategic one. She was regarded as the keystone of the North. With Oliver
P. Morton, “Indiana’s great War Governor,” at the head of affairs,
she was held firmly to her moorings, and furnished a larger number of
soldiers for the Union Army in proportion to population than any other
State. Yet the State was constantly harassed by citizens who were
unfriendly to the Union cause, and who secretly or openly sympathized
with the South. Secret organizations for the purpose of aiding the
Confederacy were common. Conspicuous among these was the Knights of
the Golden Circle. Yet many not identified with these traitorous
organizations were utterly disloyal. Hence, much bitterness and not
infrequently bloodshed prevailed. It was not unusual for men in official
position to use their influence against the Government, or even to join
the army with traitorous intent.
Rev. Mr. Newgent was serving as pastor for the second year on the Clark’s
Hill charge, when in the fall of 1863, he was “persuaded,” as he said,
“to go into the army for safety.” With his wife he was paying a visit to
his father-in-law in Parke County. In the neighborhood lived a man who
was captain of Home Guards, but whose loyalty was strongly suspected. A
small brother of Mrs. Newgent sometimes visited with his children, and on
returning from one such visit, incidentally mentioned having seen some
pretty guns in the barn where they had been playing. Newgent understood
the meaning of these guns secreted on the premises of this traitorous
man, and telegraphed the news to Governor Morton. A squad of soldiers was
dispatched to the place and some three hundred guns were found. They were
confiscated and a traitorous scheme was thus frustrated.
Newgent at once became the object of a great deal of attention. That he
was responsible for the exposure, was generally surmised. A plan was
formed to do away with him. On Sunday evening following the episode he
was to preach at the Oak Ridge United Brethren Church in the community.
In the midst of the service, by a preconcerted plan, the lights were
suddenly extinguished, and his adversaries were about to execute their
design. He succeeded in making his escape in the darkness by the
assistance of an uncle. The outlook seemed rather stormy, and he was
convinced that it was safer in the army than out of it. Leaving his wife
in the care of her father, he hastened to Lafayette where a regiment, the
116th Indiana Infantry, was being formed by Colonel William C. Kise.
At that period recruits were hard to get and the work proceeded slowly.
Newgent asked the colonel what the chance would be for him to get the
appointment of chaplain.
“What church do you belong to?” the colonel asked.
“I am a United Brethren,” was the answer.
“I am sorry,” said the colonel, “I like the United Brethren Church and
would like to give you the appointment; but this is to be a Methodist
regiment; all the officers are to be Methodists, and it is understood
that the chaplainship is to be given to a Methodist preacher up in the
city.”
“Will you take me, then, as a private?” he asked.
“Certainly,” was the eager reply, “we shall be glad to take you, for
recruits are coming in awfully slowly.” There were then only seven
companies started. None of them were complete. Newgent offered to assist
in raising recruits.
“If you will give me transportation papers,” he said, “I think I can get
some men over in Warren County.”
“Warren County!” exclaimed the colonel in disgust. “It’s of no use to go
there for recruits. I have had a couple of good men over there for three
weeks and they have got only four men.” But Newgent insisted that he be
allowed to try. He understood those people and felt that he knew how to
approach them. The papers were finally given him, and he set out for
Rainsville in this doubtful territory.
Rainsville, it will be remembered, was a headquarters for southern
sympathizers, where little more than a year before but one Union man
could be found. The task was a challenge to Newgent, the kind of a
task he delighted in. Taking a boy with a drum and flag, he went to
the village and nearby points, and soon had the inhabitants inoculated
with the war microbe. The prospects of a draft about this time proved
an effective argument in favor of enlistment, which was used for all
it was worth. After an absence of six days he returned to camp with 104
men, which was the first full company in the regiment, this, too, from
territory that was as completely southern in sentiment as though it had
been in the very heart of the Confederacy.
The march to camp was a triumphal procession. The company of volunteers
was accompanied by several hundred men and boys who fell in on the way.
As they came into camp about twelve o’clock on Saturday night with colors
flying and giving vent to their enthusiasm by singing and hollowing, it
had the effect of a small army, not unlike that of Gideon’s band, when
they multiplied the effect of numbers by noise and enthusiasm and scared
the Midianites out of their wits. The colonel met them with a drum corps
and the company was welcomed amid the most extravagant expressions of
delight. The fact that recruits were coming in so slowly gave increased
cause for demonstration. When the general hubbub had somewhat abated,
the crowd demanded a speech from Newgent, and the demand was imperative.
Though worn by physical exertion and hoarse from much haranguing, he
gave a brief talk, at the close of which, amid great applause, some one
moved that “Rev. Mr. Newgent be made chaplain of the regiment.” It was
heartily seconded, and shouts of approval burst from every section of the
camp. So, by general consent the rule to make it a Methodist regiment
was waived, insofar as it related to the chaplainship, much to the
satisfaction of Colonel Kise, and Newgent became their spiritual adviser.
The Methodist brother, who, it was understood, was to receive the
appointment, came out the next afternoon (Sunday) to preach to the
boys and get acquainted; but on being apprised of what had taken place
the night before, he quietly withdrew, leaving Newgent in undisputed
possession of the honors which his tact and energy had won.
The regiment was finally completed and mustered in for a term of six
months, though it served considerably over time. Its first service was
rendered in guarding the U. S. Armory at Detroit, Michigan. The armory
was threatened by General Vallandigham, who had been banished from the
United States because of treasonable expressions, and had placed himself
at the head of a force in Canada with the purpose of threatening the
Union from the north. The regiment was later sent to reënforce General
Burnsides in east Tennessee.
This was during the terrible winter of ’63 and ’64, when Burnsides was
besieged by Confederate General Longstreet and was shut up in Knoxville.
The hardships suffered by the Union soldiers during that memorable siege
are matters of history and need not be recounted in detail here. Among
the foremost of the sufferers was Newgent’s regiment, the 116th Indiana.
All supplies having been cut off, the boys for many weeks had a hard
struggle to keep from succumbing to hunger and cold. For a time they each
had but one ear of corn a day; no tents, and not sufficient clothing
for protection even under favorable circumstances. In the midst of the
severest winter weather, over three hundred of the men were barefooted.
Newgent was the best dressed man in his regiment, and it was with
difficulty that he got his dress coat to hang together at the collar;
and he suffered no little uneasiness lest his trousers would dissolve
partnership with him.
A few characteristic army experiences will suffice in this connection and
occupy the remainder of this chapter.
On reaching Tennessee, the regiment was stationed temporarily at
Greenville. The care-free boys attended services the first Sunday
morning at the Presbyterian church in the city. The pastor, Rev. Samuel
McCorkle, treated them kindly. They were delighted with the reception
accorded them, and on the following Sabbath a large part of the regiment,
including the chaplain, turned out to worship at Rev. Mr. McCorkle’s
church. When Newgent appeared in his chaplain’s uniform, McCorkle
at once led him up to the pulpit and insisted that he preach. The
chaplain was never averse to preaching whenever there was occasion for
it, and so consented, under slight pressure. He observed the pastor’s
manuscript neatly tied up with red ribbon, which told him he had barely
escaped listening to a manuscript sermon. Newgent had little sympathy
for a written discourse and took advantage of the situation to indulge
in some pleasantries at the learned parson’s expense. He told the
congregation, the greater part of whom were soldiers, that he had no set
discourse, and that he never tried to palm off a written sermon upon a
helpless congregation, as such a procedure was “like a doctor writing a
prescription before examining the patient.” Rev. Mr. McCorkle accepted
the criticism good-naturedly and invited Newgent to take dinner with him
after the service. After several weeks of army rations, the dinner at
Rev. Mr. McCorkle’s home was a most delightful change.
He returned the courtesy that had been accorded him by inviting his host
to preach to his “boys” in the afternoon. The invitation was accepted.
McCorkle did not deem it judicious to use his manuscript after the
episode of the forenoon, and was visibly handicapped and embarrassed in
his attempt at extemporaneous delivery. He talked but a few minutes and
turned the service over to the chaplain.
After the service the two men had a heart-to-heart talk. McCorkle
confessed his chagrin at not being able to preach without his manuscript,
and expressed a determination to cultivate the habit of extemporaneous
delivery. That the determination was carried out was seen in the fact
that he became a leader in this method of preaching. And the two
preachers continued fast friends.
An incident more pleasing to relate than to undergo occurred at Tazewell,
Tennessee, where Newgent’s regiment had been dispatched with twenty-four
others to check a Confederate force that was approaching from that
quarter. They went into camp, building temporary fortifications with
the grave stones of a nearby cemetery. About midnight the army was
surprised by the sudden arrival of a force of Confederate cavalry that
captured some of the outposts. Newgent, with some of his regiment, was
garrisoned in an old building that had been used for a granary. As the
fire was opened he caught up his clothes in his arms, and, mounting
his horse, started down the hill for a more healthful location. The
horse stumbled over some rocks, throwing the rider to the ground and
scattering his precious wearing apparel to the four winds. There was no
time for trifles, and the clothes were abandoned for the time. They were
recovered about nine o’clock the next morning, much to the relief of the
reverend, whose situation in the meantime was as embarrassing as it was
uncomfortable.
On one occasion his coolness and ingenuity were the means of saving
his entire regiment from capture. The regiment had been ordered across
the Clinch River in east Tennessee to guard a narrow passage in the
mountains at what was called Bean’s Station. They had gotten across and
were camping in a bend of the river when news came that the rebels had
superseded them, and three brigades were between them and the gap. They
might easily have retreated, but the river became swollen from heavy
rains, and to cross a swift, mountain stream under such circumstances was
practically out of the question.
Newgent was sick at the time, being cared for at the colonel’s
headquarters. During the early part of the night the colonel came to him,
trembling with fear, and said, “Chaplain, what on earth is to be done?
There is a strong rebel force on one side of us, and an unfordable stream
on the other. If we are not out of here by morning every one of us will
be captured.”
The rebels were confident that they could not get away and so waited
until morning to bag their game.
“Bring six or seven of the boys here,” said Newgent. The boys were
brought. He told them to go down to the river where they would find an
old canoe partly filled with water. “Build a fire on the bank so that its
light will shine across the stream, bail the water out of the canoe, put
it in as good shape as possible, and then report.”
They followed his instructions, after which they came back to
headquarters, and the sick chaplain got out of his bed and went back with
them to the river. Though it was a perilous undertaking, the men got in
the water-soaked canoe, and by the uncertain light of the fire, made
their way to the other side of the angry stream. They went to General
Curtain’s headquarters, related the situation, and procured a supply of
cannon rope. With the rope they made a cable across the river. They thus
devised a rude ferry by means of an abandoned and partly submerged barge
which they raised and repaired for the purpose. The barge would carry
about twelve men or one horse at a trip. It was propelled by the men
holding to the cable and thus laboriously working their way from one side
of the stream to the other. Through the dark, stormy night they toiled,
and before daybreak the entire regiment with all appurtenances was out of
reach of the enemy. When the rebels reached forth their hand next morning
to bag their game, lo! it wasn’t there!
It was a terrible night’s work, however. The sick chaplain stayed with
the barge until the last man was saved. He was twice thrown into the
water, and ran a fearful risk in thus exposing himself at so critical
a time. After the excitement of the night, by which alone his physical
strength was sustained, he suffered a serious relapse. He was confined to
his bed at General Curtain’s headquarters for about two weeks, when he
again reported for duty. The men regarded him as their deliverer, and the
satisfaction of having saved his comrades from the horrors of a southern
prison compensated for all he suffered. For this heroic deed he was
complimented on dress parade by a special order from the general.
The following reference to this incident is found in the “Official
Records of the Army,” Series I., Vol. XXXI.:
Tazewell, Tenn., December 14, 1863.
Major-General Foster, Knoxville:
General: I have the honor of reporting that I arrived here this
evening at about dark, having left Rutledge at 9:00 a. m., and
Bean’s Station at 1:30 p. m.... At the crossing of the Clinch
River (Evan’s Ford) I found a sufficient guard, under the
command of Colonel Kise. The river was rising quite rapidly,
but the guard had raised and repaired the ferry-boat, which was
crossing successfully, being pulled back and forth by hand upon
a cable stretched from one shore to another. I think that it
would be well, as a matter of security, to have another boat
built there, and will so notify Colonel Babcock....
I am, general, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
O. M. POE,
Captain and Chief Engineer, Army of the Ohio.
As a means for the spiritual welfare of the “boys,” he conceived and
carried out the idea of organizing a military church. Though there were
various religious organizations among the soldiers, and some doubtless
on similar lines, yet this was an entirely original conception with
him. His church took no denominational name, but was made up of all
who were willing to become members. It was completely officered, and
maintained prayer meetings and church services at stated intervals. Two
special revival meetings were held in which about 250 of the “boys” were
converted.
His spiritual ministrations were not limited to the soldiers. Whenever an
opportunity presented itself he would hold services at nearby churches
and school houses. On one such occasion he incidentally, to use his own
expression, “chased seven Johnnies for three and a half miles.” It was
a merry race; like Jehu the entire party rode furiously. But as the
chaplain had more at stake than his companions in the chase, he managed
to maintain his position well in advance of the seven, and was quite
willing to abandon the chase by the time he reached camp.
Not least among the interesting army “experiences” was the homeward
journey. As previously stated, the regiment served over the time
for which they enlisted. The men were impatient and homesick. Their
destitute condition rendered many of them almost desperate. Almost half
of them were barefooted and all were weakened by hunger and exposure.
The morning on which they were to start home the colonel announced
that they would proceed to Barbersville, Kentucky, and that there they
would find a supply of much-needed clothing and provisions. This was a
two-days’ march, which, in itself, was no pleasing prospect under the
circumstances. The promise of food and clothing, however, nerved them for
the ordeal. It was midnight when Barbersville was reached, and to their
utter consternation the promised supplies were not there.
Things were looking blue. The colonel said to Newgent, “You have the
best horse in the regiment. Take a couple of the boys and get out and
find something to feed these men before morning.” He started, not to
forage, but to beg. At the first house he came to be was met by a woman
to whom he stated his mission. She showed him a blood spot on the floor
where her husband had been killed by the rebels, and said that all she
had was a half-bushel of meal, but she was willing to divide. It was all
he secured, though he continued the search until daylight. Returning
to camp, he threw the bit of meal at the colonel’s feet, and fell down
exhausted, dropping at once into a deep sleep.
What happened during the time he slept, when the real situation dawned
upon the men, he could only surmise. The next he knew, the colonel had
him aroused and was ordering him to ride ahead of the regiment to a
little water-mill about twelve miles distant to see what could be found
there, and to arrange if possible to feed the men when they arrived. He
found a few bushels of grain, most of it in a bad condition. When ground
into meal it made just one pint each for the men. After they had eaten
their morsel, the colonel made them a little speech in which he told them
that the next objective point would be Camp Dick Robinson, and for every
man to look out for himself until they reached the camp. This they were
quite glad to do. And when in a few days they met at the camp, they were
in better spirits, and were pretty well supplied for the rest of the
journey.
The next way station was Camp Nelson. Here they were met by the Provost
Marshal who declared the regiment under arrest for pillaging, and ordered
them to stack arms. While the authorities were arranging the details
for taking care of them, the colonel took advantage of the delay.
“Attention, Battalions,” he shouted, “Shoulder arms—forward march—double
quick!” The order was eagerly obeyed. A “double-quick” march was made
to Nicholasville. This was a railroad town. Here they ordered a train
for Cincinnati. The train steamed out of the station with its load of
animated freight just as the Marshal with his guard galloped in sight.
The authorities at Cincinnati were notified by wire to arrest the
regiment on its arrival there, but this was anticipated. So they got off
the train at Covington, crossing the Ohio River by ferry to Cincinnati.
There they got a train for Indianapolis without being detected. The
train was pressed into service to convey them on to Lafayette, the home
of the regiment. They reached the city on Sunday evening, as the church
bells were ringing for the evening services. Newgent, as his custom was,
went to church. Possibly he felt the need of it after what he had gone
through. He went to the First Methodist Episcopal Church, and at the
urgent request of the pastor, delivered the evening discourse to the
delight of the splendid audience.
It should be said in justice to Rev. Mr. Newgent that he was not a
party to any of the irregularities that almost brought his regiment
into disrepute after it had acquitted itself so well on the field. He
remonstrated with the men and exhorted them to better conduct, but when
the pressure of army discipline was removed, the pent-up energies of
these raw backwoodsmen were turned loose along various channels and
could neither be suppressed nor regulated. The officers of the regiment,
with the exception of Newgent, were summoned before the proper military
tribunal at Indianapolis, to answer for their depredations. They were
acquitted, however, being ably defended by Lieutenant-Colonel G. O. Beam.
Whether or not the verdict was a just one, is of no special concern to us
here. Suffice it to say that our subject, though a young man, so ordered
his life as not only to keep himself unspotted from the world, but at the
same time to win for himself the confidence of even the most hardened
sinners. He was exonerated from all blame in advance, and his name was
not brought before the court.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
_Plants the United Brethren Banner in Terre Haute—Prairieton
Pastorate—Difficulty with the Sons of Anak—A Prayer Without an
“Amen”—Another Community Redeemed—Going to the Wrong Doctor—A
Perverse Colt—An Unintentional Immersion—One Sermon That was
not Dry._
It was in April, 1864, when Rev. Mr. Newgent returned from the war.
