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The Story of the EEY. T. L. JONES, 

Backwoods Methodist Preacher 

in the Pacific Northwest, 

During the Closing Years of the 

Nineteenth Century 


J E N N l^^'B -A'N b' 'P Y E 


PoLjjc Library 


Copyright, 1904, 
BY T. L. Jones. 












FOR a number of years my friends 
have been saying to me, " Brother 
Jones, you ought to write a book 
of incidents in your frontier work." I 
have hesitated for two reasons — my ina- 
bility to do such work well, and my fear 
that it might have the appearance of 

The late Dr. J. N. Denison urged me 
to undertake it, and offered his assistance, 
but before I could pluck up courage to do 
so he was taken home. 

Two years ago my dear Brother Gabriel 
Sykes, a Methodist preacher of the Ore- 
gon Conference, asked me to relate to him 
some of my experiences. Soon we de- 
cided to put them into this form. 

Brother Sykes has been very patient 
and has worked faithfully, putting my 
crude thoughts into proper form. 



Every pastor who was in the Oregon 
Conference when I entered has gone, so 
that the nearly one hundred pastors and 
presiding elders of the present have en- 
tered since I did. I have the honor to 
be the link between the old and the new. 

But, while my work has been done in 
the Methodist Episcopal Church, and has 
been limited to the Oregon Conference, it 
has been in the one great cause of Chris- 
tianizing the human race, and hence I 
trust that it may prove a stimulus to all 
Christian workers. 

With a prayer to our Heavenly Father 
for the Church that has done so much for 
me, for the younger preachers who are to 
carry forward the work, and that this little 
book may do much good, and with grati- 
tude to many helpful friends across these 
years, I send forth this little book in His 








REV. M. C. WIRE, D. D. 


THERE are no heroes like the heroes 
of the cross. There are no pioneers 
like the pioneers of the Christian 
ministry, who go forth in the name of 
their Master to plant the standard of the 
cross in new fields or on distant shores. 
The days of the pioneers are not over. 
The scenes of their adventures change, 
and the battle-line of the Church militant 
is carried forward with each succeeding 
decade, but the same spirit prevails. 

When James B. Finley went forth from 
the canebrakes of Kentucky, and when 
Peter Cartwright began his work, the 
States of Ohio and Indiana were an un- 
tamed wilderness, and the fertile prairies 
of Illinois were unsettled, except by a 
few home-seeking adventurers. But these 
intrepid men were not the last of an 
illustrious line. The name and fame of 


Jason Lee and his co-workers will never 
die. The story of their adventures to 
plant the gospel among the Indians of 
Oregon reads like a romance. The bravery 
and heroism of the Round Table knights 
of King Arthur's court were equaled, if 
not surpassed, by those true knights of 
the King of kings. 

The very fact that the historic contro- 
versy of our day dwells upon the compar- 
ative merits of Lee and Whitman in hold- 
ing the Pacific Northwest to the United 
States, is proof of itself that the mission- 
ary is the vanguard of civilization. 

Closely on the vanishing footsteps of 
the first Oregon pioneers came a type of 
men who are worthy to be classed with 
Lee and his friends. The names of Wil- 
bur, Waller, Roberts, and Hines are dear 
to Oregon Methodism, and their memory 
like the broken bottle of odorous ointment 
which anointed the Savior, and filled the 
room with fragrance. 

While this second company of pioneer 
soldiers was still in the field, there came a 


third company of recruits, enlisted largely 
from Oregon, who kindled their torches at 
the same altar-fires of devotion, and drank 
inspiration from the same spring of divine 

Among the latter is the Rev. T. L. 
Jones, the author of these chapters, and 
my friend of many years. As a true 
evangel of the cross, Brother Jones is 
worthy to be classed with any of those 
who have preceded him in the Oregon 
work. None have been more devoted, 
more self-sacrificing, more spiritually 
minded than he, and none more anxious 
to spend and be spent for the Master. 

Life and death have contended for the 
body of Brother Jones, but he has man- 
aged to do a great deal of hard work. I 
have twice visited him when he was given 
up to die, but both times death was cheated 
of his prey. Soon he was up and at it 
again with the same all-absorbing passion 
for souls which has characterized his min- 
istry for many years. 

