of the services, in all their meetings, a leading place. Among the most noted leading voices were those of mine host, Alonzo D. Dick, Jeremiah Johnson, Orrin Johnson, and Thomas Cummock. My labors were now fairly opened, and I soon found abundant opportunities for usefulness. The regular meetings at the chapel were supplimented by others, principally prayer meetings, in the more remote parts of the town. These meetings were held on the week-day evenings, and in a short time became occasions of great interest. I attended them usually, and found every evening thus employed when not engaged at the chapel. In these excursions through the settlement, I was almost always accompanied by one, or all of the above named brethren, to lead the singing, as I found myself, though belonging to a singing family for three generations, unable to lead in this branch of the service. And in addition to these, I was also favored with the company of a young man of great worth and precious memory. I refer to Lewis Fowler, an Exhorter of great promise, but who soon after fell under the withering touch of consumption, and passed on to the better land.
As these side meetings, as I chose to call them, were multiplied, and awakened general interest in their several localities, we found the meetings at the chapel also gained in numbers and spiritual power. Soon the people began to talk of a revival, and pray for its speedy coming. Nor was it long delayed. The work began at one of the side meetings, where an old backslider was led back to the cross. The next evening, in another part of the settlement, there were three seekers at the altar. The Sabbath now intervened, and it was deemed advisable to open meetings in the chapel during the ensuing week. Here the meetings were held nightly for four weeks. As a result, seventy-five persons professed conversion.
The working force of the Mission was now put into a more thorough organization. Several new classes were formed and the old ones carefully organized, making six in all. A Sunday School was established, bringing into its promising field the latent talent of the church.
But we had hardly got our home work fully in hand, when there came an invitation from Stockbridge, several miles below, to extend our labors into that settlement. There had been a Congregational Mission among the Stockbridge nation for many years, but its condition was not very promising.
The chapel was located in the central portion of the reservation, and the Mission was now in charge of Dr. Marsh, a gentleman of education and ability. He divided his time, however, between the ministerial and medical professions, and, as a result, the spiritual interests necessarily languished.
During the progress of our revival in Brothertown, Brother David Wiggins, who had recently removed to Stockbridge, had been accompanied to the meeting by several of his neighbors, and they had been converted. This fact will explain the invitation now given. We accepted, and a meeting was opened, using the residence of Brother Wiggins as a temporary chapel. The meetings, however, had hardly been commenced, when there came a remonstrance from Dr. Marsh. The remonstrance, which was expressed in very emphatic terms, assumed that I had no right to embrace any portion of the Stockbridge reservation in my field of labor. But what was I to do? Some of our own sheep had gone down into Goshen to find pasturage, and now a few of the lambs of a strange flock had come to us seeking care and sustenance. Must these be left to the bleak winds that were evidently sweeping around them, to chill their warm blood in their veins and cause them to perish in the wilderness? My answer was respectful but decided. Having been placed, by what seemed to be a providential intervention, in charge of these souls, I could not withdraw my oversight. The Doctor laid the matter before the Presiding Elder, but he refused to interfere, and thus the matter ended. In due time a class was formed, Brother Wiggins was appointed its leader, and several souls was brought to Christ.
At this place I found Brother R.S. Hayward. Before my arrival at Brothertown, this noble man of God, and his most estimable and talented wife, had purchased a farm on the Stockbridge reservation. They had already erected a log house, cleared a few acres of land, and founded a home both for themselves and passing Itinerants. Such a surprise, and such a cordial welcome as I experienced, fall but seldom to the lot of a stranger.
Brother Hayward was also an Exhorter. Two Exhorters together, what a ministerial force! Why, we began to feel that, by the help of the Master, we could take the whole land for Christ! Plans were immediately formed to extend our field of operations.
Among these, we decided to hold a series of two days' meetings, and, that they might prove a grand success, we selected as the localities the grand centres of population. We appointed the first to be held in Father Chick's barn, a mile west of the Mission Chapel in Stockbridge. The day came, and so did the two Exhorters. The people from the two nations came in throngs. The barn was filled, and the groves around it, until my head grew dizzy in looking at the multitudes and thinking of what was to follow. There was a congregation that might awaken the eloquence of a Bishop, and nobody to conduct the services but two young, inexperienced Exhorters. The reader may well imagine that there was genuine repentance on the part of the striplings, and, may be, hastily made vows never again to challenge a multitude, but these did not solve the problem of the hour. Of course, as I was "Exhorter in Charge," though the youngest man, I had to take the morning service. I was so thoroughly frightened that I have forgotten the text, if I took any; but this point I do remember most distinctly. It was my first thought, on seeing the crowd, that I would take for a text, "There is a Lad here with five barley loaves and two small fishes, but what are they among so many?" But the more I thought of it, the more frightened I became. Fortunately, I dismissed it before the hour of service arrived, for I seriously questioned whether I could furnish the people so generous a feast. How I got through the service I am unable to say, for I never dared to ask any one, and my friends, doubtless out of regard to my youth, forbore to tell me. As to the afternoon service, I need say nothing, for, though respectable, I have no doubt Brother Hayward has preached many better sermons since.
But whatever was wanting in the public services, the social meetings of the day were a great success. Here the brethren came in with their singing and earnest prayers, and the sisters with their Christian testimonies, until every heart was moved. In this part of the service Sister Hayward led off with her accustomed ability and spirit, making a marked feature of the exercises.
The part borne by Father Chicks, as he was called, the head chief of the Stockbridge nation, also added not a little to the interest of the occasion. He had been but recently converted, and his heart was overflowing. To see such a religious demonstration on his own premises filled him with joy, and awoke within him the fiery ardor of those other days when his burning words had swayed his people to the good or evil, as the tempest bends the forest at its will. Tall and erect in form, with a brow to rule an empire, he rose in the midst of the great assembly and came forward to the stand. Every eye was fixed upon him. Turning to the writer, that he might have assistance, if necessary, in the use of the English, by the timely suggestion of the right word, he proceeded to say: "Me been a great sinner, as all my people know." For the moment he could go no farther. His noble form shook with emotion, and his manly face was flooded with tears. The whole audience wept with him, for his tears were sublimely eloquent. Recovering himself, he simply added, "All me want now is to love him, Christ." Then turning to his people, with a face as radient as the sunlight, he began to address them in his own language. I could not understand the import of his words, but the tones of his voice to our ears were entrancingly eloquent. As he advanced in his address, his frame, now bearing the weight of four score years, grew lithe and animated. Soon the whole man was in a storm of utterance. Had there been no living voice, the attitudes and swayings of the body, the carriage and transitions of the head, and the faultless, yet energetic gestures of the hand, were enough to move the human soul to the depths of its being. But to these were added the human voice divine with its matchless cadences, now kindling into a storm of invective, before which the audience shrank, like shriveled leaves in autumn, then sinking to sepulchral tones that seemed to challenge a communion with the dead; now wailing an anguish of sorrow utterly insupportable, and then rising in holy exultation, as one redeemed from sin and inspired with the triumphant shout of victory.
The address occupied only twenty minutes. But for effectiveness I never saw its equal. Bending forms and tears, groans and shouts,