His own conference did not meet until fall, but the Lower Wabash
Conference met in its annual session in Vermilion, Illinois, about
the time of his return. With the view to getting back on the firing
line at once, he attended the latter conference, and was appointed to
Terre Haute (Indiana) Mission. This was strictly prospective work, as
the mission was projected at this session. The conference at the same
session, following the example of the Upper Wabash Conference, decided
to change the time of its annual meetings from spring to fall, hence
the appointment was made for a period of only six months. During this
time Rev. Mr. Newgent devoted himself with characteristic zeal to laying
broad and deep the foundations of his church in this new Macedonia. That
his labors were fruitful is seen in the fact that he reported to the
fall conference an organized church on Second Street, with splendid
prospects of a prosperous future—prospects which subsequent history has
abundantly fulfilled. To him belongs the credit of first planting the
United Brethren banner in this thriving city, where the Church has since
steadily grown to a place of prestige and influence.
The Terre Haute pastorate was followed by a year at Prairieton, in Vigo
County, Indiana. Some experiences on this field are worthy of note. A
revival meeting was held in an unevangelized community at what was known
as the Battle Row School House, near the Wabash River. The school house
was a primitive log building with plenty of ventilation. The wide cracks
between the logs in the walls not only admitted a sufficiency of fresh
air, but were a source of temptation to the untamed sons of the natives
who were wont at critical times to inject missiles of various sorts
through them into the midst of the congregation, causing more or less
uneasiness and often confusion to the worshipers. It was not a place
where one could worship under his own vine and fig tree with no one to
molest or make afraid. During the early stage of the meeting reapers were
scarce, and to all appearances, were wholly inadequate to the demands
of the great, over-ripe harvest. The sons of Anak seemed to have a
perpetual title to the place, and showed no intention of evacuating it.
At one time, as Newgent was making an earnest plea for penitents to come
to the altar, he observed a company of ruffians in the rear of the room
in a rather impenitent condition, bantering one another to go forward to
the mourner’s bench. The quick wit of the preacher frustrated their evil
designs. Constant vigilance had to be exercised to prevent outbreaks and
demonstrations of a similar character. As the meeting proceeded converts
multiplied and the odds became more and more to the advantage of the
faithful.
There was one wheel-horse who was the pastor’s right hand man in the
great conflict with primitive elements. A splendid man he was, though his
droll manner was a subject of sport for the lewd fellows of the baser
propensities. A characteristic attitude when he offered public prayer was
to kneel facing the wall, with his back toward the congregation. Then
with his eyes closed and oblivious to all his surroundings, he would
soar to a high altitude in his eloquence and fervency of spirit. In such
surroundings, however, it would have been better had Father Scott, as he
was affectionately called, not forgotten his relation to this mundane
sphere, for the situation surely demanded watching as well as praying.
Especially would it have prevented an awkward hitch in the services one
evening when the interest and enthusiasm were at their greatest height.
Intense conviction was capturing and humbling proud and defiant hearts,
and victory was perching upon the banners of the loyal band.
But, as in the days of Job, when the sons of God went to worship, Satan
went also. Battle Row School House furnished a good demonstration of the
fact that,
“Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The devil’s sure to build a chapel there;
And ’twill be found upon investigation,
The latter has by far the larger congregation.”
While the worshipers were in the midst of great rejoicing, Satan’s hosts
were holding high carnival on the outside. Father Scott was called upon,
as he frequently was, at the most critical stage in the meeting, to lead
in prayer. As his custom was, he knelt with his face to the wall, and by
chance his mouth was dangerously near a huge crack. While sailing away
in the ether world, and the people were hanging breathlessly upon his
earnest and eloquent words, all unexpectedly, for some strange reason,
the machinery stopped. It was unusual for a prayer to be terminated so
abruptly without the conventional “amen.” All eyes were fixed upon Father
Scott. What could have happened? It was painfully apparent that he was in
distress. He was making a desperate effort to clear some obstruction from
his throat, get his breath, and regain his equilibrium.
The proximity of Father Scott’s mouth to the opening in the wall was too
great a provocation for the unregenerates on the outside of the house
to forego. One of them had prepared a ball of mud, and with accurate
aim, threw it through the crack into the brother’s mouth, putting him
temporarily out of commission. There was, of course, confusion in the
midst of Zion, but Father Scott, whose battery had been silenced by this
unexpected maneuver, was soon able to resume operations, and the battle
was pressed with increased vigor.
[Illustration: A Prayer Without An Amen.]
There was another neglected community adjacent to this charge. It was
entirely without church services or religious influences of any kind. In
the community lived a well-to-do gentleman of the name of Owen, whose
wife was an invalid. Being of a religious turn of mind, and deprived of
church privileges, she desired to have a meeting held at her home mainly
for her benefit. Rev. Mr. Newgent was invited to conduct the service.
His Sundays being taken up by his regular work, the meeting was held
in a forenoon during the week. A goodly company of neighbors gathered
out of respect to the dear sister, and she enjoyed the occasion so much
that she invited them all back for a service in the evening. The evening
meeting proved still more interesting, and it was decided to continue the
services indefinitely. It developed into a grand revival which resulted
in many conversions, the organization of a church, and the building of
a church-house. Among the first to come to the mourner’s bench was Mr.
Owen, the generous host. He “came through” shouting and became a strong,
staunch, and stormy defender of the faith.
Among attendants at the revival were two brothers, “Dave” and “Joe”
Walker, notable characters in a local way. Both were proficient in the
use of the violin, or, in the vernacular of the day, they were great
fiddlers. Even if there was nothing else to place them under the ban
of pious sentiment, this in itself would have been sufficient, for the
fiddle had been so exclusively associated with bad company that it
was supposed to have absorbed something of the evil spirits of its
companions, and in the superstitious imaginations of many it possessed
invisible hoofs and horns, and a strange, infernal power that was to be
zealously avoided. Hence, Dave and Joe were regarded as typical “hard
nuts,” and it cannot be denied that they made an honest effort to live up
to their reputations. They were more familiar with the conventionalities
of the country “hoe-down” than with the atmosphere of a “big meetin’.”
Until the revival at the Owen home attracted their attention, they had
not been present at a church service since they were boys. They became
fairly regular attendants at the meeting, and in consequence, both got
sick. Their illness seemed to be of a peculiar character, as neither of
them could explain his symptoms or give any clue as to the seat of the
trouble.
Joe became much worse one evening and by midnight he began to think he
was being beckoned across the border. Dave, whose condition was not so
critical, was dispatched to Prairieton for medical aid. While he was
gone, Joe got religion. This proved to be all the treatment he needed.
All unfavorable symptoms disappeared, and he set out post haste to meet
his brother. Just before he reached the village, he met Dave on his way
home, when the following colloquy took place:
“Oh, Dave, I’ve got all the medicine I need. It ain’t pills we need, but
religion.”
“Bless the Lord, I’ve took the medicine, too,” said Dave. He had also
been converted on his return from the doctor’s office. It thus became
apparent that their malady was spiritual rather than physical, but being
unfamiliar with symptoms of that character, they were unable to diagnose
the case until the remedy had been applied. The two brothers were made
every whit whole, soul and body. They hung up “the fiddle and the bow,”
and their talents and energies were turned loose along more legitimate
channels.
Vermilion Circuit, in Illinois, was the scene of the next pastorate. Here
a memorable experience took place as he was making his second “round”
on the charge. Newgent, like other strong men, has always had some
hobbies, legitimate hobbies in his case, however, that were elements of
strength in his ministry. One of these is punctuality. He has always
been scrupulously punctual in meeting his engagements. He never misses
a train from the fact that he is far more likely to be at the station
three-quarters of an hour ahead of time than three-quarters of a minute
late. He is a strict believer in the maxim of the muse,
“Better be an hour early and stand and wait,
Than to be a moment behind the time.”
In filling appointments he observes the same rule. He finds it helpful to
be on hand sufficiently early to meet and shake hands with the advance
guards of the congregation. It affords a tonic for his wits and puts him
in a mood to be at his best.
On his new charge was a church known as Prairie Chapel. As usual, in his
introductory services he exhorted his people to be punctual in their
attendance, stating that he made it a point to be on time, and that if he
at any time was not strictly “on the dot,” they might know that something
was wrong. It so happened that at the very next service the scrupulously
punctual preacher was behind time, and it also happened that something
was desperately wrong.
As a sort of background to the scene to be here presented, it would be
well to state that he was clad in a new suit, as preachers usually were
at the beginning of the year. The new suit consisted of a complete outfit
from boots to hat and gloves, including also that luxury which not every
circuit rider could afford, a fine shawl. It should further be explained
that he was riding a colt, not the nineteen-year-old variety with which
he traveled his first circuit, but a genuine three-year-old, with all the
fire and perverseness of its kind. It might also be in order to add, by
way of parenthesis, that the Illinois roads after the rains and frosts of
September began their maneuvers, were no respecters of new clothes.
Just before reaching Prairie Chapel, the road crossed a slough some three
hundred feet wide. At this point the road was covered by about three
feet of water, or perhaps, as it was difficult to tell just where the
water left off and the mud began, it would be more exact to say that
it was three feet from the top of the water to the bottom of the mud.
It was covered with a thin coating of ice. Newgent, being the first to
pass that way on that Sunday morning, had to break the ice as he went.
The colt did not like the task to begin with, but as this was the only
road to the church and was fenced on either side with a picket fence, a
straightforward course was the only alternative.
The colt proceeded reluctantly until it reached the middle of the slough.
There it became possessed with the spirit of Balam’s beast and refused
to go farther. Its purpose seemed to be fixed as all the entreaties of
the rider were unavailing. The church was in plain view, and, like the
wedding guest of Coleridge’s immortal “Rime,” the preacher could see
and hear the people as they were assembling, while he was transfixed to
the spot. Finally giving up hope of going forward, he tried to turn the
colt’s head in the opposite direction, when, lo, he found that it was as
averse to turning back as it was to going forward. Just what the beast’s
plan for the future was, could not well be divined, for, to be in the
middle of a lake with no purpose of going either forward or backward was,
to say the least, a position difficult to explain or defend. The final
bell rang for the morning service, and the preacher began to realize that
his reputation for punctuality was in danger of being water-soaked. A
final desperate effort was made to induce locomotion, but to no avail.
It was a real Slough of Despond. The reverend’s heart sank to the bottom
of his new boots when he found that his only chance was to dismount. This
he proceeded to do, supposing that he could at least lead the beast out
of the water. The water was by no means comfortable, the mud filled his
boots, and apprehensive thoughts concerning the unpresentable appearance
he would make at church, and the damage being done to his new suit, and
at the same time the humiliation of being beaten out by a perverse colt,
all together did not tend to a devotional frame of mind.
[Illustration: An Unintentional Immersion.]
Taking the rein, he waded forward, expecting the colt to follow, but it
had no disposition to be led; he gave the rein a sharp pull, but the
animal also had scruples against being pulled. He then gave the rein
a jerk, putting all of his physical strength, and possibly a bit of
his temper into the jerk, when, lo! the rein broke, and the preacher,
not thinking of such a contingency, went splash into the water, being
completely submerged. Things were rapidly going from bad to worse. It
was of no use under the circumstances, to try to maintain ministerial
dignity. Gathering himself together, he made his way to the fence, and,
loosing a picket, he got behind the animal, and with a few strokes where
they would do the most good, and unministerial maneuvers, he got it
started, and by an aggressive follow-up campaign, they reached the shore
without further ceremony or delay.
He hastened on to the church. The people were waiting for the belated
pastor, and when he arrived, they saw at once there had been a valid
excuse for his tardiness. There were four other ministers present,
and Newgent tried to get one of them to preach in his stead, but all
declined. So he went on with the regular program, and preached with his
usual zeal while the water was still dripping from his new suit. It was
one time at least when the congregation was not bored with a dry preacher.
After service he went home with one of his members, borrowed some dry
clothes, and proceeded to fill his other appointments for the day.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
_The New Goshen Pastorate—An Old Grudge Healed—Dry Bones
Revived—Memorable Year at “Dogtown”—“Death in the Pot”—The
Hittites Captured—The “Jerks”—Other Remarkable Demonstrations—A
Rooster in the Missionary Collection—First Debate—Unpleasant
Sequel to a Horse Trade._
Following the Vermilion pastorate, two years were spent on the New
Goshen Circuit in Vigo County, Indiana. This circuit had ranked among
the best in the conference, but unfortunately had become weakened and
despoiled through internal dissension. A chronic grudge between two of
the most prominent members had leavened the whole lump with its unsavory
effects. It was one of those situations that afford a pastor a splendid
opportunity of losing his ecclesiastical scalp, the very thing that
happened to a number of former pastors who undertook to heal the sore.
It was not Newgent’s policy to take a hand in neighborhood broils, or
to break to the woods in the face of such contingencies, but rather to
“stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.”
His presiding elder told him that his first duty on going to the circuit
would be to get the difficulty adjusted. It was suggested that as he
was a stranger to both parties, he would be the proper one to do it. He
replied that God had not called him to fix up old grudges between church
members, but to save sinners.
“But unless you get this done,” he was told, “you had as well not go, for
you can never accomplish anything until the difficulty is removed. He
said he would not bother the old grudge directly, and that if there were
sinners who wanted salvation, he was sure God could save them in spite
of old, grouchy church members. He proceeded at once to plan a revival
campaign. It is part of his philosophy that if a pastor’s first revival
effort is a success it begets confidence on the part of the people and
paves the way for other victories. It is, therefore, the part of wisdom
to choose the easiest place to begin with. Accordingly, he began a
meeting in the latter part of September at the Rose Hill class, where he
thought there were the fewest hindrances. But the people were still busy
with their farm work, and with the old trouble still visible around the
edges, producing a melancholy Indian summer effect, he had very little
encouragement. Two weeks passed and only four persons could be mustered
for day services. He preached to this quartet of faithful souls, held
prayer and class meetings with them, and encouraged them in every
possible way.
“Tell the people to come,” he said to his little band one day, as if
seized with a sudden revelation, “for we are going to have the biggest
revival they have ever seen. If you can’t tell it on your own faith,
tell them the preacher said so.” They perhaps half-way believed what he
said. At least they did as they were urged, and the crowd was slightly
increased the next day. And with that service the revival really did
begin. The prophecy was fulfilled. It was by far the greatest revival
the community had ever known, abundantly demonstrating the preacher’s
philosophy that when folks want salvation, a few backslidden church
members, even with their bristles up, cannot prevent them from getting it.
New Goshen Class was the head and heart of the circuit, likewise the seat
of the trouble that had been its thorn in the flesh. Newgent proceeded
to carry out his policy of capturing the outposts before storming this
stronghold of opposition. The plan worked admirably. Three meetings were
held, each of which resulted in a sweeping revival. He was now ready for
the Herculean task, the final charge, New Goshen itself!
Here it was seen how God moves in mysterious ways, using the weak things
to confound the mighty. Some two miles from town lived a family, all of
whom were utterly irreligious. The father was a drunkard and a notably
rough character. The oldest daughter was an invalid, but on learning
of the meeting, she was taken with a keen desire to attend. So she
went to visit with a family who lived just across the street from the
church, so that it would be convenient for her. In the first service she
attended, she went to the altar, and was not there long until she fell
into a trance. This was repeated the second and third evenings. One of
her brothers was present the third evening, and when he saw his sister
so strangely affected, conviction seized upon him so intensely that he
likewise fell over in an unconscious condition. When he “came through” he
was a new creature in Christ. One after another of this wicked family was
taken captive by the power of God until all were graciously saved.
By this time the church began to rub its eyes and take notice. The dry
bones were surely beginning to shake and show signs of life. One evening
as the power of God was moving upon the people, the two brethren who were
responsible for the old trouble on the circuit, were seen edging toward
each other, and when they got together, they threw their arms around
each other’s necks and wept like children. The mother of one of the men
was present and when she saw what was taking place, she sent up a shout
that really did wake the dead—the spiritually dead of the congregation.
Walls of opposition suddenly gave way. The fire from heaven fell as it
fell on Sodom and Gomorrah, not to destroy, but to wipe out old scores
and to make men and women alive to God. The fortified city was taken. The
victory was complete.
During this pastorate of two years, over four hundred persons were added
to the church.
One of his most successful and memorable pastorates was that on the
Charlestown Circuit, in Illinois. The circuit had a very unsavory
reputation at the time. It was commonly known by the undignified and
uncomplimentary name of “Dogtown.” Newgent had asked to be sent to the
worst charge the conference had, and the reputation of Dogtown made this
a matter easily determined. His predecessor had been egged and otherwise
badly handled.
It was a serious question with the conference as to whether a pastor
should be appointed to it, as it had proven itself so unworthy. Besides,
it was a proposition that few men were willing to face, Newgent being the
only aspirant for the situation. The salary the preceding year was $180,
and there was not a church paper taken on the entire charge.
Dogtown, the place which gave the name and largely the reputation
to the circuit, was a straggling village noted only for its general
cussedness. Newgent declared that it had never been named after a good
dog, but more likely after the lowest bred cur in the country. The name,
however, was partially a corruption of Diona, by which name the town
had been christened; but the appropriateness of the former name was so
evident that it naturally stuck, and the original name was well nigh
forgotten. Though the place was utterly fallen from righteousness—if it
ever possessed any—and was inclined to evil and evil only, it had the
one advantage of being well churched. It had two church-houses, each
serving as the home for two denominations. Thus, four denominations
were diligently casting their pearls into this swine-wallow only to
have them trampled under foot. The Methodists and Baptists occupied one
house, and the Cumberland Presbyterians and United Brethren the other.
They suffered no inconvenience through lack of room, as the combined
membership of the four churches numbered only fourteen, seven of whom
belonged to the United Brethren.