He beheves in the Bible without mis- 


givings. He preaches a plain gospel to 
sinners without harshness, and to Chris- 
tians holiness of heart and life without 
fanaticism, as the privilege and duty of all 
believers. Sweetness of spirit, love for 
souls, unwavering faith, and indomitable 
energy, have made his ministry more than 
usually successful. Probably no minister 
in the Oregon Conference has been di- 
rectly instrumental in bringing so many 
souls to Christ as he. 

Modesty has kept our brother from en- 
tering more fully into the details of a life 
full of interest and incident. The pages 
given us are mostly concerning his evan- 
gelistic work, but this is only one side of 
a spotless life and a faithful ministry, full 
of power for good. 

M. 0. WIRE. 

Albaity, Oregoit, October 15, 1903. 



Chapter Page 

I. Seeking Gold, - - - - - 13 

II. New Light, _ _ _ - - 29 

III. My Call to Preach, . - - - 40 

IV. The Gospel and the Gambler, - 59 
V. The Frontier Methodist, - - - 70 

VI. More Work and More Light, - 85 

VII. A Place op Rest, 95 

VIII. Back to the Frontier, - - - 100 

IX. Bishop Taylor's Sermon Bearing 

Fruit, 118 

X. The Death of My Comrade, - - 126 

XL Back to the Pastorate and After, - 131 

XII. Christ Among the Red Men, - - 137 

XIII. A Marriage Among the Red Men, - 146 

XIV. Mountain Mud, 152 

XV. Sowing and Reaping, - - - - 160 

XVI. Ocean Spray, 164 


Chapter I. 

I WAS bom in Pike County, Illinois, 
February 4, 1841, and migrated to 
Oregon with my parents in 1853, 
crossing the plains with ox teams. It 
was a long, tedious trip. On the 9th of 
May we crossed the Missouri Hiver and 
found ourselves among the Pawnee In- 
dians, but my boyish dreams were not 
realized. Instead of daily hairbreadth 
escapes, our journey, from a boy's stand- 
point, was rather monotonous, and we 
came in sight of the first house in Oregon 
on the 26th of October. 

My father settled on a donation land 
claim near the site of the city of Eugene. 
The white settlers were few, and were 
surrounded by Indians. But they built 
a little log schoolhouse, and my father 
taught the few children in the neighbor- 
hood. We had three months of school in 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
:< ► 

a year, and once boasted a six months' 
term. Such were my limited opportuni- 
ties for an education. 

During these early years in Oregon I 
heard a great deal about the gold mines, 
and became anxious to go and make my 
fortune. I chafed under parental re- 
straint, but when I reached my twentieth 
year father gave his consent, and, along 
with four others, I started for the gold 
fields of Idaho. We were all young, and 
had never been far away from home. 
Each had a saddle horse and there were 
two pack horses for the company. 

When we had gone about four or five 
hundred miles we met scores of disap- 
pointed miners returning home. They 
told us all kinds of discouraging stories. 
The other boys became disheartened and 
said they would go no further ; so we 
camped, and for three days counseled 
together. I was determined to go on; 
having started for the mines, nothing 
should stop me until I had seen the 
" elephant." 



'bE rbW YORK 


Seeking Gold. 

The decision reached was, to divide 
the provisions ; the others would not con- 
tinue the journey. With one pack horse 
and my saddle pony I started on alone. 

In the afternoon of my first day alone 
my pack horse became frightened and 
ran away, scattering miners' dainties all 
along the trail; but after a long, hard 
chase I caught him. 

A few days later I came upon some 
strangers on their way to the mines, and 
one morning, just as we started from camp, 
our horses stampeded. I was run over and 
badly injured in an arm and a leg. Thus 
crippled I reached the mines in August. 

Perhaps, after all, the accident was 
fortunate, since all the work was new to 
me, and now I had leisure to watch and 
learn. When able to work I bought an 
interest in a claim, the value of which 
was, to me, an unknown quantity ; but I 
gave my two horses, all the money I 
possessed, and promised to give two hun- 
dred and fifty dollars more when I should 
have taken it out of the mine. 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
^=== =► 

My partners were practical miners, and 
our claim proving to be a rich one, we 
made money rapidly. But winter came, 
and soon everything was frozen. The 
snow was three feet deep, and we could 
do nothing but wait for the summer. I 
had a good cabin and a liberal supply of 
food for the winter, but grew restless in 
our enforced idleness, and on the day 
after Christmas, 1861, with a pack of 
seventy-four pounds upon my back, in 
company with two other men, I started 
to another mining camp, which had been 
discovered late in the fall, and of which 
we had heard some fabulous reports. 