It was one of those melancholy days, a Sunday afternoon in September,
when the new circuit rider arrived to fill his first appointment at
Dogtown. Of course the seven members of his flock were present to take
his measure. The task was soon done. They were crestfallen when they
saw as their spiritual advisor an unpretentious, boyish-looking fellow,
somewhat below the standard size, and possessing little of the air and
dignity and gravity of a ripe circuit rider, according to their staid
notions. The faithful seven, like the proverbial birds of a feather,
occupied a portion of the house to themselves; their long faces turned
full upon the pastor, added to the melancholy of that autumn afternoon.
Nor did the small sprinkling of stray sheep throughout the plain old
building serve to any considerable extent as a counter-irritant.
Newgent was keeping a “stiff upper lip” as he introduced the services.
The preliminary exercises were about finished, and he was about to begin
the sermon; the congregation was droning out a familiar tune when a raw,
strapping native came stalking in. He presented a unique appearance. He
was barefooted, his trousers were rolled up to his knees, he wore no
coat, and his checked shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. No sooner was
he seated than another in exactly similar manner and costume followed.
One after another followed until upwards in thirty came in, all dressed
exactly alike, and so timing their movements as to give time for each
to be seated before another followed, making the procession as long as
possible—to the amusement of the pastor and the stray sheep, and the
utter consternation of the faithful seven.
It struck the witty Irishman at once that they were not trying to install
him as the Presbyterians do their pastors, but rather to forestall
him after the manner of Dogtown; and he made up his mind not to be
forestalled. He was certain they did not want any religion and he had
no religion to throw away. He had his subject in mind, but he thought
it best to select a more appropriate one. Accordingly, he announced as
his text, “Oh, man of God, there is death in the pot.” He talked about
twenty minutes, putting in the entire time telling his funniest stories,
and pouring in one broadside after another of his Irish wit and humor.
It was a diplomatic move. All seemed heartily to enjoy the “sermon,”
except the seven members of his own congregation. The proceeding was
most too irregular for their conventional tastes. The members of his
uniformed guard were especially delighted. Every witticism was greeted
with vociferous applause, by the stamping of their bare feet, clapping of
hands, and unrestrained, boisterous laughter.
“I would not black my boots to hear a long, dry sermon,” said the
preacher by way of conclusion. “You are a fine looking set of fellows. I
have been sent by the conference to preach to you, and I am sure we will
get along well together. Now, if you see me at any time looking hungry,
or if it is near night, take me in. I am an Irishman and easily pleased.
And if I see any of you near my home, I will treat you the same. But,
gentlemen, I have the most beautiful little wife you ever set eyes on.
Now, I expect to bring her with me the next time, and you must be sure to
put your boots on and fix up a little.”
When he dismissed he went back among this raw element, shaking hands
and talking freely with each one. Much of his time between that and the
next appointment was spent studying “mischief”—loading up for the next
discharge. His second talk was even more humorous than the first, having
been prepared especially for the crowd and the occasion. In the meantime
his fame had been spread broadcast, and an immense crowd was present to
see and hear the “wild Irishman.” A number were congregated at the door
for the purpose of greeting him upon his arrival at the church.
At the third appointment he had an overflow crowd. As he was walking down
the aisle to the pulpit, a brother whom he recognized as one of the true
and blue seven of the first service, plucked him aside and whispered:
“Parson, you’ve got ’em. You’re the smartest feller that ever struck this
place. These fellers say you’ve got to have order if they have to fight
for it.”
“That’s what I’ve been fishing for,” said Newgent. He began a revival
at this time. Ere long the great, rough fellows who laughed so heartily
at his jokes were crowding to the mourner’s bench, shedding tears
of penitence, crying for mercy, and piercing the air with shouts of
victory as one after another emerged into the light and liberty of God’s
children. A marvelous work was wrought in that sin-polluted community.
As the lives of these hardy backwoodsmen were transformed by the power
of Christ, they became as potent for righteousness as they had been for
evil. Just how many were converted could not be definitely ascertained.
One hundred sixty-one members were added to the United Brethren Church,
besides those that joined the other churches of the town.
There was an appointment some few miles from Dogtown named Liberty. It
was practically dead as a church, there being but five names on the
roll, and they represented very little in spiritual assets. He began a
revival campaign here immediately following the meeting in town, which
proved even more far-reaching in its results. He has always regarded it
as the most remarkable revival in his entire ministry. The power of God
in the conviction of sinners was irresistible. Strong men and women were
stricken unconscious in almost every service. As many as fifty persons
could be counted lying in an unconscious condition at one time.
A peculiar feature of this revival was the presence of that strange,
nervous phenomenon among the people, known as the “jerks.” This strange
manifestation prevailed in many of the early revivals where unusual
power was displayed. It was especially prevalent in what is known as the
great Cumberland revival which swept over the eastern part of Kentucky
and Tennessee. Whatever the explanation of this phenomenon, it usually
accompanied a deep emotional state, saints and sinners alike being
subject to it. The mystery of it and the fact that it often became
quite violent, especially on persons who resisted the influence of the
meetings, gave it much weight in these early revivals. Peter Cartwright,
in his well-known autobiography, describes the physical effects of the
jerks as follows:
“No matter whether they were saints or sinners, they would be taken
under a warm song or sermon, and seized with a convulsive jerking all
over, which they could not by any possibility avoid, and the more they
resisted, the more they jerked. If they would not strive against it and
would pray in good earnest, the jerking would usually abate. I have
seen more than five hundred persons jerking at one time in any large
congregation. Most usually persons taken with the jerks, to obtain
relief, would rise up and dance. Some would run but could not get away.
Some would resist; on such the jerks were usually very severe.”
The meeting was accompanied by a variety of spiritual demonstrations,
remarkable both in their character and extent. It was entirely beyond
human control. It continued four months, day and night. Most of the
time there was no preaching, for there was no opportunity for a sermon,
and none was needed. The people would gather, singing and shouting
as they came, and the singing, shouting, and praying would continue
spontaneously. Penitents would go to the altar without an invitation,
often as soon as they arrived.
The entire community was charged with a peculiar spiritual atmosphere,
the limit of which seemed distinctly drawn. It was termed the “dead
line.” On reaching this line the individual, whether a Christian or not,
would at once be seized with intense religious emotion. On passing out of
this region the change was as distinctly felt as on entering it.
So great was the interest in the surrounding country that six schools
were closed. One teacher sent to the church for help. Some brethren went
to see what was the matter, and found the entire school practically
prostrate with conviction. School was turned into prayer meeting.
A number, including the teacher, were converted, and school was
indefinitely suspended.
The pulpit and platform were smashed into kindling wood at one of the
services. People performed physical feats utterly impossible under
ordinary circumstances, such as walking across the house on the backs of
the pews with their faces turned straight upward. Late one night after
the service had closed, a family in the neighborhood heard singing in the
direction of the church. Not knowing what it meant, they investigated.
But on approaching the church they noticed that the singing was overhead
as if produced by an invisible choir in the upper air.
Whatever question may enter the mind as to the nature of these phenomena,
there is no question as to the genuineness of the work of grace wrought
in that section of country. It was swept as completely by the revival as
a prairie is swept by fire. And the effects were abiding, even the more
extraordinary forms of spiritual fervor continuing indefinitely.
This was a season of strenuous physical activity on the part of Rev.
Mr. Newgent. This meeting lasted four months, and for three months in
addition he was in revival meetings continuously.
From being the worst circuit in the conference, Dogtown suddenly became
the best. It reported the largest salary. And that year it led the entire
denomination in the number of church papers taken. Prizes were offered
by the publisher for the largest club in any conference, and also a
sweepstakes prize for the largest club in the Church. Newgent won both
the conference and the sweepstakes prize, which was the more remarkable
when we recall that there was not a paper taken on the charge when he was
appointed to it.
Near the close of his memorable meeting at Dogtown, he announced that
he would take a missionary offering the following Sunday, and urged the
people to come prepared. The missionary meeting was full of enthusiasm,
as all his meetings were when a collection was involved. As he was
exhorting the congregation to give freely to send the gospel to the
heathen, the door opened and a boy bearing in his arms a large rooster
came walking down the aisle. As an evidence that the old-time Dogtown
spirit was not wholly dead, some mischievous fellows planned to have some
fun at the preacher’s expense by putting a rooster in the missionary
collection. The bird was not only large, but also quite game, and was
almost too much for the lad who was to do the presentation act in behalf
of the gang. As he proceeded toward the pulpit, his courage began to fail
and he hesitated, possibly waiting to see what sort of effect he was
producing. The preacher took in the situation at a glance.
“Come on,” he said to the half-frightened lad, “I’m the fellow who likes
chicken.”
With this encouragement the boy went forward and placed his gift in the
hands of the preacher, who received it smilingly and thanked him for
his generous contribution to the missionary cause. He asked one of the
brethren in the “amen corner” to care for his charge while he finished
the service. He kept the rooster until fall and took it to the annual
conference. In presenting his report, he related the incident and asked
in a jocular vein what should be done with the rooster. A dignified,
sober-minded brother moved that the rooster be sold and the proceeds be
reported to the missionary fund, and that the undignified proceedings be
closed. The motion carried.
“All right,” said the wiley Irishman, assuming the pose of an auctioneer,
“how much am I offered for the rooster? How much do I hear? How much?”
Some one ventured a bid. “Sold,” said the preacher-auctioneer amid a
roar of laughter, and the conference proceeded to more serious matters.
[Illustration: A Unique Missionary Offering.]
It was on this charge that he had his first debate. His popularity
and success in winning converts led to a challenge from a brother in
the Christian (Disciples) church, who was then serving as pastor at
Charlestown, Illinois. The question discussed was the divinity of Christ.
Newgent took the positive position, affirming that “Christ is the very
and eternal God apart from his human nature.” The debate was held at
Salisbury, Illinois, creating a great deal of interest and attracting a
large crowd. That the contest resulted in an easy victory for our subject
was attested by the fact that he received an offer from the elders of
his opponent’s church of fifteen hundred dollars a year to become their
pastor, which, at that time, was considered an enormous sum.
“I would not preach your doctrine for fifteen hundred dollars a year,” he
said, “to say nothing of losing my time and self-respect.”
“We are not asking you to preach the doctrine,” they said, “all we ask
is that you become our pastor; you are at liberty to preach your own
convictions.” But he was not on the market.
Another interesting experience during this pastorate came as the sequel
to a horse trade. One of his neighbors, a brother in the Church, coveted
his fine driving horse, and bantered him for a trade. “I have the very
horse you need,” he urged, and offered what seemed to be a fair bargain.
And after the usual ceremonies and preliminaries, the deal was pulled off.
The next day being Sunday, the pastor hitched up his new horse early, and
taking his wife and babe, started for his appointment. The animal soon
showed signs of treachery, arousing the suspicions of its owner, but they
went on. They got on quite well until they came to a low swale in the
road over which the water stood several inches deep. When they were about
half-way across, the horse stopped and looked back to see if they were
coming. But they had also stopped. Newgent, who had some knowledge of
“horseology,” saw that they were in for it. It being a warm, summer day,
an innumerable multitude of mosquitoes soon collected to express their
sympathy and to divert the attention of the unfortunate family from their
troubles.
“Here’s a chance to show that we can keep sweet,” said the preacher to
his wife, “even under trying circumstances.”
The circumstances were indeed trying, for he spent a couple of hours
trying to argue the horse out of his position, but the horse was not open
to conviction. At the same time he was making a desperate effort to keep
sweet, which, with the mosquitoes diligently plying their trade—as it was
too good a business opportunity for them to let pass—and the hour for the
morning service passing, was not as easy a task as it would have been
under less trying circumstances.
“Well,” he finally said to his wife, sweetly, “we are going out of here.”
“When?” was her meek reply.
“Just as soon as possible.” And removing his boots and some other parts
of wearing apparel that could be temporarily dispensed with, he got out
of the buggy and carried the baby to a dry place. He then removed his
wife to the shore, after which he proceeded to unhitch the horse from
the buggy, or rather to unhitch the buggy from the horse, as the buggy
was movable and the horse was not. A strategic plan was then inaugurated
by making a natural appeal to the animal’s stubbornness. This was
done by hitching the horse to the rear axle-tree of the buggy, which
proved a decided success, at least to the extent of getting both the
horse and buggy out of the water. Newgent then hitched up according to
the conventional style, and with his family started homeward in deep
meditation. He filled no appointment that day. He found it difficult to
see the point in his neighbor’s argument that “this was the very horse
he needed,” unless it was to stimulate the grace of patience, which is a
much-needed quality in a preacher. Since then he has stoutly maintained
that it is a bad thing for a preacher to swap horses—unless he is sure he
can make a better trade.
CHAPTER NINE.
_Labors at Mattoon, Illinois—A Persistent Campaign and a Great
Victory—Second New Goshen Pastorate—A Coincidence—Success at
Prairieton—Laboring in the Shadow—The Death of Mrs. Newgent—A
Bishop’s Tribute to her Character._
The scene of his next labors was Mattoon, Illinois. This was a city of
some ten thousand inhabitants. It had been marked by a mushroom growth,
having sprung from a small village within a few years. More attention,
however, had been given to its material development than to its moral and
religious welfare. It had eleven churches, but what members they had,
were received mostly by letter. Like the city itself, the churches were
made up of a conglomeration of heterogeneous elements. All were lacking
in efficient organization, stability, and vital godliness.
Rev. Mr. Newgent’s church, the United Brethren, like most of the others,
was new in the city. It had but twelve members when he took charge. He at
once conceived the idea of enlisting the various churches in a great and
much-needed revival campaign. He met the local pastors and proposed that
all join in a concerted, evangelistic effort—each to begin a meeting in
his own church on the same date and continue until victory was achieved.
The plan was unanimously agreed to, and on New Year’s Day the campaign
began.
It was a stubborn fight. The bombardment was kept up by all the churches
through the entire month of January with no apparent results. One after
another of the pastors then became discouraged and hauled down his
colors. By the end of February all the batteries had ceased except two,
one of them being Newgent’s. Some of his members, convinced of the utter
futility of the effort, counseled him to quit. But he was determined to
fight it out on that line if it took all summer; and it looked as though
it might take several summers. The largest congregation he had during
those two months numbered twenty-four.
With the beginning of the third month there were unmistakable evidences
of a thaw. Interest was awakened, congregations increased, and on the
fifth day of March the ice gave way completely. At the morning service
the altar was crowded with anxious penitents, and twenty-one were
graciously converted. The news was heralded throughout the city. It was
as though a mighty miracle had been wrought. Newgent’s church became the
center of intense interest, the subject of conversation in the stores
and shops and on the streets. At night it seemed as if all Mattoon was
seized with a sudden impulse to go to church. The house was filled long
before the appointed hour for worship, and the sexton reported that over
five hundred people were turned away. The few days following witnessed
stirring scenes in that church. Multitudes were converted; no definite
account could be taken of their number. One hundred and twenty-eight
members were added to the United Brethren Church, and other churches of
the city profited largely from the fruits of the meeting. It was the
first genuine revival Mattoon had ever enjoyed.
“What I lacked in sense, I made up in holding on,” was Rev. Mr. Newgent’s
modest comment on the situation. But in this case holding on was only in
keeping with his usual good judgment. It was a case where not only prayer
and fasting, but also perseverance were required. Perseverance, however,
is one of his strong points. As a pastor he made it a rule to continue a
meeting until success was realized, a rule that seldom had to be waived.
His labors at Mattoon were followed by a pastorate of two years on the
New Goshen charge, making, with a former pastorate of the same length,
an aggregate of four years of pastoral services on this field. During
these four years he received over six hundred members into the Church and
built two church-houses. His work here was also made memorable by what
might be termed his first great debate, the details of which are reserved
for the next chapter.
The year following was a dark year in his experience, made so by the
failure of his wife’s health, which resulted in her death. He was
serving the Prairieton charge, a charge he had served some years before.
His labors here were attended by the usual success—gracious revivals,
increased spiritual life and activity, churches thrilled with new zeal
and power. A coincidence worth noting in this connection is that his two
terms of service on this field resulted in an equal number of accessions
to the Church, 203 in each case. “I do not think,” he quaintly remarked
concerning his second pastorate, “that these were the same 203 that I
received when I was there before.” The sorry experiences of many pastors
with vacillating church members occasioned and justified the remark.
A great meeting at Prairieton stirred up the congregation and led to
the rebuilding of their church. It was, however, a great struggle. The
church was not strong financially, and the task almost overtaxed their
resources. Rev. Mr. Newgent labored unceasingly to pull the enterprise
through to a successful consummation, contributing of his own scanty
means over three hundred dollars, which necessitated the selling of some
of his household goods.
And now, to add to his already heavy burdens, came that which for some
time had been recognized as inevitable, and under the deep shadow of
which he had been laboring with a heavy heart—the death of his companion.
“Kitty” Newgent, as she was affectionately called by her husband and
intimate friends, was never strong in body, and for many months she had
lingered near the land of shadows. On the day set for the dedication of
the church, for the success of which they both prayed and toiled and
struggled so heroically, she passed triumphantly to her heavenly home.
“Her sun went down while it was yet day.”
She died about eight o’clock in the morning. Bishop Jonathan Weaver,
who had been secured to dedicate the church, was on the ground for that
purpose. When it was learned that the pastor’s wife had passed away, the
Bishop and members of the church suggested that the dedicatory services
be postponed. But as she had helped to plan the day’s program, and was so
anxious for the success of the occasion, Rev. Mr. Newgent urged that the
plans be carried out. So the program of the day was carried out tenderly
and lovingly, the church set apart to the worship of Almighty God, while
he and his three motherless little ones remained in their sad home by the
silent form of the precious wife and mother. Bishop Weaver remained to
conduct her funeral. The following account and worthy tribute from his
gifted pen was published at the time in the _Religious Telescope_, the
official organ of the United Brethren Church:
“Some time ago I arranged with Brother Newgent of the Prairieton Circuit,
Lower Wabash Conference, to attend the dedication of a church on his
field of labor. Accordingly I left home on Saturday, June 13, and reached
Prairieton late in the evening. Upon my arrival there I learned that
Brother Newgent’s wife was very ill; yet I supposed she might recover.
Sunday morning the bell tolled and I knew that some one had passed away.
I immediately started for Brother Newgent’s home, and on reaching it
learned that his wife had just died. It was, indeed, a sad sight. For
seventeen years they had shared the sacrifices and trials incident to
the life of an itinerant. Now he was left with the care of three little
children to fight the battles of life alone. Brother Newgent, as he is
wont to do, labored hard to get the church in readiness for dedication,
anticipating a good time. But it was a sad day. We attended to the
service and dedicated the church with feelings of deep sympathy for the
pastor, who, with his little ones, sat beside the earthly remains of a
beloved wife.
“Sister Newgent was a patient, kind-hearted Christian woman. She had
been in delicate health for a number of years, but neither murmured nor
complained. And when the end came, she quietly fell asleep in Jesus. On
account of her delicate health, Brother Newgent, for a number of years,
seldom remained away from home over night. He would fill his appointment
and ride home after services. But no matter how late at night he would
return, he would always find a light burning, and usually she would sit
up until he returned. But the light is gone out—no, it is burning still.
‘There’s a light in the window for thee, brother.’”
CHAPTER TEN.
_First Great Debate—The Debate as an Institution—The
Challenge—Opponents get Weak-Kneed, Prolonging Maneuvers—A
Hungry Multitude Unfed—Battle Begins—Questions Discussed—An
Improvised Creed for his Opponent—A Premature Baptism—An
Opponent’s Tribute to his Genius—Crowning the Victor._
In the earlier days of the church great stress was laid upon matters
of doctrine. Mooted theological questions occasioned much controversy
among the “brethren.” Preachers gave special attention to the particular
tenets of their respective churches, often decrying with heavy hearts the
doctrinal shortcomings of sister denominations. While this was a fault
of the times which a broader Christian spirit is overcoming, yet it had
its compensating features. In an age of controversy it became every man
to have some knowledge, not only of his own church, but also of other
churches. It is a fact that people generally were better informed on
doctrinal lines than in these latter days when the church is swinging so
near the opposite extreme. The doctrinal sermon was then the order of the
day, while now it is the rare exception.
The public debate was a popular means of testing the merits of rival
religious systems, though in reality it was more a test of the men
engaged than of their theology. Nor was the debate confined to matters
religious. Its field was unlimited. In politics it was a favorite method
of testing political issues and leaders, and of spreading political
information. The great Lincoln-Douglas debate is a notable instance.
Hence, while it has lost prestige somewhat, the debate once was an
honorable and powerful institution. The victor in such a contest was
regarded much as the ancient Greeks regarded the winners in the Olympian
games. And he was greatly in demand to defend the doctrines of his church
against their adversaries. Every pastor needed to cultivate the debating
faculty to some extent, at least, for self-protection, just as it was
necessary for the early New Englanders to carry their guns with them to
church.
It was during Rev. Mr. Newgent’s second pastorate at New Goshen that he
had his first great debate, and was thrust by force of circumstances into
the debating arena. Among his numerous converts were a large number who
held the faith enunciated by the Rev. Alexander Campbell, and commonly
designated as “Campbellites.” This stirred the controversial fires,
and in consequence he received a challenge from members of that body
to debate publicly certain questions on which the two churches were,
perhaps, more content to differ than to agree.
He was quite content to promulgate his faith in the ordinary way, feeling
that the results of his work were sufficient proof of the genuineness
of his theology. Hence, he sought to avoid being pressed into this sort
of contest, even proposing to secure a man to represent his church. But
they regarded him as the high priest of his profession, and as they
had suffered at his hands, they demanded that he represent his side in
person. Seeing there was no honorable way of escape, he reluctantly
consented, and preliminaries were arranged.
His opponent was a Rev. Mr. Price. The place selected was a beautiful
grove near the village of West Liberty, Vigo County, Indiana. A vast
throng of people were present the day the debate was to open. But they
were doomed to disappointment. Just as they were getting ready to begin,
representatives from the opposition approached Rev. Mr. Newgent and asked
if they might be permitted to let the Rev. William Holt, D.D., champion
their side instead of Mr. Price. Doctor Holt was a recognized giant among
the Campbellites. He was a veteran of thirty-two battles in the debating
field, and was one of the foremost expounders of the tenets of his church.
Whether or not it was the wish of Mr. Price to be relieved, it was quite
evident that there was a lack of confidence somewhere. At any rate the
opposition felt more secure with their cause committed to the hands of
their great captain, armed, as he was, with education and eloquence, and
skilled in the art and science of debate. All felt that it was to be a
great contest, significant in its results, and that no chances should be
taken.
Rev. Mr. Newgent consented to the change on condition that the debate
be postponed a couple of months to afford time for further preparation.
The condition was accepted, and the multitudes were sent away hungry,
disappointed, and dejected. The responsibility was thrown upon the
Campbellites, as their unwillingness to let Mr. Price champion their side
was the cause of the postponement. For the Irish circuit rider it was a
diplomatic stroke, a bloodless victory to begin with.
The two months were well spent by Rev. Mr. Newgent in preparation for
this greater contest. The delay only seemed to increase popular interest
in the affair; and when they again met, the crowd was even larger than
before. The discussions consumed eleven days. However, the time was
divided into two sections with an intervening period of four or five
weeks. It was estimated that from eight thousand to ten thousand people
attended daily throughout, among them being a large number of ministers
of various denominations. Six boarding tents did a thriving business. In
fact, the debate was the great event of the year. A political campaign
could not have created more interest and excitement.
The discussions covered six propositions, as follows:
1. The church of which I, William Holt, am a member, is identical in
doctrine and practice with the Church of Christ, as revealed in the
Scriptures. Holt affirmed.
2. Jesus Christ is the very and eternal God, separate and apart from his
human nature. Newgent affirmed.
3. Water baptism is for the remission of the past sins of the penitent
believer. Holt affirmed.
4. The Holy Spirit bears a direct, immediate, and personal testimony to
the believer of his pardon. Newgent affirmed.
5. Immersion is the only act of Christian baptism. Holt affirmed.
6. After a person is sufficiently instructed in the written Word, the
Holy Spirit operates directly upon the heart in regeneration. Newgent
affirmed.
In most respects the two men were well matched. Holt was a man of
scholarship, a deep, logical thinker, and possessed oratorical ability of
a high order, which, with the practice afforded by thirty-two debating
bouts, rendered him an antagonist not to be despised. Newgent, then in
his prime, possessed a splendid physique, a strong, musical voice that
seemed never to tire, which was especially adapted for out-door speaking.
Though not a product of the schools, as was his opponent, his mind was
strong, clear, and alert. He was ever a close student, not only of books,
but of human nature. He could readily analyze a proposition as much by
intuition as by logic, and discern at a glance the weak places in his
opponent’s position. His wit and humor served him well in such matters.
When he turned the shafts of ridicule upon a weak point in the position
of an opponent, it was as though all the batteries, field pieces, grape
and canister, and every other instrument of destructive warfare had been
turned loose at once. As there were none of the scholastic or bookish
elements in his style, he invariably had the sympathy of the masses.
Doctor Holt made the opening address, affirming that his was the only
true church—“identical in doctrine and practice with the Church of Christ
as revealed in the Scriptures.” He referred to various doctrines held by
his church and supported them by Scriptural authority. In most cases they
were doctrines accepted by all evangelical churches, affording no ground
for controversy. The address was eloquent and logical.
When Newgent arose to reply, he complimented the brother’s address and
expressed his approval of much that was said. “But now, Mr. Moderator,”
he continued, “I would like to know what church my brother belongs to
when he asserts that they believe thus and so. He frequently referred
to ‘My church.’ If he belongs to a church, how are we to know, in the
absence of a written creed, what the doctrines of his church are? Shall
we take his statements? That would not be safe, for I find that they
differ among themselves on various important points.
“According to Mr. Webster, he has no church. Webster says, ‘The Church of
Christ is the universal body of Christ.’ Paul speaks of the ‘whole family
in heaven and earth.’ All saints in heaven and on earth belong to the
Church of Christ. This includes the children. When the disciples asked
Jesus who was greatest in the kingdom of heaven, he ‘called a little
child unto him and set him in the midst of them, and said, Verily, I say
unto you, except ye be converted and become as little children, ye shall
not enter into the kingdom of heaven.’
“Hence, his church is not THE Church of Christ, neither is it A church
of Christ. Again, according to Webster, ‘A church of Christ is a body of
Christian believers, observing the same rites and acknowledging the same
ecclesiastical authority.’ It denies all creeds and all ecclesiastical
authority. Hence, it cannot be A church of Christ.”
He then appealed to the president, urging that, in the absence of a
written creed, they should take the writings of their recognized church
leaders to ascertain what the doctrines of his opponent’s church—granting
that it was a church—were. The president so ruled. It then became the
duty of Doctor Holt to show that the doctrines indicated were the
doctrines of his church according to the church authorities, and also
that they were Scripturally sound; and furthermore to prove that other
doctrines promulgated by the church leaders, which he had not mentioned,
were in strict harmony with the Word.
This opened up a bigger field than even the great high priest of
Campbellism was prepared to occupy. Newgent was as familiar with the
teachings of his opponent’s church as Doctor Holt was himself, and had
foreseen and prepared for this emergency.
“I knew you would not be prepared for this, so I thought I would be good
to you,” he said in a manner suggesting a cat’s habit of playing with
a mouse just before crushing its bones, “I have, therefore, prepared a
creed from the writings of Mr. Campbell and other leaders of your church,
which will enable us to ascertain what your church teaches.”
He then read the following improvised creed, the different items of
which were based upon statements cited in the writings of recognized
authorities of the church Doctor Holt was so zealously defending:
I. We profess before all men that we believe in water baptism by
immersion; that it is the great panacea for all spiritual maladies.
II. Immersion is the line between the saved and the lost.
III. Immersion is regeneration, conversion, and the new birth.
IV. Immersion is obeying the gospel; it alone is the act of turning to
God.
V. Repentance, pardon, justification, sanctification, reconciliation,
adoption, salvation, a good conscience, a pure heart, love to God, saving
faith, acceptable prayer, the reception of the Holy Spirit, and the
intercession of Christ for us, all depend upon immersion.
VI. Immersion is the converting act, and is the most important of all the
commandments.
VII. The water is the mother of all Christians.
VIII. We further believe that the Apostles set up the kingdom of Christ
on the Day of Pentecost.
IX. That the gospel was first preached by Peter, that the first Christian
baptism was administered, and that the reign of grace began on the Day of
Pentecost.
X. That the kingdom of Christ has apostatized and become totally corrupt.
XI. That the meaning of the Christian institutions was lost in the Dark
Ages, and that no one pleaded the true cause of Christ from the great
apostasy until Mr. Campbell’s day.
XII. That the true foundation of the millennial church was lost, and that
it was laid again in the present century.
XIII. That we have restored the ancient gospel.
XIV. That Mr. Campbell, with others, has from nothing reorganized and
established the kingdom of Christ on earth.
XV. That salvation is alone in the society to which we belong, and which
was established in the present century.
XVI. We believe in a reformation produced without the Holy Spirit,
without godly sorrow, or mourning, or prayer, or any act of devotion
whatever.
XVII. That a mere persuasion that the gospel is true is all the faith
required.
XVIII. That even a believer is not pardoned, born of God, or in
possession of spiritual life until after immersion.
XIX. That no sinner has a right to pray before immersion.
XX. That in regeneration there is no change of the moral powers or inward
evidence of the same.
XXI. That sinners are buried in the water in order to kill them to sin.
XXII. That salvation is by works.
XXIII. We deny the divine call to the work of the ministry.
The foregoing propositions had been carefully selected with proof
statements by Rev. Mr. Newgent. To square them by the Word of God was a
task that even a greater than Doctor Holt might well have shrunk from.
And the opening battle which was to decide the question as to whether
or not the church of Doctor Holt’s choice was identical in doctrine and
practice with the New Testament church resulted in a decided advantage in
favor of the Irishman.
Among the amusing incidents connected with the occasion was an attempt on
the part of the Holt allies to create a demonstration favorable to their
cause. On the day when the subject of baptism was up, a rumor came to
Newgent’s ears that a pretended convert to his opponent’s doctrine would
present himself for admission to the Campbellite Church at the evening
service. A baptismal service would then be held the following morning in
a nearby creek in the presence of the crowd, affording ocular evidence
that the champion of immersion was gaining ground. This, attended
with all the pomp and display necessary to make it impressive, it was
expected, would prove a staggering blow to Newgent, from which even his
wit and humor would not enable him to rally.
He did not give much credence to the rumor, scarcely believing that any
one would resort to such tactics, but thought it best to keep at least
one eye open. The evening services were held in the churches, both
denominations being represented in the village. Each church would have
preaching by a visiting minister of its own faith. Ordinarily those who
cared to attend would go to their own church, the champions themselves
remaining at home to rest and gird themselves for the next day. Newgent,
however, curious to learn whether there was any foundation for the rumor,
on that particular evening attended the service at his opponent’s church.
To his surprise, he saw Doctor Holt there. He then smelled a rat. At the
close of the sermon, Doctor Holt arose, delivered a brief exhortation and
opened the doors of the church. And the rat smelled stronger.
All doubts were dispelled when an old, rusty-looking gentleman limped
forward and gave the preacher his hand. This was the convert that the
eloquence of Doctor Holt had won to the standard of Campbellism—an old,
decrepit man, by no means distinguished for learning or intelligence, who
had been imported from an adjoining county for the occasion!
[Illustration: REV. ANDREW JACKSON NEWGENT
At age of forty.]
The doctor was, of course, glad that one penitent was making the “good
confession,” and announced that on to-morrow morning at eight o’clock,
just before the day’s exercises would begin, they would repair to the
creek and “baptize the brother into Christ.”
At this juncture Rev. Mr. Newgent arose and asked if he might say a
few words. The permission was granted. “Doctor,” he said, “I have been
taking it for granted that you were sincere in advocating that the
penitent’s sins were pardoned only in the act of baptism. Now, here is
a dear brother desiring to flee the wrath to come. Suppose he should
die before eight o’clock to-morrow morning, and thus be lost. Who would
be responsible? He is getting old. Aren’t you running an awful risk in
exposing his soul to eternal death until to-morrow? Doctor, don’t you
think it would be safer and more consistent to take this brother at once
to the creek and baptize him into Christ?”
The doctor admitted that he was right, and ordered the candidate to
be baptized immediately. A small bodyguard took him to the creek and
reluctantly performed the task. Thus evaporated the scheme from which the
opposition had hoped to reap so largely. They did reap largely, but not
what they expected. In his opening remarks the next morning, Newgent
recited with dramatic effect the story of the exploded plot, taking
ample time to do it justice. The story was told with many a humorous and
oratorical flourish, producing roar after roar of laughter from the great
audience. The house thus built upon the sand fell upon the heads of the
unwise builders with most disastrous effect.
As an illustration of his peculiar power over the minds of his hearers,
the following tribute from a titled minister of the Campbell faith will
serve well. He was taking his usual rest during the noon intermission,
when the reverend gentleman who wore a D.D. and a silk hat, approached
him, and after introducing himself, said:
“Rev. Mr. Newgent, they have told me that you attended school but three
months in your life, and also that this is your first debate. I am
convinced that in this you have been misrepresented. I heard Doctor Holt
deliver his opening address to-day, and I thought no man on earth could
answer his argument. But when you got up to speak, you had not proceeded
five minutes until the people had forgotten all he had said. The same was
true of the second address, and I saw at once that our man was beaten.”
Newgent told him that he had had but meager school advantages. In a
former chapter it is stated that he attended school three terms of three
months each. But as school attendance then was very irregular at the
best, the gentleman’s information was not far from the truth. He informed
his friend, however, that he had always been a hard student, and thus had
atoned in some measure for the meagerness of his school advantages.
“Well,” said the doctor of divinity, “I expected to remain until the
close of the debate; but I see that our man is fighting a losing battle,
and I do not care to stay and see him defeated.” And after a few further
remarks, he bade Rev. Mr. Newgent a courteous good by and left the
grounds, not desiring to see the end of a contest that boded no good
thing for his cause.
The gentleman’s unwilling prophecy was fulfilled, no doubt, to a larger
degree than he himself anticipated. Newgent seemed to gain power and
momentum to the last. When the great contest closed, defeat was plainly
written upon the countenance of every Holt sympathizer, while Newgent
was showered with compliments and congratulations from his admiring
friends. A delegation of Baptist brethren, headed by the pastor of
the First Baptist Church of Terre Haute, rushed forward and placed a
ten-dollar hat on his head in behalf of that denomination. Commendations
and substantial tokens of approval came from representatives of a number
of denominations. And the occasion ended pleasantly for all, except the
number whose theological bias was plainly and painfully indicated by
their crestfallen spirits.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
_Subsequent Debates—The Owen Contest—He Gets his
“Treat”—Opponent’s Confession—Dressing “Stone”—A Scared
Baptist—Invades the Lutheran Ranks—Measures Steel with Doctor
Ingram—Dissertation on Infant Baptism—Opponent’s Early
Flight—Concludes the Debate Alone—The Haw Debate._
As the preceding chapter has shown, our subject was not a debater from
choice. He was thrust into the debating arena by circumstances. His
memorable victory over Doctor Holt placed his name in big letters among
the leading debaters of the time, creating demands for his services in
this capacity that could not well be resisted. Besides being in constant
demand to expound and defend the doctrines for which he stood, by his
own, and other denominations of a kindred faith, he figured in some
thirteen debating bouts, a detailed account of which would of itself
make a good-sized volume. Hence, a few passing references to some of
these contests, with some characteristic incidents, is all that will be
attempted here.