After a few days of good traveling we 
came to a prairie, about fifty miles across, 
and camped at the edge of it. 

That night snow fell upon us to a depth 
of twenty inches, and the next morning 
there was no sign of the trail to be seen ; 
but we started on with our heavy loads, 
and were soon lost. We had exhausted 
our store of food and were almost perish- 
ing from hunger, when, fortunately, we 

\ "'v I 

^;j||&.^V I ^^^^Hw 





Seeking Gold. 

struck a trail, and, following it, came up 
with some men whose destination was the 
same as ours. They generously shared 
with us their rations, and, after thirteen 
days in the snow we reached the mining 

The snow was now seven feet deep ; the 
mercury in the thermometer was frozen ; 
flour was worth a dollar per pound ; bacon 
one dollar and a half; coffee and sugar 
five dollars ; and we possessed only ten 
dollars, with nothing for breakfast. 

That evening we made our camp in a 
timbered gulch, and during the night at- 
tended to the fire in turns. Early in the 
morning I went up to the store, and said 
to the merchant (whom I had never seen 
before), " What is the chance to get some 
provisions here without money ?" 

'' There is a very poor chance,*' he re- 

" Well," I said, " there are three of us ; 

we got in late last night, and have only 

ten dollars ; but we want something to 

eat — we have n't anything for breakfast." 

2 17 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

Then followed a long list of the most 
expressive epithets known to miners, 
gradually weakening as the force seemed 
spent, and closing with the mild exclama- 
tion, "What fools, to come here in the 
middle of winter with no money and no 
provisions !" 

Finally, seeing that the tornado failed 
to annihilate me, he said, " When can you 
pay me ?" 

I answered, "As soon as I can make 
the money." 

" How do you expect to make it ?" he 

" We are miners," I replied, " and in- 
tend to work for it." 

After some further questions he said, 
"I suppose you will have to have it." 

I said, "Of course, we will; we are 
not going to starve." 

He let me have a fifty-pound sack of 
flour and a side of bacon. 

I said, " How much is it ?" 

" Eighty-seven dollars and fifty cents," 
was the reply. 

■ 18 


Seeking Gold. 

"All right ; charge it to Jones & Com- 
pany," was my cheerful response — and, 
with the flour on my shoulder and the 
bacon in my hand, I started for camp 
whistling " Yankee Doodle." 

After relating my experience to my 
chums, I said, "It is root, pig, or die, 
here sure." 

We began our work in another gulch, 
and dug down through the snow seven or 
eight feet, then through a sticky clay 
about six feet (the snow had fallen before 
the ground was frozen), then we struck a 
rich bed of gravel. This done, across a 
small strip we would haul a cord or more 
of wood on our hand sleigh (made for the 
purpose), fill the hole up with dry wood, 
and at night set it on fire and thaw the 
frozen dirt, because, as soon as we took the 
snow and the clay off the gravel would 
freeze as hard as cement. In the morning 
we would rake the coals into a corner and 
one man would attend to the fires and 
keep hot water in camp kettles, while 
another would scrape up the thawed dirt, 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< =^^ 

and I would rock it out in a miners' cra- 
dle. In two or three minutes the rocker 
would be frozen, and the gold would 
freeze to the apron. It was necessary to 
apply hot water to the rocker in order to 
set it in motion, and to the apron to get 
away the gold. 

We would rock out from one hundred 
to one hundred and fifty dollars a day, 
and before we had eaten our provisions 
were able to pay for them and purchase 
a new supply. This productive claim 
lasted only a few weeks, so I decided to 
return to the claim left in the winter. 
Starting out in the month of March to re- 
trace my steps, I traveled all alone for 
thirty miles. The snow lay upon the 
ground to a depth of from five to ten 
feet — in some places even reaching fifteen 

At the foot of a mountain I overtook 
two men who wished to make the same 
camp as myself, and one of them proved 
to be the merchant from whom I had 
bought my groceries. For a whole day 



Seeking Gold. 

we traveled together, and toward evening 
met with a Spaniard and an American. 