Shortly after the debate with Doctor Holt, he received an urgent appeal
from Rev. James Griffiths of the United Brethren Church at Potomac,
Illinois, to come over to his Macedonia and help him. Controversy between
the Christian and United Brethren churches of that section was at white
heat. The Christian Church, under the leadership of a Rev. Mr. Owen,
was pressing the battle to the gates and making things unpleasantly
interesting for Rev. Mr. Griffiths, who was not of a controversial turn
of mind. He felt, however, that the safety of his cause demanded that
his adversaries be met upon their own ground with their own weapons. His
presiding elder, Rev. J. W. Nye, joined in the request that Rev. Mr.
Newgent go to the rescue.
Accordingly, a debate between Owen and Newgent, covering the usual mooted
questions between the two denominations, was arranged. Rev. Mr. Owen
was scholarly and serious, but utterly lacking in the humorous element.
His dry logic was no match for the fiery eloquence and quick wit of his
Irish antagonist. Like the bridegroom at a wedding, he was a rather
inconspicuous figure, except that his part was necessary to the carrying
out of the program. It was an easy victory for the United Brethren and
their allies, resulting in a cessation of hostilities and a reign of
peace in that section of Zion.
A more notable contest was that with Dr. W. B. F. Treat, then president
of Indiana State University, at Bloomington. Doctor Treat, as his
position would indicate, was a man of fine scholarship. He was a minister
in the Christian Church, zealous in the defense of its doctrines, and had
won many trophies as a debater.
The preliminary arrangements for this debate were made by a couple of
ministers, one a representative of the Christian Church, and the other a
United Brethren. Newgent and Treat were secured by the two churches as
their respective champions.
As the two champions were introduced on the occasion of the debate,
the following bit of repartee was indulged in by Newgent, who had been
suffering from some slight temporary ailment: “I am sorry you are not in
good trim,” said Doctor Treat, “I had hoped to find a man who would be
able to put up a good fight.”
“Oh,” said Newgent, “I think I’ll feel better when I get my _Treat_.”
In his opening remarks, Doctor Treat again indulged in some pleasantry
at Newgent’s expense. He referred to his opponent as having been born
in Green County and cradled in a sugar trough. Newgent replied that he
had missed it four miles as to the place of his birth. The sugar trough
part of it, however, he did not deny; but as the trough had served well
to cradle the different members of his mother’s small family of nine
children, he was quite sure the rude cradle suffered no violence at his
hands.
The learned doctor further tried to discount the scholarship of his
opponent by referring to a postal card received from him on which
there were two words misspelled. To this Newgent also had an answer.
“Great speakers,” said he, “are usually deficient in other lines. I now
understand why the doctor is short on debating; all his strength has gone
into his spelling.”
The usual questions were discussed, six in number, the same as in
the great Holt debate. The arguments were listened to by thousands
of interested and enthusiastic spectators, among them ministers and
dignitaries of various denominations, and persons of prominence in
educational, political, and professional circles. As to the result of the
contest, Doctor Treat’s own confession, as brought out in the following
incident, will suffice:
A debate between Newgent and a Rev. Dr. J. W. Stone, of St. Louis,
Missouri, also a minister of prominence in the Christian Church, was
scheduled to take place a few weeks later. In the meantime Doctor
Stone, anxious to learn all he could concerning his opponent, sought
an interview with Doctor Treat. He met him at a church dedication at
which Treat was officiating. The two men, with others, were entertained
for dinner at the same home after the morning service. At an opportune
time, Doctor Stone introduced the subject in which he was especially
interested, and the following conversation between the two men took
place, being overheard and reported to Newgent by a gentleman who leaned
toward his side of the question:
“Are you acquainted with a United Brethren preacher in Indiana of the
name of Newgent?” Doctor Stone inquired.
“I am,” was President Treat’s answer.
“Did you not debate with him some time ago?”
“I did.”
“Is he a scholar?”
“I do not know.”
“Is he logical?”
“I cannot tell. He claimed that he went to school only a few months.”
“How long did you debate with him?”
“Six days.”
“What?” said Doctor Stone in astonishment, “You debated with him six
days, and could not tell whether or not he is educated?”
“Well,” continued the university president, in a meditative mood, “I will
say that he is—_forceful_.”
Doctor Stone looked blank for a moment, and then ventured with a smile,
“May be he whipped you?”
“I don’t know,” was the guarded answer, “but I am inclined to believe
that my people thought he did.” Observing that Stone was intensely
interested, Treat inquired:
“Are you thinking of debating with him?”
Stone answered in the affirmative.
“Can’t you get out of it in some honorable way?”
Stone replied that he was not wanting “out of it.”
“But you may want out of it,” was Treat’s not very assuring reply.
“Why, is he not fair in debate? Is he not a gentleman?”
“Yes,” answered Treat, “so much so that all your people who know him
love to be with him and hear him talk.” And the conversation drifted
into other channels. But Doctor Stone, being from Missouri, waited to be
shown. And the debate was held according to schedule.
About this time Doctor Stone was enjoying no small degree of notoriety.
He had debated with a Methodist minister in southern Illinois, and so
completely mastered him that he acknowledged his defeat in sack cloth and
ashes, and joined the Christian Church. Stone was taking advantage of his
newly-acquired popularity in waging a relentless war against the “sects,”
as he termed them, when some of the Pedo-Baptists secured Newgent to meet
him in debate. And the challenge was brought to the great, self-important
Doctor Stone.
“Newgent!” said this supposed Goliath with a contemptuous sneer. “He
can’t debate. He’s an Irish peddler who used to sell table-cloths in my
father’s neighborhood.” The committee informed him that they were willing
to risk their case with the Irish peddler. However, Stone’s visit to
Doctor Treat to get information concerning the Irishman would indicate
that his contempt was more feigned than real.
The debate was held in a small town in southern Illinois, where the
doctor had been making havoc of the “sects.” The table-cloth story became
current, and much speculation was indulged in concerning the supposed
vender of household commodities. His coming to the village was awaited
with intense interest. When the train on which he was scheduled to
arrive pulled in at the station, a curious and enthusiastic crowd was
waiting to get a view of the man who dared to dispute the wisdom of
Doctor Stone. As he stepped from the car, a gentleman who knew him said,
pointing him out, “There’s the table-cloth peddler.”
A hearty salute was given by the crowd. Newgent, having been apprised of
the story, was equal to the occasion. As soon as the hubbub ceased, he
addressed the crowd, turning the table-cloth story against his opponent
in the following speech:
“Gentlemen, if you have come here to buy table-cloths, you will be
disappointed. I have changed my occupation. I have been informed that
there is some fine stone in southern Illinois, so I have come down here
to set up my shop and spend a few days dressing Stone.”
The “Stone dressing” joke superseded the table-cloth story and became a
catch phrase throughout the debate.
It is likely that Stone often called to mind the friendly advice of
Doctor Treat, and regretted that he did not take it. He could cope
neither with the argument, the quick wit, nor the physical endurance of
his opponent. His voice failed completely, and the last two addresses
of Newgent were unanswered. The Stone-dressing business proved eminently
successful.
An amusing incident occurred in connection with a debate in Kentucky
with a Doctor Fairchilds, an eminent Baptist minister. A story came to
the ears of Doctor Fairchilds after he came on the ground, to the effect
that Newgent was a man of extraordinary scholarship, that he was master
of some thirteen languages, etc. The doctor was visibly disconcerted by
the story, and after hearing Newgent’s first address, was fully persuaded
that it was true, especially the part relating to the thirteen languages.
He was quite nervous, and utterly broke down about the middle of the
program, leaving the supposed master of thirteen languages easily master
of the situation.
While on his official rounds as superintendent of the Tennessee
Mission Conference, he once chanced to invade a Lutheran community,
which set in motion a train of influences that terminated in a debate
with a representative of that body. This was about eight miles from
Greenville. He was visiting a United Brethren family that had moved into
the community, and in company with his host, called at the district
school, and made a talk to the pupils. Through the influence of his
host, the school house was secured for a preaching service that evening.
Other influences then began to be felt, and the meeting was continued
indefinitely, resulting in a sweeping revival, the organization of a
United Brethren church, and the building and dedication of a church-house
within two months from the close of the revival.
This occasioned great concern among the Lutherans who lost quite heavily
as a result of the United Brethren invasion. To regain their lost ground,
they challenged Rev. Mr. Newgent to debate certain doctrinal questions
with a representative of their church. Newgent was then in his element,
in the debate, and answered that he would be ready at any time to
accommodate them.
The Lutheran champion was Dr. J. C. Miller, president of one of their
church schools. The much-mooted question as to what body constituted
the true church was the first taken up, Doctor Miller posing as the
representative of a church whose doctrines and usages are identical with
those taught and exemplified in the New Testament.
This placed upon Miller the Herculean task of defending the various
tenets and practices peculiar to his church. Among other specimens of
Lutheran creed, Newgent read the following: “The infant’s heart is
corrupt, and it cannot be saved unless baptized by a Lutheran minister
with heavenly, gracious water.” When asked if his church taught that,
Doctor Miller admitted that it did.
Newgent showed this bit of dogma up in a bad light by the use of an
object lesson. Borrowing a baby from a mother in the audience, he held
it up before the crowd, stating that the “little rascal’s” heart is
corrupt and its only chance for salvation was by being baptized according
to the Lutheran formula. “Now,” he continued, “I want this brother to
demonstrate to this audience how a baby must be saved. I want him to
change this baby’s heart from a state of corruption to a state of purity.
I want to see how a baby is saved, for, according to his theology, I have
three babies in hell.”
The brother winced under this outburst of sarcasm. He refused to baptize
the child, which, had he done so under the circumstances, would scarcely
have made his doctrine appear less obnoxious. Other peculiar Lutheran
tenets appeared to the same disadvantage under similar treatment, and
the church’s hope of gaining its lost ground completely vanished. The
debate popularized the United Brethren Church, giving it a strong hold
in the community. Flag Branch, a flourishing rural church, stands as a
monument to Rev. Mr. Newgent’s labors in that section.
Another contest worthy of special note was with a Baptist minister
at Blue Springs, Tennessee, in 1882. The mode of baptism was a live
question throughout that region. The battle line was drawn by the
Baptists and Pedo-Baptists. They finally agreed to have the question
discussed in a public debate, each side to furnish its champion. Three
churches were represented on the immersion side, and seven on the other.
The immersionists secured as their representative, Doctor Ingram, a
prominent Baptist divine of Virginia. Newgent was selected by the
anti-immersionists. The debate was to cover six propositions and to
continue six days, one subject being slated for each day.
The Baptists were very desirous of including infant baptism in the list
of subjects to be discussed. This was a question that Newgent had never
debated, and in which he had very little interest. But to accommodate
the Baptists, he consented to defend the practice of infant baptism. His
opponent proposed the question, stating it as follows: “_Resolved_, That
infants are fit subjects for baptism.” Newgent consented to affirm it.
It was slated for the second day. In his opening remarks, Newgent said:
“Mr. President, this is a peculiar question; but my brother wrote it and
insisted that I affirm it. It is peculiar from the fact that I am not
to prove that the child needs baptism, or that there is any command for
infant baptism, or that there ever was an infant baptized. I am simply
asked to prove that a child is a fit subject for baptism.”
At these remarks a storm of protest arose from the immersionists. They
expected him to defend the vast array of teaching that the various
Pedo-Baptist bodies had put forward on the subject.
“Keep cool,” he said to the immersionist part of the crowd as they
were clamoring for a hearing and creating no little confusion. “Doctor
Ingram and I signed these papers, and we agreed to be governed by the
board of moderators. This question simply deals with the child’s fitness
for baptism. I appeal to the moderators.” The moderators sustained his
position.
He then asked his opponent whether or not the Baptist Church would
baptize a subject until he was converted and became as a little child.
His opponent stated that it would not. This gave him a splendid
foundation for his address, and, at the same time, removed the last
foundation stone from under his opponent, so far as infant baptism was
concerned. He made an earnest and eloquent address, showing that the
child is a type of the heavenly citizen, and as such possesses special
fitness for all the sacraments of God’s house.
While he was talking, his attention was called to Doctor Ingram. The
doctor, grip in hand, was making rapid strides toward the railroad
station. His moderator and some friends were accompanying him, trying to
persuade him to remain. But he could endure it no longer.
The doctor’s retreat caused a great sensation, relished immensely by the
Pedo-Baptists, but a bitter dose to the immersionists. There were yet
four days of the program remaining. Newgent’s side demanded, as they were
paying him for his work, that he remain and carry out his part of the
program. This he did, but as the debate had only one end to it during
those four days, it spoiled the excitement, though it served well the
purpose of those who had employed him.
Among his later debates was one held in 1898 at Mechanicsville, Indiana.
Dr. J. W. Haw, of the Christian Church, was his opponent on this
occasion. Doctor Haw had been holding revival meetings in that part of
Indiana, and being dogmatic in style and controversially inclined, was
unsparing in his denunciations of other denominations. His aggressions
and criticisms were disturbing the equilibrium of some of the brethren
whose churches were being used as a target by this ecclesiastical
Nimrod. They wrote to Newgent, then in Tennessee, urging him to champion
their side against Doctor Haw in debate, offering him fifty dollars
per day and expenses for his time. He consented on condition that the
propositions were fair and that the reverend gentleman in question was a
representative man in his church.
He was referred to a two-column article in a current number of
the _Christian Standard_ relating to Doctor Haw. The article was
extravagant in the use of adjectives describing the doctor’s ability and
achievements, stating that he was the leading debater in the Christian
Church, having had more such battles than any other man in it at that
time. This was quite satisfactory to Newgent, as at that period he did
not care to waste any shot or shell on small game.
In this, as in all other such contests, Newgent abundantly sustained
his position and satisfied the expectations of his supporters. His
experience, self-control, complete mastery of the subjects in hand,
humor, and physical endurance made him an antagonist that even the
greatest debater in a debating church could illy cope with. The general
verdict of even Doctor Haw’s own sympathizers was that it was decidedly a
one-sided affair.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
_Perrysville and Centerpoint—Industry Rewarded from an
Unsuspected Source—A “Slick” Wedding—Fruitful Labors at
Centerpoint—A One-Sided Union Meeting—The Doctrine of the
Resurrection Again Demonstrated._
A year on the Perrysville charge in the Upper Wabash Conference, followed
by a year at Centerpoint, in his own conference, the Lower Wabash,
covering 1874 to 1876, closed Rev. Mr. Newgent’s work in the pastorate
for a season. It was from the latter charge that he received his
appointment from the Home, Frontier, and Foreign Missionary Society as
Superintendent of the Tennessee Mission Conference. From thenceforth he
was destined to serve the Church in a larger capacity, though there is no
work that he regards as more exalted or more vital to the progress of the
kingdom than that of the pastor. And it is but just to say that there is
no work in which he has been happier or more in his element. The pastor,
he regards, as the pivotal man in the church militant, around whose
personality must revolve all the machinery of its organized life. Hence,
in whatever position he has been placed, he has ever been in fullest
sympathy with the men on the firing line, and has sought in every way to
encourage and magnify their work.
His going to Perrysville was in response to an urgent appeal from his
intimate friend, Dr. J. W. Nye, then a popular presiding elder in the
Upper Wabash Conference. His work here was fruitful and congenial, and
marked by some rich experiences, which he carries with him as refreshing
memories. One of these teaches a practical moral lesson, namely, that
honest industry has its reward in more ways than one.
It need not be explained here that industry is a part of his religion.
He believes with Paul that it does not injure, or lower the dignity of
a minister to labor with his hands. In this, as in other respects, he
made himself an example to the flock. Odd moments are always occupied
in diversions of a practical character. The outward appearance of the
parsonage never failed to testify to his thrift and good taste. A garden
served as an outlet to his surplus physical energies as well as a means
of supplementing the usually modest income. Under his skillful hand it
invariably became a thing of beauty and an object of just pride.
Some five miles from Perrysville lived a horny-handed son of the soil, a
man who made industry not only the chief element in his religion, but
the sum total of it. He was an infidel in his belief—or disbelief—and
regarded the church as an imposition, and preachers as an indolent,
worthless lot. Passing through the village one day, he noticed Rev. Mr.
Newgent’s garden. It was by far the finest he had seen. His surprise can
only be imagined when, upon inquiry, he learned that the owner of it was
one of those lazy preachers.
A few days later he drove up to the parsonage with a barrel of flour,
which he unloaded and unceremoniously rolled upon the porch. This time
the surprise was on the preacher, as a reputation for benevolence was
a thing of which, up to that time, the infidel could not boast. He
explained that ordinarily he had no use for preachers, but as he had
found one that was not lazy, he “wanted to help him.” The donation was
an expression of his regard for the minister who showed a willingness,
according to the infidel’s conception of the term, to earn his bread in
the sweat of his face.
Another incident, picked up at random, occurred one cold day during the
winter of his stay at Perrysville. A couple whose appearance did not
indicate a superabundance of worldly prosperity, came to the parsonage
to be married. They had come from the adjoining county, the boundary
between the two counties being the Wabash River, on the bank of which
Perrysville was located. The river was frozen over. The couple traveled
afoot, having crossed the river on the ice. The preacher explained
that they would have to recross the river before the ceremony could
be performed, as the law required that marriages be solemnized in the
county in which the license was issued. So he conducted the matrimonial
candidates to the river.
When the preacher was satisfied that they had proceeded beyond the
half-way point on the river, he ordered the couple to halt and join
hands. By this time their presence had attracted the attention of the
young people who were out on the ice in large numbers enjoying the
fine winter sport of skating. As the wedding was a public function, no
restrictions being placed on attendance, the ceremony was performed in
the presence of an enthusiastic multitude.
The service completed, the groom, who was unacquainted with ministerial
usages, inquired as to the amount of the fee. To save him the
responsibility and further embarrassment of determining the sum to be
paid for the service, the preacher suggested that a dollar would be
sufficient, fearing lest he might set the price too high for his purse.
Even at that it was painfully evident that the young man’s financial
rating was overestimated. After nervously fumbling through his pockets he
was able to produce but fifty cents. In his dilemma he found it necessary
to call upon his bride for financial assistance. Happily she was equal to
the emergency, and supplied the deficit from her own purse.
[Illustration: The Young Man’s Financial Rating Was Over-estimated.]
“This is the fairest wedding I have ever seen,” said the preacher. “It
has always been my opinion that the lady ought to help pay the preacher,
and she receives as much benefit from the ceremony as does the man. I
hope you will always share each other’s burdens in this way.” And wishing
them happiness and prosperity, he sent them on their way rejoicing.
The local paper gave a flowery account of the wedding that took place
on the ice, stating that it was the “slickest” wedding that had ever
occurred in that section. But the minister’s fee and the manner of paying
it was not allowed to become public, lest it should become a troublesome
precedent in matrimonial circles.
The following year, which was spent on the Centerpoint charge, was
a most fruitful one. Here, as in so many other places, he found a
splendid opportunity of demonstrating his favorite doctrine of the
resurrection—the resurrection of dead churches. The spiritual life
of the churches at Centerpoint was at ebb tide, and had been for an
indefinite time. Soon after his arrival the Methodist pastor, who was
also new in the town, called upon him to confer as to their plans for
revival work. As workers were scarce, it was thought best to plan their
meetings so that they would not conflict. Rev. Mr. Newgent, Abraham-like,
let his brother do the choosing, and the brother, perhaps as anxious
as Lot to get in on the ground floor, decided to commence a revival at
once. Newgent began a meeting at the same time some few miles in the
country. Newgent’s meeting immediately developed into a revival of so
great proportions that it became the one overshadowing event of the
whole country, drawing the Methodist pastor’s congregation from him and
rendering it impracticable for him to continue. His situation was a
rather lonely one. In his extremity he sought another interview with his
fellow pastor, proposing to close his meeting at once if Newgent would
join him later in a union revival effort.
This Newgent consented to do on three conditions, as follows:
1. That the meetings be held in the United Brethren church.
2. That the United Brethren pastor do all the preaching.
3. That the United Brethren pastor do the managing.
Hard as the conditions seemed, the brother agreed to them. The
conditions, in fact, look egotistical and perhaps selfish on the surface,
but when the United Brethren pastor explained his reasons for them they
were seen to be neither. On the contrary they were meant for the highest
good of both churches, and were abundantly vindicated by the outcome.
He was intensely anxious that Centerpoint have a genuine revival of
religion. To promote such a revival at any cost was his purpose. That
this purpose might be realized he would not permit modesty, formality, or
any other creature to stand in the way.
The United Brethren Church was the more commodious and had the advantage
in location. This was the reason for the first condition. The reason for
the second and third conditions was that Centerpoint had been preached
to death. A change of methods was imperative if the people were to be
reached. He wanted a meeting without preaching, without too much human
agency, but where God himself might control to his own glory. Only by
having the management left to him could he apply the remedy needed
according to his diagnosis of the case.
His plan was now to be put to the test—a revival without preaching, the
laity to do the work as they felt divinely moved. The meeting began on
a Friday evening. But with no life there could be no real activity.
The chariot wheels dragged heavily at the first. On Sunday morning he
announced that at four o’clock p. m., a children’s meeting would be held.
Aside from selected helpers, only children within a certain age limit
would be admitted. Such meetings even at that date were quite uncommon.
The announcement, therefore, aroused a great deal of curiosity. But that
was one point in the announcement. Something must be done to stir the
people. There must be a new avenue of approach to their cold hearts.
The children’s service produced the desired effect. At the appointed
hour the house was filled to overflowing. There were three helpers,
all ministers, present, who did their part according to Newgent’s
directions. Songs were sung, prayers offered by the ministers as they
were called upon, a brief talk by the leader, some simple propositions,
and the meeting closed in less than a half-hour from the time it began.
But that half-hour turned the tide in Centerpoint. The children became
the vanguard in a religious movement that was to shake the town from
center to circumference. Many of them went home weeping to speak of the
longing of their tender hearts to fathers and mothers, who, in turn, were
awakened to a consciousness of their own need.
At the evening service which followed, seventy-five persons came to the
altar, most of whom professed conversion. The revival was no longer a
problem. It spread throughout the town and community like fire in dry
stubble. The church arose from the grave of lethargy and formalism, cast
off her grave clothes—and the doctrine of the resurrection was again
abundantly demonstrated.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
_Becomes a Missionary Superintendent—Second Marriage—An
Unexpected Welcome—Forms a Quaker Friendship—The Spirit Moves
in a Quaker Meeting—A Quaker’s Prayer Answered—Builds a
College—Shows What to do for a Dead Church—Another Tilt on the
Doctrine of Baptism—Conversion of a Dunkard Preacher—Turns a
Great Movement in the Right Direction._
In the fall of 1876, Rev. Mr. Newgent entered upon his duties as
Superintendent of the Tennessee Mission Conference, under appointment of
the Home, Frontier, and Foreign Missionary Association. In the meantime
he had married Miss Annie Crowther, of Terre Haute, Indiana, who, under
the divine blessing, abides as the companion of his joys and sorrows amid
the lengthening shadows. She is a woman of rare and excellent qualities,
which especially fitted her for her position as the wife of an active
and ambitious minister. She is in fullest accord with her husband’s
ambitions and tastes, and has contributed her part toward the success
of his career. He freely accords to her this credit. With this queenly
woman ordering its affairs, the Newgent home has ever been a haven of
real rest, a retreat for God’s servants especially. It extends a welcome
and hospitality—a true home spirit—that at once makes the wayworn pilgrim
feel at ease in body and mind, and charms the hearts of the young as well.
At the time of their removal to Tennessee, the United Brethren Church
was new in the South. Its attitude of open hostility to slavery largely
shut it out of regions south of Mason and Dixon’s line. The Tennessee
Conference then had less than four hundred members, with only six houses
of worship. So a great field spread out before the new Superintendent,
taking him back to conditions in many respects similar to those in which
he began his ministerial labors. It was still a time of reconstruction
in church affairs as well as in matters political. But his was a work of
construction rather than of reconstruction.
Aside from the need of laborers and the vast opportunities afforded for
building up the church in this section, one reason he had for accepting
this appointment was the condition of his own and his wife’s health. Both
were threatened with failing health, and a change of climate was advised,
the high altitude of eastern Tennessee being recommended as especially
adapted to their physical needs.
They arrived at Limestone, Tennessee, on a Friday evening in September.
Here was illustrated how his fame as a genial, good humored personality
had spread throughout the Church, so that the people felt that they were
acquainted with “Jack” Newgent (later Uncle Jack) even though they had
never met him personally. Arriving at the city some time after dark, worn
by the long journey, the discomforts of which were aggravated by their
poor health, they little dreamed of finding in that particular realm an
acquaintance or anyone who had any concern for them.
Great indeed was Newgent’s surprise when, as he alighted from the train,
a gentleman, a total stranger, with a lantern on his arm, stepped up and
in a familiar manner accosted him, “Hello! Is this Jack Newgent?”
He had been so familiarly known as “Jack,” that he had resolved to be
known by the more grave and dignified appellation of Andrew J. Newgent
when he came into his new kingdom. But his expectation perished, as it
would have done even had the circumstances been otherwise. A man’s name,
like his clothes, is a part of him, and if it does not fit, his friends
will persist in trimming it until it does. The personality and the title
cannot be unequally yoked together.
“Well,” said the reverend gentleman from the Hoosier State, “I suppose if
I should land in the heart of Africa, some Hottentot would come rushing
out of the jungle and say, ‘Hello, Jack Newgent!’ Who are you, anyway?”
The stranger was Mr. W. C. Keezel, a prominent layman in the conference,
who had been advised of their coming by Dr. D. K. Flickinger, Secretary
of the Missionary Society, and was there to take them to his hospitable
home. It was a pleasant surprise, and they felt at once that they were
among friends whose hearts God had touched with his spirit of kindness
and tenderness. Their anxieties were dispelled, and they felt as near
heaven in Tennessee as in Indiana.
Next day his host took him on a ten-mile ride by horseback over a
mountain road to a quarterly conference, where he met a number of
ministers, and began to get acquainted with his new co-workers. His
presence filled the little band of faithful toilers with new hope and
courage. He preached the following day (Sunday) at a neighboring church
to an immense crowd. Here he met Rev. Eli Marshall, a minister of repute
in the Quaker—or Friends—church, with whom he was destined to form a
close friendship, a friendship which revealed later to both of these
servants of God how mysteriously God moves in answer to the earnest
prayers of his faithful children.
Rev. Mr. Marshall was not only an able minister, but was also a
successful business man, being the owner of several plantations. He took
Newgent to his home, and later showed him a congenial cottage on one of
his plantations. “This is at thy disposal,” he said, “if it suits thee.”
Newgent replied that it was just such a place as he was looking for,
as it was but a short distance from town and the railroad station, and
inquired as to the rental value.
“Just move in,” said Marshall, “we will talk about that some other time.”
But when Newgent insisted, he set a nominal price, which indicated
that he was not especially concerned about the financial side of the
transaction. He furthermore insisted on transporting Newgent’s household
goods from the station, but this privilege he was compelled to share
with Mr. Keezel. While they were moving his goods from the train, his
Quaker neighbors set to work and filled the smoke-house with provisions,
and supplied sufficient fuel to last him through the winter. Such
expressions of kindness and generosity seldom had been seen.
The fourth week in October was the time for the Quakers’ yearly meeting,
to be held at Rev. Mr. Marshall’s home church. He had issued an order
to Newgent to have no engagement for that time, as his presence and
help were desired at the meeting. Under the circumstances there was but
one thing to do, and that was to respect the order. These meetings were
matters of no small significance in that denomination. They usually
lasted several days, and were great seasons of fellowship. They were very
largely attended so that the program sometimes had to be carried out in
several sections. Newgent had never had the privilege of attending a
Quaker meeting, but his appreciation of the Quakers by this time knew no
bounds.
He first went to the meeting on Saturday morning and was surprised to
find more than a thousand people on the ground. His friend, Rev. Mr.
Marshall, met him immediately and said, “If the Spirit moves thee to
preach to-day, we want thee to preach in the church this morning.” Some
one was to preach in the school house nearby. The Spirit moved, and
Newgent preached.
In the afternoon he was “moved” to preach again. He was urged to preach
again at night. This time the Spirit was not consulted, but his preaching
had touched a responsive chord in the Quaker heart, so it was taken for
granted that the Spirit would be favorable. An out-door service and a
service in the school house besides that in the church were required in
order to accommodate the crowd. Newgent declined to preach at this time,
not wishing to usurp the honors that belonged to the Quaker preachers.
But the Quaker “Spirit” refused to let him off. He was even urged to
sing a special song, which was a great departure from Quaker usage in
those days. While preaching with his usual power, it was evident to him
that great conviction prevailed in the congregation. As he had been
invited to depart from one of the Quaker usages, he now felt bold to
depart from another. Indeed he felt strongly moved by the Spirit to give
an invitation for seekers to come to the altar. The invitation given,
the altar was soon crowded with anxious penitents. He then called upon
the Quakers to come forward and to sing and pray with the seekers. This
a considerable number did, casting aside all reserve, and the meeting
became a typical United Brethren revival. It was one time when the
Spirit “moved” beyond question in a Quaker meeting.
He was given right of way in the church on Sunday morning, Sunday
evening, and Monday evening. A new element was thus diffused into
Quakerdom. He held a meeting in that same community a few weeks later,
in which the Quakers took a leading part, and which resulted in about a
hundred conversions.
The best part of the whole procedure came to light when Newgent called
to pay his landlord the small pittance that was due on rent. Rev. Mr.
Marshall refused to accept even the nominal amount that had been agreed
upon.
“Let me explain,” he said, “I have never told anybody what I am going to
tell thee—not even my wife. Some three months ago I moved my foreman out
of that house, and began to pray for the Lord to send us a good, live
preacher from the North. I had got tired of these slow-going Southern
fellows. But I forgot to tell the Lord to send a Quaker. So the Lord
was free to send whomsoever he pleased. And the first time I heard thee
preach, I said, ‘There is the answer to my prayer.’ Now, it would not do
for me to charge rent of the man the Lord sent in answer to my prayer,
when he is living in the property I vacated for him when I besought the
Lord to send him. That house is for thee as long as thee wants it.”
When this noble soul was called to heaven some years later, Rev. Mr.
Newgent was called from a distant State to preach his funeral. Truly, he
was a man of God.
When the conference projected a college enterprise at Greenville, Rev.
Mr. Newgent took up his residence at that place so as to give personal
attention and encouragement to the institution. This college was
afterwards moved to White Pine, Newgent being the leading spirit in the
matter of relocation. He served as financial agent and supervised the
construction of the building. Through his personal efforts the building
was erected and paid for.
The evangelistic gift and executive faculty, both of which were prominent
in our subject, peculiarly fitted him for the duties of Missionary
Superintendent amid such conditions as the Tennessee Conference
presented. Much incipient work had to be done. The routine work of his
office required only a small portion of his time, leaving him free to do
the work of an evangelist, to encourage weak churches and to survey new
territory to conquer. This narrative has already afforded many examples
of his constructive work along these lines. One more characteristic
incident may not be out of place.
Near Limestone, Tennessee, was a church which was so unpromising that the
quarterly conference seriously considered abandoning it and disposing
of the property. It was well located, but there were strong churches on
either side, and the little church, overshadowed as it was by these older
organizations, had never been able to gain a proper standing.
“Let us give it another chance,” said Newgent, who was presiding at the
meeting. “I will hold a meeting there at the first opportunity, and
we will see if it can be saved.” He held the meeting accordingly and
received ninety-seven members into the church, and the little, struggling
church was lifted to such a position of prestige and prominence that it
overshadowed its rivals, becoming a strong center of religious influence.
But it was not enough to merely get people converted and brought into the
church. They must be taught in the doctrines of the church, so as not to
get their doctrinal ideas from other sources.
One of the strong churches of this community was of the Dunkard order,
and mainly through its influence a strong immersion sentiment prevailed.
At the close of the revival there were a large number of applicants for
baptism. According to prevailing custom, all expected to be immersed.
It was in order on such occasions for the baptismal service to be
prefaced by a sermon on baptism. Rev. Mr. Newgent took advantage of the
opportunity to make some remarks on the mode of baptism, which was the
one live subject in religious circles. In his discourse he said:
“We often hear people say, ‘I want to be baptized as Jesus was.’ I do not
share this sentiment. For in one essential respect Jesus’ baptism was
different from ours. It was for a different purpose. He was baptized to
fulfill the law; we, because we are sinners, either for the forgiveness
of sins or because they are forgiven.
“But we may be baptized in the same manner in which he was baptized, and
if you wish, I will tell you what that was. Paul said, ‘He was made a
priest like unto his brethren.’ Jesus said, ‘I am come, not to destroy
the law or the prophets, but to fulfill.’ He fulfilled every jot and
tittle of the law. The law required a priest to have the water of
consecration sprinkled upon his head when he was thirty years of age.
Hence, if Christ was made a priest like his brethren, it is easy to see
that his baptism was the same as that of the priests, his brethren,
and that the water was sprinkled upon his head at the age of thirty;
otherwise he would not have fulfilled every jot and tittle of the law.”
A prominent Dunkard preacher present made a public statement at the close
of the discourse to the effect that, while he had always believed and
taught that Christ was baptized by immersion, he was now fully convinced
that he had been mistaken. When they came to the baptismal service,
all the applicants chose the mode of sprinkling, though they had come
prepared to be immersed.
Under his capable and aggressive leadership the conference maintained a
steady growth. At first its territory was confined to the eastern part
of the State. But in the early nineties he, with some other ministers,
advanced to the central and western parts of the State on a sort of
missionary-evangelistic campaign. They held a number of meetings and
were successful in winning quite a sprinkling of converts. The work thus
accomplished made possible the organization of what was then known as
the Tennessee River Conference in 1896.
One of the most important events in connection with the Tennessee
Conference, and which was brought about mainly through his influence,
occurred in 1895. It is referred to as follows in Berger’s History of the
United Brethren Church, page 614:
“About two years ago a movement which had been for some time in process
of development, began to take definite form, resulting in considerable
additions both of ministers and laymen to the United Brethren Church. The
greater number of these came from the Methodist Episcopal Church, some
from the M. E. Church, South, and a few from other denominations. Those
coming from the Methodist churches were attracted chiefly by the milder
form of episcopal government in the United Brethren Church. There was
for them no possible inducement in material or worldly considerations.
They could not look for larger salaries or easier fields of labor or
lighter sacrifices, nor was the prospect of official promotion better
than in the churches from which they came. Nor could they bring with
them any of the church-houses or other property which they had aided in
building. No thought or hope of this kind was entertained; much less was
any effort made to do so. Influenced by principle alone, and in the face
of present loss, they chose to cast in their lot with us, and they have
addressed themselves earnestly to the work in their new relations. About
twenty-five ministers in all, with a considerable number of members, have
thus connected themselves with the United Brethren. Among the leading
ministers of the movement are: Dr. T. C. Carter, Rev. W. L. Richardson,
J. D. Droke, and others. They have been given a cordial welcome by
the United Brethren Church, not in any spirit of proselytism, for no
proselyting was done, nor from any desire to reap where others have sown,
but with an open heart and door to receive any persons who love our
common Lord and desire to cast their lot with us.”