On reaching the prairie of unpleasant 
memory a terrific storm came up and we 
lost our way. Here we disagreed as to 
the direction we ought to take, and two 
men turned one way, leaving the mer- 
chant, the Spaniard, and myself to take 

The merchant had a large sack of gold, 
but he became so exhaused that it proved 
too heavy, and I had to carry it for him, 
while the Spaniard succumbed to cold 
and weariness. We divided our blankets 
with him and agreed to send him help. 
One evening after the storm had blown 
over, we saw far away, at the foot of an- 
other hill a fire, and directed our course 
toward it, but after awhile we lost sight 
of it. The night was cold, the heavens 
were studded with brilliant gems. I was 
leading the way. Suddenly I missed my 
comrade, stopped and called but there 
was no answer. Louder and louder I 
called, and in response could just hear 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

his voice. Going back I approached him 
and distinguished the words, " I can not 
go any farther ; you go on, and if you 
can find food bring some back to me." 
" No, no," I answered, "if I should reach 
camp I could not return." Then I called 
again, and received no answer. Continu- 
ing my retreat for about two hundred 
yards, I found him lying down in the 
snow, fast asleep. 

I awoke him. We unrolled our blankets 
and laid down together in the snow. 

My foot was badly frozen, but as soon 
as day dawned we resumed our journey. 
Walking about a mile we reached an In- 
dian village. They were all asleep, but 
we went to the largest wigwam and, rais- 
ing the buffalo robe which served for a 
door, in the Chinook language I called 
out. Good-morning, and the old Indian 
arose looking very much frightened. 

They kindly took us in and gave us 

food ; an Indian woman doctored my foot, 

gave me a pair of moccasins made of 

buffalo skin, and we were soon able to 


Seeking Gold. 

start out again, finally reaching our desti- 

The Indians started on our track to 
find the Spaniard, but for lack of provi- 
sions we must keep on, and did not see 
him again. But we learned that the In- 
dians saved him. 

Some time after this I desired to go to 
a certain mining camp, but no one else 
wishing to go, I saddled my faithful 
pony and, with a small stock of provi- 
sions, blankets, coiFee pot, and frying-pan, 
started alone on a trip of seven hundred 

After two days I met with four men 
who were traveling in the same direction 
for about three hundred miles. Of course, 
I was glad to have company, especially 
since there was danger from hostile In- 
dians. Our journey was uneventful for 
the first day, then the others desired to 
leave the trail and take what they thought 
would be a nearer route. I objected, and 
told them it would be safer to keep the 
traveled trail; but they were independ- 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< =► 

ent, and said they were going by the 
other route. So, for the sake of company, 
but against my judgment, I went with 

Soon it became evident that we were 
lost. The time was July. We were in 
a desert — not a tree in sight, and no 
water. The country was covered with 
sharp stones and craggy rocks, and, after 
my horse lost a shoe, these proved to be 

My pony became very lame, and since 
this delayed us, the men became restless. 
I tried to urge him along by leading, then 
by driving ; but it gradually grew worse. 

At last they said, " We can do you no 
good by staying with you; we will go on 
and see if we can find water." 

So they rode off, and I never saw them 
again. After traveling some miles I 
found a pile of stones in the trail, and 
there, between two stones, a piece of 
paper, which I drew out, and read these 
words upon it, ^'We have decided to 
leave the trail and turn east." 

Seeking Gold. 

I knew we were on the border, between 
the hostile Indians and the Cayuses, who 
were friendly, and that the farther east 
we went the more danger we were in. I 
left the trail and turned west. Night 
came on, and I laid down on the prairie, 
but was so feverish that I could not sleep. 
Then the wolves came around me and I 
killed one, but instead of giving me peace 
this evidently aroused the thirst for blood 
in the others, and the howling seemed to 
indicate that I should be eaten up before 

How glad I was to see the daybreak I 
Starting on my journey, I had not gone 
far before I found it necessary to abandon 
my pony, and, with blankets on my back, 
I pressed on. There was just one thing I 
wanted — that was water. My mouth was 
parched, my tongue was swollen, my feet 
were blistered and bleeding — but I pushed 
on. Seeing a deep canyon I descended 
it in the hope of finding water, but it 
was dry. Then I directed my course 
down the canyon, and did not care which 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

way it went — east or west — I wanted 

Night came on. The bluffs were four 
or five hundred feet high. The bottom 
of the canyon was filled with sharp rocks 
that had broken off and rolled down the 
cliffs. It grew very dark, yet I went on, 
hands and feet and knees bruised and 
bleeding by frequently falling over bowl- 
ders. Suddenly I tumbled over a preci- 
pice five or six feet deep, and lay there 
panting for breath. 