It seems a pity, however, that church history is so silent in regard to
Rev. Mr. Newgent’s connection with this event, for it was he who turned
this movement toward the United Brethren Church. Those who refused to
tolerate what they considered abuses of episcopal supervision in the two
great Methodist bodies were in the very act of forming a new church. In
this movement Dr. T. C. Carter, now Bishop Carter, occupied a conspicuous
place of leadership, as he did in every great religious movement in that
part of the country. His name was a household word in all that realm,
and when he spoke, multitudes reverently listened. Rev. Mr. Newgent met
him, and showed him a Discipline of the United Brethren Church, believing
that it set forth the very principles of church government for which
these great souls were contending, and thus presented the alternative of
connecting themselves with a denomination that afforded what they wanted,
or of adding to the number of denominational organizations which many
believed were already too many. Doctor Carter suggested that Disciplines
and other United Brethren literature be sent to the leading ministers of
the movement. This was accordingly done; and as a result they decided to
connect themselves with the United Brethren Church.
They were formally received in a special conference held in Knoxville. A
number of the Bishops, general officers, and leading ministers and laymen
throughout the denomination attended this conference, which was presided
over by Bishop Weaver. One of the leading ministers of the movement,
in delivering the welcome address on that occasion, made use of the
following language:
“I am certain that one-half the membership of both churches (the
Methodist bodies) heartily prefer a church government of the people, by
the people, and for the people, to their own.... In view of these things,
I may venture to say that a strong church that will fill the valleys and
mountains of this country with a religious paper devoted to Arminianism
and liberty, and will follow up this plan with men and with churches may
expect a glorious welcome.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
_Autumn—The Fading Leaf—Fruit in Old Age—His Later
Labors—Present Home._
“We all do fade as a leaf,” was the lamentation of an ancient prophet in
a melancholy mood. The fading leaf speaks in sad but beautiful language
of waning vitality. It is the harbinger of autumn, telling us that nature
is getting ready to close her books for the season. It brings with it a
tinge of sadness mingled with sweetness; for there is compensation in
even the saddest experiences. What would the year be without the pensive
days of autumn? They are the golden fringes of the bounteous summer
season. Sad, indeed, would they be if the summer has been ill spent. Then
might the melancholy wail arise from the forlorn heart, “The harvest is
past, the summer is ended.”
But when autumn looks back upon a springtime of bountiful seed-sowing,
and a summer of bountiful reaping, it becomes the year’s climax of joy,
the beneficiary of all its blessings. Enriched by the summer’s heritage,
it is beautiful and peaceful and happy.
“We all do fade as a leaf.” May it be said philosophically. The fading of
the leaf reveals more perfectly its innate qualities, and rounds out its
brief existence. The red or brown or yellow, in mute language, tells its
life history and closes the book.
It is said of the aged, sometimes, “They are set in their ways.” That is
because in them character has become a finished product. The incidentals
and accidentals have become eliminated, and the accumulated results of
years of striving and hoping, sorrow and pain, defeats and victories are
plainly discernible. Personal traits stand out in bold relief so that all
may fittingly say, “Behold the man.”
Thus, Uncle Jack—for we may now use this affectionate designation, having
passed his three score and ten, is now in the autumnal glory of a life
beautiful and bountiful in its fruitage. And so the autumn of his life is
enriched and made fragrant by the year’s benedictions. Blessed, indeed,
is he to whom it is given to enjoy a long period of service, and who can
then gracefully let his mantle pass to others whom God has called and
prepared to receive it. To grow old sweetly, to let the sun go down amid
the splendors of an unclouded evening sky, is the crowning glory of old
age.
Blessed, indeed, then, is Uncle Jack. He approaches this period in life,
not only in the spirit of a true philosopher, but in the spirit of a true
Christian. He still lives in the sunshine, he keeps the windows open
to the breezes that bring to him the fragrance of flowers, the song of
birds, and the “music of the spheres.” The world smiles upon him and he
returns its smile.
He has lived in an active, changing age, but has always kept up with the
procession. He performed a vital part in the changing order in which he
lived and moved and had his being; and he who helps to fashion events,
who has a part in directing the movements of progress, is not likely to
be left behind or to be trampled under foot. He not only kept pace with
the world, but with a prophet’s vision, he anticipated the course of
human events. So, as great changes approached, he was ready to march out
to meet them. Like a true prophet, he had a message for his own day and
generation, but the message was more potent because he had a vision of
things yet to be.
In him is illustrated the Psalmist’s observation concerning the children
of God, “They shall bring forth fruit in old age.” For him there is
no “dead line.” The body may lose its agility; it may fail to do the
bidding of the mind properly, but the mind and heart remain abreast of
the times. The dead line means more than physical infirmity, and it often
occurs that the mind lingers near that dread spot while the body is in
its prime. The dead line belongs to the mind and not to the body, and
hence, taking that view of it, there is no dead line for Uncle Jack.
It is given to but few men to continue in the public ministry until they
pass their three score and ten. Uncle Jack had never been out of the
active connection in some form from the time he entered the ministry
until his seventy-third year, giving more than a half-century of unbroken
service to the public work of the Church.
In the interest of accuracy and completeness, more specific mention
should be made of his later work. After spending eleven years as
presiding elder in Tennessee Conference, he returned North for a
time, serving as pastor at Veedersburg, Indiana, as college pastor at
Westfield, Illinois, as pastor at Olney, Illinois, and three years
as presiding elder in Upper Wabash Conference. His work as pastor at
Veedersburg included two periods, one of three years’, and the other
of four years’ duration. This was one of the wealthiest and most
influential churches in Upper Wabash Conference.
Returning to Tennessee—now East Tennessee—Conference, he was again
elected to the presiding eldership, serving five years in that relation.
Altogether he spent twenty-one years in the Tennessee Conference, serving
five years in the pastorate besides sixteen years in the presiding
elder’s office.
His last work in the pastorate was at Clarinda, Iowa, being called from
there to the field agency for Indiana Central University at Indianapolis
by the trustees of that institution. He has always been interested in the
educational work of the Church. In his varied experience in religious
work he has seen demonstrated in so many ways the need of an educated
ministry. So he entered upon this latter work with a deep conviction of
its importance, and with the earnestness and zeal which characterized his
labors all through life; but finding his physical strength insufficient
for its taxing demands, he was compelled to relinquish it.
In the fall of 1910 he again attended the East Tennessee Conference
session, desiring only to enjoy its fellowship. He had no thought of
assuming again an active relation in the conference, but his brethren
were loath to let him escape. When the election of presiding elder was
called, their minds once more centered upon him, and he lacked but four
votes of being the unanimous choice of the conference. This, however,
brought him to face a delicate matter which set a task for his tender
conscience. Seeing that his election meant the crowding of a worthy young
man out of an appointment, he very generously resigned the office with
instructions to the Bishop that this young man be given the place.
His present home is at Odon, Indiana. Here he finds himself among
sympathetic friends, and is near the scenes of his early childhood.
He takes pleasure in doing what he can in the local church, setting a
wholesome example to the membership by his faithful attendance at all
the services and by loyal and liberal support of all its interests. Here
he enjoys the hearty good will of old and young alike, and has frequent
calls for addresses at various functions, where he is always greeted with
unfeigned delight.
While not employed in a regular way by the Church, an appreciative
public will continue to recognize his worth, and keep ajar the door of
opportunity for rendering valuable service to his fellow men.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
_Character Sketch._
The analysis of a flower is the work, not of the florist, but of the
botanist. The florist sees in the combination of the various parts the
beauty of a perfected whole, while the botanist sees the parts separated
and classified but loses sight of the flower itself. The florist’s
viewpoint is preferable to that of the botanist. This is no less true in
dealing with human life than in the treatment of a flower. However, in
the interest of thoroughness, some attention should be given to a study
of the particular elements of character which give to our subject his
peculiar individuality and made possible that degree of eminence which
he has won for himself. The task is not an easy one. This is true in
the case of all men of superior strength. The sources of power are so
embedded in the depths of one’s personality as to make them difficult to
trace. In the presence of such men we are instinctively aware of their
superiority, but if asked to give a reason for our impressions we would
be unable to do so. The power of a personality is to be felt rather than
explained or analyzed. It is this invisible, undefinable something
that lifts the man above the level of the commonplace and gives him a
commanding influence among his fellows.
The strength of some characters is due to one or two exceptionally strong
traits, while in other particulars they may be correspondingly weak. The
world sees only the mountain peaks of strength and upon them it builds
its estimate of the man. To this rule Rev. A. J. Newgent is one of the
rare exceptions. “Like a tree planted by the rivers of water,” the
distinctive feature of his life is rather in the full and symmetrical
development of the various qualities of mature and well-rounded manhood.
Hence, he is essentially a man of the people—not a man of one class, but
of all classes, the embodiment of the true spirit of democracy. Like
Paul, he can be all things to all men without sacrificing principle or
dignity or losing the respect of any of them. His sympathies are broad
and deep, and go out to all alike. There is no assumed or conscious
superiority to create a barrier between himself and the humblest soul.
He observes no arbitrary distinctions. Whoever he chances to meet is
at once a friend and brother. He possesses in a large degree the rare
faculty of making people feel at home in his presence. Fads and snobs
and artificiality he hates as he hates sin. The glitter and tinsel show
of life are counted as dross, but the pure gold of human character that
needs no outward adornment is his delight.
His well-balanced temperament enables him to so adjust himself to
different conditions, that he is invariably master of the situation
in which he may be placed. In the home, whether marked by riches or
poverty, culture or illiteracy, he is always the same genial guest. To
the children, young people, and old folks alike, the presence of “Uncle
Jack” is always welcome. In his public ministry, whatever the demands of
the occasion, he is ready to meet them. Never is he at the mercy of his
surroundings. Not many months ago, while doing service as field secretary
for Indiana Central University, he was secured by the pastor of a country
church to hold an all-day meeting. The morning program was interfered
with by a severe rainstorm, so that besides himself and the pastor,
only three persons were present. Yet, he preached to his small audience
with his wonted zeal and earnestness, the effort being pronounced by
those who heard it superior to the one in the afternoon, when he had the
inspiration of a full house.
He never follows the beaten paths simply because others have walked
therein. The fact that some one else did a thing in a certain way is not
sufficient reason why he should proceed upon the same plan. He imitates
no one and it is safe to say no one imitates him, for the reason that he
is so intensely original; the processes of his mind are so completely
his own that no one could well repeat them. Bishop Edwards once said,
“There is one man whose sermons no one has ever tried to copy; that man
is Newgent.” This originality has been a valuable asset in debate. His
opponent might come with his mind well furnished with all the laws of
logic, the tactics known to debaters, and the arguments on both sides
of the question well in hand, only to find his materials practically
useless. Rev. Mr. Newgent’s method being so unique, his approach to the
subject from such unexpected angles, and his presentation of unheard-of
arguments in defending his position, while transgressing no valid law
of debate or of logic, made him a law unto himself. The opinions of
other men rather than being accepted as authority, only serve to quicken
his thought and incite to investigation. In preaching he is purely
extemporaneous, often deferring the selection of a text or theme until
after he enters the pulpit. But his resourceful mind, well stocked with
information, the result of general reading and observation, and his
aptness at illustration, rendered safe for him what to some men would be
a hazardous undertaking.
While original in his thinking, he never discredits the opinions of
others, no matter how widely they may differ from his own. Honesty and
sincerity he regards as superior to articles of faith. “If no one gets to
heaven except those who believe as I do,” he often says, “the audience
there will be rather small.” David said, in his haste, “All men are
liars.” If Rev. Mr. Newgent should err in his judgment of mankind, it
would more likely be in the opposite direction. A source of strength
is his faith in men, their possibilities and aspirations for better
things. To be a leader of men, this faith is imperative. Beneath the
surface shale of human differences, selfishness and error, may be found
a sub-stratum of genuine manhood. And upon this the true builder must
build. He must recognize that he is dealing with intelligent beings who
can think and feel, and who are possessed with a sense of honor and
self-respect. The man who would inspire others to higher things must not
despise or ignore these vital factors of individual consciousness. There
are sacred precincts in every life which the owner has a right to guard
as with a flaming sword, and which should not be approached except with
unsandaled feet and sanctified hands. That there is more real incentive
to noble effort in a vision of the possibilities and beauty of a noble
life than in the lash, is a prominent article in Rev. Mr. Newgent’s
faith. The spirit of “anti-ism” and the methods used by a certain type of
evangelists of pouring out the vials of their sarcastic and vituperative
wrath upon men and things in general are offensive to him in the extreme.
Hence, the positive note is always dominant in his preaching.
The secret of getting on with men is in knowing what chord to strike to
get the desired response. That he knows well the secret, the achievements
of his career bear ample testimony. An incident in his boyhood may not
be out of place here, as it illustrates the principle by which he has
been actuated throughout his entire life in his relations with men. He
was employed at a saw-mill. The logs were hauled from the forest to the
mill with oxen. That an ox team is no friend to grace, is the general
verdict of those who have experimental knowledge of ox-driving. One
large, burly team in particular that was noted for obstinacy and general
degeneracy, had defied all the skill and whips and profanity the driver
could produce. He repeatedly had gone to the woods for his load and
returned with the empty wagon. At a critical point in the road the team
would balk and refuse to budge until the wagon was unloaded. It became a
standing challenge to the entire crowd, different ones of whom accepted
the challenge, with the same result. Finally Jack, as he was then called,
asked permission to try. He was only a spindling lad of a hundred-weight
avoirdupois, and the very suggestion was met with jeers. “Have you ever
driven oxen?” he was asked. “No,” was the reply, “but I think I have ox
sense.” They finally consented, but no one expected anything but another
failure. The driver offered him the whip. “I don’t need the whip,” he
said, and started for his charge. He made friends with his dumb servants,
rubbed their ears, spoke to them coaxingly, and soon had them on the way
to the woods. He took the precaution to provide himself with a small bag
of corn. He succeeded in getting the log on the wagon and again patted
the oxen, and as a reward of merit, gave them each a nubbin, letting
them see that there was more in the bag that would be available if they
proved worthy. Thus, as he said, he “sooked” them along, and to the
astonishment of the mill hands, arrived in an unusually short time with a
large log. It was not only a lesson to the men, but to himself as well,
by which he has profited throughout his entire life. He has verified the
fact many times that “sooking” will succeed with men as well as oxen when
the whip will fail.
There are two kinds of leadership among men. One is the arbitrary
leadership of the boss; the other is natural, a true leadership, which
has for its basis personal strength and merit. The former is transient,
having no real place among thinking and liberty-loving people. The other
is abiding, for the true leader is ever in demand.
This latter type is quaintly set forth in Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha”:
“As unto the bow the cord is,
So is unto man the woman;
While she bends him, she obeys him,
Though she leads him, yet she follows.”
It is the woman’s leadership—controlling by obedience, leading by
following. A paradox, perhaps, but supported by the logic of actual
achievements in every realm of human endeavor. The workman controls the
force of a stream by obeying that force. Should he plant his turbine
on the hilltop and command the water to flow up the hill and turn the
wheel, the stream would only laugh at his impudence as it rippled on its
way. But when he plants his wheel in the current, the stream at once
becomes his servant. It is the principle observed by the engineer, the
sailor, the electrician, or the aviator in harnessing and utilizing the
various forces of nature. The same principle lies at the basis of all
true leadership in society, church, or state. The strict observance of
it has enabled Rev. Mr. Newgent to touch the motive springs of character
by means of which men are aroused to action. His close sympathy with
men ever gives him an unconscious, commanding influence. And this
influence is always turned to account in their own uplifting and in the
advancement of righteousness. Out of over a half-century in the public
ministry, about one-half of his time has been spent as presiding elder.
This official relation does not afford the opportunity for evangelistic
and other forms of direct church work as does the pastorate; so that
definite, visible results cannot readily be computed. Yet, few men have
built for themselves greater or more enduring monuments in the line of
tangible results. More than six thousand members have been gathered
into the denomination through his labors. Thirty church-houses stand to
his credit as a church builder. He has officiated at about one hundred
dedicatory exercises, a recognition of his ability as a money-getter.
On Chautauqua platforms and special occasions of both a religious and
semi-religious character he has been a prominent figure. And his advice
is always at a premium in the counsels of the denomination.
It has been well said, “When God made wit, he pronounced it good.”
Rev. Mr. Newgent has demonstrated the practical utility of sanctified
wit and humor. It is possible, however, that his humor has led to
more misconception of his character than any other thing that could
be mentioned. The trait that touches the most popular chord is likely
to be so magnified as to shut from view others of equal or greater
significance. The fame of an author not infrequently rests upon a
single production, and that by no means his best. Edward Eggleston did
not regard the “Hoosier Schoolmaster” as the best of his works, but
multitudes who have been charmed by that simple story will never know
that he ever wrote anything else.
That Rev. Mr. Newgent has in some degree suffered in a similar manner
is, therefore, nothing more than might be expected. Yet, if his humor,
in the minds of some, would reduce him to the level of a mere jokesmith,
to him it has been an invaluable asset. It has served to open the way
for the assertion of the more substantial and practical qualities; it
has enabled him to capture hostile and even riotous audiences; with it
he has battered down strongholds of opposition; it has been an effective
weapon against false doctrine, hypocrisy, and deep-seated vice in its
various forms; it has served as the sugar coating for truths that were
unpleasant because of a perverted taste; he has found it a splendid tonic
to dispense with more solid food to aid the digestion of mental and
spiritual dyspeptics. His humor is of the spontaneous sort, ready to boil
over whenever the lid is removed. It flows out through his discourses and
conversations as naturally as the stream gushes from the fountain, and is
always mellowed by tenderness and a deep human sympathy.
“Where dwellest thou?” was asked of the Son of Man. The question was of
greater significance than the interrogator supposed, and the answer was
even more significant. The Savior did not say, in Galilee or Palestine,
or Nazareth, but simply, “Come and see.” A man’s habitation is not a
matter of geographical boundary. Should the question be addressed to Rev.
Mr. Newgent, he would say, “I live on the sunny side of the street.” A
critic of Emerson said that because of his unorthodoxy he was doomed to
go to hell. A contemporary who was acquainted with Emerson’s kindly and
genial disposition remarked that if he did, he would change the climate.
Rev. Mr. Newgent not only lives on the sunny side of the street, but
he carries sunshine with him. He has a knack of distilling sunshine
from every circumstance of life. He changes the climate to suit his own
temperament. With Solomon, he believes in the medical virtues of a smile,
that “a merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”
He was once called to visit a woman in the mountains of east Tennessee,
whom he had never seen. She was supposed to be dying of consumption. It
was late at night when he arrived and the weather was inclement. The
physician was leaving the house as he approached. On learning who he was,
the physician told him he was too late; the lady was dying. He went at
once to her bedside, and found that the death sweat had begun to gather
and the death rattle was in her throat. He lifted up her head gently
and spoke to her. Her face brightened, and presently she began to talk.
She told him that she was glad he had come, that she must soon die, and
feared she would have to go without seeing him.
But in a voice tender but cheerful, he told her he was glad to do her any
favor, and added, “But don’t be in a hurry about going. I wouldn’t go
to-night, if I were you. The night is dark and stormy, and you might get
lost in these mountains. You had better wait until morning. It will be
so much better to go in the day time.” She smiled at the eccentricity of
the remarks, and seemed to make up her mind to take the advice. Morning
found her much improved, having apparently decided to postpone the matter
indefinitely. And contrary to the predictions of her physician and
friends, she recovered to thank the preacher rather than the physician
for prolonging her days.
To him there are “sermons in stone, and books in the running brooks.” He
finds in the commonest things and most commonplace occurrence of everyday
life, lessons of practical truth that enrich and adorn his discourses.
Once while in his company we were stopping at a hotel for dinner. While
we were seated at the table, some one dropped a coin in the slot of an
automatic music machine, at which it began to grind out a familiar tune.
Rev. Mr. Newgent on observing the operation, quoted the language of Job,
“I caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy,” and added, “Don’t you
suppose that was Job’s way of making people sing for joy—with a bit of
money?” And subsequently the illustration was used with fine effect in a
discourse on benevolence.
Underlying all, and harmonizing all the elements of his personality is a
firm and abiding faith in God. It is doubtless easier for some persons to
be religious than for others. In this respect he has been favored. The
natural bent of his mind from earliest childhood was toward religion.
Converted at the age of ten, his entire life has been controlled by a
strong and steady devotion to religious ideals. His faith is broad and
well balanced. Religious affectation and fads have no part with him.
His religious character was formed amid the strife and controversies of
various creeds in a day when creed was everything. These controversies
drove him to a critical study of the various systems of theology in the
light of the Bible. He made the Word of God his sole authority in all
doctrinal matters. That which he recognized as supported by the Book, he
made his own. That he defended without apology or compromise. While he
is dogmatic to a large degree, his dogmatism is of a practical sort. He
believes that there is a vital relation between doctrine and Christian
character. A true life cannot be built upon erroneous or crooked
theology. He often deplores the fact that the church has swung away from
the strict, doctrinal teaching of the past, believing that in consequence
it has suffered the loss of spiritual vitality and zeal.
His faith is as simple as it is broad and deep. The essentials of
religion are few and easily comprehended. The simplicity of gospel truth
when properly presented is one of its strongest attractive elements.
In many instances the simple gospel has been complicated and obscured
by a mass of theological rubbish heaped up by men more interested in a
creed than in the ultimate truth. If the rubbish is cleared away, the
truth will shine forth clear and distinct in its beauty, and men will
accept it. To remove the rubbish and give a clear setting to the simple,
vital elements of Christian faith seems to have been a large part of his
appointed task. This is among his chief contributions to the cause of
pure and undefiled religion.
To the simplicity of his faith should be added another quality, perhaps
best described by the word “practical.” With him faith is an intensely
practical thing. The faith that expresses itself merely in stock phrases,
articles of a creed or church membership is, to say the least, a base
counterfeit, a useless commodity. Nothing seems to him more irreligious
than the religion that begins and ends in noise. Genuine faith has a
personal, spiritual, and commercial value. Its highest expression is in
doing something that ought to be done. It crystallizes into character,
and contributes to human welfare. It places its possessor upon the broad
highway of the world’s need, bringing him into sympathetic touch with the
throbbing heart-life of humanity. Thus he maintains the sound Scriptural
philosophy that faith is to be tested by works.
The church has profited largely from his beneficence. A habit which he
has followed throughout his ministry is, as he says, “to live like a
poor man and give like a rich man”—that is, like a rich man ought to
give. He never turns down a worthy call for help. Even should there be a
question as to the merit of the call, he usually gives it the benefit of
the doubt. “His house is known to all the vagrant train,” and, to borrow
another quaint phrase from Goldsmith, “even his faults lean to virtue’s
side.” The tramp that comes to his door gets with his dinner a genial
smile and wholesome words of admonition, even though the dinner, the
smile, and the admonition are lost upon a worthless subject.
In dedicating churches he has made it a general rule to give his own
subscription for an amount equal to the largest on the list. On a number
of occasions, under pressure of a great need, he has pledged more than
he was worth, in the faith that God would open the way for meeting the
obligation. And his faith in every such case has been vindicated. His
life illustrates the Bible doctrine of increasing by scattering. He
surely has scattered with a lavish hand. He has not only observed the
Lord’s tithe in his benevolence, but has gone quite beyond it, even to
the giving, in some instances, of the greater part of his income to the
Lord’s cause. Yet with it all, he has increased in temporal possessions.
He has honored God with his substance, and God has smiled graciously upon
him, so that with David he can well say, “I once was young, but now am
old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging
bread.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
_“Lights Out”—A Dirge of the War._
A marked characteristic of Uncle Jack, as these pages have shown, is
his peculiar ability to establish and maintain strong ties of personal
friendship. This has been evident even from his youth. He has gathered
friends from all walks of life, and their name is legion. The list
has always been characterized by names that were written large in
the annals of Church and State. Conspicuous among these is the late
Lieutenant-Colonel James T. Johnson, of Rockville, Indiana, a man
distinguished for talent and achievement in various fields. The twain
were boys together, and the friendship thus early formed continued until
severed by the death of Johnston in 1904. When Newgent was first winning
laurels as a boy preacher, Johnston often walked five miles to attend his
services. They were young men, mere youths, when the Civil War broke out.
Both heard and responded to their country’s call at that dark time when
not only the country’s honor, but her very existence was at stake. Both
served under General Burnsides, and both held official positions in the
army, Newgent as chaplain of his regiment, and Johnston as lieutenant,
later lieutenant-colonel. After the war was over, each won honors and
served well his generation in his chosen profession, the one as a
minister of the gospel, the other as a lawyer and politician. Johnston
found room near the top in the legal profession, and at the same time
represented his district three successive terms in Congress. He ranked
high as an orator, and, like his clerical friend, was much in demand at
reunions and other gatherings of the soldiers, the two men frequently
dividing time upon such occasions. Had Newgent chosen politics as a
career, he would doubtless have become a political leader. Had Johnston
turned his attention to the ministry, he would have taken rank in all
probability among the leading preachers of his day.
But there was one sad difference between them—Johnston was skeptically
inclined. While the two men maintained the highest regard for each other,
and frequently were associated together in their work, the subject
of religion was one point on which, to the regret, possibly, of both
parties, they were not in accord. Johnston’s skepticism however, was not
of the positive sort. He represented the honest doubter rather than
the avowed disbeliever. His wife was a devout Presbyterian, and while
he could not subscribe to the tenets of the church, he never disparaged
the church or its work. Every worthy cause found in him a sympathizer
and liberal supporter. His honor and integrity were never questioned,
and he enjoyed the full confidence and esteem of his fellows. It is a
matter of satisfaction that such a life was not permitted to go out in
the dark. And Newgent had the joy of finally leading him, just as his sun
was sinking below the horizon, to a simple faith in Christ and a blessed
assurance of his acceptance with God.
During his last illness, which covered a period of six months, the
colonel was visited frequently by local ministers, but owing to his
reputed skepticism and his high professional standing, the subject of
religion was not pressed upon him. There is a tendency to fear big men
in matters of religion not easily explained and not easily overcome,
and it is quite probable that many a great life has ended without the
consolations of religion that, were it not for this tendency, might have
been led into the light as readily as a little child. Oh, how Christians
fear the logic of the world, and yet, the sword of the Spirit is a
greater weapon than all the world’s artillery!
Newgent visited him almost daily during this time, and on one occasion
determined to broach the subject of religion. “Colonel,” he said, in his
usual tactful manner, “while you are shut in here, would it not be a fine
opportunity for you to read the Bible through?”
“Well,” he answered, “Laura and I tried it; we took it up by books,
but we got stalled.” It was, of course, the colonel himself who “got
stalled.” Laura, his wife, was a Christian, as has been noted, and her
faith was not shaken by Scriptural difficulties.
“What was your trouble?” Newgent questioned, with a view to encouraging
conversation along that channel.
“Well,” he said, “we got to the book of Job. I could not reconcile the
book of Job with the idea that God is our Heavenly Father, full of love
and mercy. If Job was God’s child and a good man, as the Bible says he
was, how could a loving father allow a loving, obedient child to be so
abused and tempted by the devil? I can’t see through it.”
After he had delivered his speech on the difficulties of the book of Job,
and unburdened his mind somewhat, Newgent drew near to him, and speaking
very simply but earnestly, said: “Colonel, you are a great lawyer, but
you are only a child in the Bible. Your trouble is that you commenced at
the wrong place. When, as a little child, you started to school, your
teacher did not start you in the advanced studies. She put you in the A,
B, C class. Now, don’t be in too big a hurry to get out of your A, B, C’s
in the study of the Bible, for there is where you belong. I have been
making a study of God’s Word for many years, and I want you to listen to
me a while. I think we can get over the rough places after a while. Do
you have any trouble with Jesus Christ? He was God’s dear son, yet he
had to suffer more than any man, but his suffering was for others. So we
learn from Job’s sufferings that he has helped millions to trust God in
the dark.”
This was the colonel’s A, B, C lesson in religion. The visits and
conversations were continued day after day, until a couple of days before
his death, when the truths of the preceding lessons were clinched in the
following conversation:
“Colonel,” said the preacher, resuming their lessons, “you had one of the
best mothers in the world, did you not?” He admitted that he had.
“She taught you to say your little prayers?”
“Yes,” said the great man, as the tears started from his eyes.
“And you never doubted her word?”
“No—never.”
“That was simple faith in mother. Now, in your mind go back to mother,
and though she is dead, look up into her face as when you were a child,
and trust her as you did then. That will represent the soul looking up to
Jesus and trusting him for salvation. That is all Christ requires of a
sinner.”
As the preacher finished this little homily on faith, the colonel was
weeping like a child. “Jack,” he sobbed, “is that all there is in coming
to Christ to be saved?”
“That is all there is,” and before the preacher could continue the
discussion further, the light broke in upon the humble and contrite
heart. “I’ve got it,” he interrupted with much emotion, at the same
time grasping the preacher’s hand with all the strength his six-months’
illness had left him. Thus, the man who all the years of his eventful
career, by his own wisdom and logic and learning knew not God, was at the
last critical moment melted and transformed by the light from Calvary,
and a great life was snatched as a brand from the eternal burning. The
lawyer, the statesman, the scholar, the orator received the kingdom of
heaven on the Savior’s easy terms, “as a little child,” and two days
later his soul passed into the presence of Jehovah.
Rev. Mr. Newgent delivered the funeral oration. Men of prominence from
various parts of the country helped to swell the vast throng that was
present at the funeral service. The story of the colonel’s conversion
from skepticism to simple, saving faith in Christ was related by the
speaker, and produced a profound impression.
The paper with which this chapter is concluded refers to the life-long
association of the two men, Johnston, the “young cavalryman of Indiana,”
and Newgent, the “boy chaplain.” It was read before a special meeting
of the Steele Post G. A. R., and auxiliary orders of Rockville shortly
after Johnston’s death by Mrs. White, the wife of Judge A. F. White of
that city. Judge White was also a soldier and a life-long friend of
Johnston and Newgent. The doctor referred to in the paper had served as a
physician in the Confederate army, but afterward took up his residence in
Rockville, where he built up a large practice. The three men were present
with the wife when Colonel Johnston died, and helped to make up the
scene in the death chamber so dramatically described in the paper.
“LIGHTS OUT.”
“It is midwinter in east Tennessee in 1863. The rivers are
flooded, the valleys desolate, the mountain gaps gorged with
snow. It is the home of mountain patriots; it must be held at
all hazards to the last. This is Lincoln’s solemn wish; it is
a part of Grant’s giant plan when Mission Ridge is stormed.
A young cavalryman of Indiana is one of the ten thousand who
keep freedom’s vigils along the Clinch, the Holstein, and the
French Broad. He munches his meager rations of parched corn; he
rides the wild mountain roads night and day; he obeys to the
letter his orders to hold to the last man the ford of a remote
mountain stream. A buckshot buries itself in his wrist, making
a wound which heals long after the war and a scar which he
carries to his grave. The old flag stays in east Tennessee.
“He has a comrade from a neighboring county who shares with him
the suffering and sacrifice of that desperate campaign, he is
the “boy chaplain” of the brigade.
“It is the same winter along the Rappahannock and the Rappidan.
The snow, like a measureless shroud, covers the numberless
dead of the debatable land between the Potomac and the James.
There is another soldier, a mere boy, a young artilleryman from
the Shenandoah, who is one of the thousands who hold Lee’s
unbroken lines. His battery long since won its title to glory.
It helped to clear the mountain gaps of the Blue Ridge; its
red guns helped feed the fires which lighted up the valley of
death for Pickett’s dauntless charge. Ill fed, ragged, but
inbred with the chivalry of the South, he is in it all. There
is victory at Chancellorsville, but defeat at Gettysburg; but
St. Andrew’s cross still gleams blood red on the breast of the
South, The Stars and Bars still flash defiance from Marye’s
Hill.
“The young artilleryman also has a comrade from the valley, a
young trooper who rides with Ashby’s cavaliers in all their
wild forays.
“Two flags, two oaths of allegiance, the culminating hates
of a hundred years, separate these two young soldiers of the
North and the South. But they are not alien in blood, they are
brothers of the same race, Anglo-Saxon from the first Americans
to the last. They speak the same tongue, their mothers read the
same Bible, prayed to the same God; their forefathers fought
for the same country—Nathaniel Greene at Yorktown, Washington
on Cambridge Heights.
“It is midsummer of 1904. The cavalryman of ’63 is dying;
not in the weary hospital of pain; not on the perilous edge
of battle. More than forty years have passed since the grim
midwinter of east Tennessee.
“It is the home he has made for his declining years. The rooms
are cool and sweet, a broad porch looks down a quiet street,
familiar books are everywhere; his escutcheon over the mantel
shows his soldier record from ’62 to ’65—the old, old story
of duty and glory. A blue book on the table tells briefly
his struggle from the farm to the halls of Congress; the
faces of statesmen, kinsmen, and friends look down from their
appropriate places on the walls.
“The good right hand of the veteran lies in that of another;
grief-stricken she keeps her vows, ’till death do us part.’
“A grey-haired man holds the other. It is the soldier of
the Rappahannock. Lee’s battery boy of ’63 is the trusted
physician, the medical confidant, and ministrant of the Union
soldier. With all the knowledge of a learned and skillful
physician, he has fought the common enemy for the life of
his dying friend. But the odds are too great. Old pains, old
ailments, old wounds of ’63 outmatch the medical arts of 1904.
But the doctor has known the grief of defeat before. Once a
long time ago he yielded to the inevitable in the orchards
of Appomattox. He lays his ear close over the failing heart
to catch, if he can, its last lingering drum-beats in the
battle of life. He places his fingers on the pulseless wrist,
searching for its last faint throb—and they rest motionless for
a moment on the old scar of ’63. ‘It is over,’ he says very
softly.
“A low word of prayer for the widow and fatherless falls
from the lips of the grey-haired minister at the foot of
the bed. It is the ‘boy chaplain’ of the dead veteran’s
old brigade—youthful to the end. Another man beside him,
thin-visaged and bent. It is Ashby’s old trooper, and his eyes
are full of tears as he walks slowly out of the room.
“‘Lights out.’ ‘The bands in the pine woods cease. A robin
sings close by, as they will in summer evenings; the fragrance
of old-fashioned flowers steals in through the white window
curtains. The sun sinks behind the church across the street,
the shadow of its belfry coming in at the open door. And over
all, Lincoln’s worn face looks down from its place among the
pictures on the wall. Even now with the hush of death upon us
all, we hear his plaintive prophecy of long ago: ‘We are not
enemies but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may
have strained, it cannot break the bonds of our affection. The
mystic chord of memory, stretching from every patriot grave and
battlefield to every living heart and hearthstone all over this
broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when touched
again, as they surely will be, by the better angels of our
nature.’”
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