I thought of home and mother, and 
was on the point of giving up in despair 
when I heard water trickling out of the 
rock. I struck a match, and there at my 
side was a tiny stream of water about as 
large as a small wheat straw dripping 
from the rock. Quickly my cup was 
snatched from the belt, and the music 
of the water as it dripped into that cup! 
Turning it into my parched mouth and 
on to my swollen tongue, what a sensation 
of comfort and satisfaction! 


Seeking Gold. 

I lay there in the dark, with my cup 
under that tiny stream, and emptied it 
again and again. At last my thirst was 
slaked, and I coiled myself up among the 
rocks and went to sleep by the sound of 
the dripping water. 

When I awoke in the morning the sun 
was shining over the hills. I determined 
to keep down the canyon, that I might 
be near the water. It was very rugged, 
but as I descended the water increased. 
About the middle of the afternoon I 
he^rd some one yelling, and, looking up, 
I saw on the top of the bluff an Indian. 
He beckoned me to stop, and signaled his 
intention of coming down. 

I seated myself in a good place for 
defense, and, with my revolver ready, 
awaited the new visitor. He disappeared 
among the rocks a long time, but at last I 
saw him below me coming up the canyon. 

When he got near enough to hear me 
I addressed him in the Chinook language, 
"Are you a Cayuse or a Snake Indian?" 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

"Cayuse," he answered. "I am a 
friend to the white man." 

To say that I was relieved, and really 
glad to see him, but faintly expresses my 
feelings. He came up to me and we had 
a smoke together, then I related to him 
my misfortunes; told him as near as I 
could where I left my horse, and that he 
might have the saddle and whatever else 
there was left. 

He then told me how to get out of the 
canyon and back to the trail we had left 
nearly a week before. 

I trudged along, and after I found the 
trail, met some other men, who had a 
pack train, and so went on my way re- 


Chapter II. 

IN the autumn of the year 1865, com- 
ing from the Idaho mines to spend 
the winter in Oregon, a few months 
after my arrival I was gloriously con- 
verted. It was a great surprise to my 
friends, and truly, a wonderful revelation 
to myself. 

I had been so intent on making money 
that religious matters had received only 
scant attention. But God's Spirit con- 
victed me of sin, I saw my lost and ruined 
condition, and cried out, " Save, or I per- 
ish," and our gracious Lord did save me. 
This made me so happy that I knew not 
how to express my feelings. 

I had been taught the Campbellite doc- 
trines; and, as I understood them, I was 
simply to believe and be baptized, without 
any expectation of religious emotion by 
the operation of the Holy Spirit. At six- 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

teen I had received baptism, but had never 
known the joys of regeneration, and now, 
when the light broke into my soul, every- 
thing was changed; my aspirations, de- 
sires, and hopes were all turned into a 
new channel. 

Two weeks from that momentous morn- 
ing I started back to the mines in Idaho. 
I occupied the same cabin among my 
former associates, but was in a new world, 
because Christ was being formed in my 
soul, the hope of glory; and when invited 
by my partners and associates to join in 
doubtful amusements, I was able to say. 
No. Ere long they concluded that I was 
a changed man, and, indeed, I succeeded 
in winning their respect. 

After a little more than two years from 
my conversion, I again returned to Oregon 
to visit my sister, intending after a few 
weeks to go back to the Idaho mines, but 
here I found something better than a gold 
mine, and the following January was 
married to Miss Mary E. Baird. Her 
father was one of the sturdy pioneers of 

New Light. 

the Northwest. He had been killed by a 
grizzly bear near his home, on the site of 
the present city of Grant's Pass. 

A few weeks after this happy occur- 
rence the Rev. Samuel Matthew, pastor 
of the Methodist Episcopal Church, com- 
menced a "protracted" meeting in our 
neighborhood. We attended the meetings, 
and heartily took part in the singing. My 
wife became concerned about her own sal- 
vation. The pastor visited her and urged 
her to unite with the Church. She in- 
formed him that her husband was a mem- 
ber of the Disciples Church, and she 
would not like to unite with a Church of 
which he was not a member. He then 
came to see me at my work, and, since 
there was no other Church organization in 
the place, desired me to enter the Meth- 
odist Episcopal Church. I raised many 
objections. I thought the Methodists 
took the Discipline, instead of the Bible, 
for their guide, and frankly confessed this 
to the good man. He replied, with excel- 
lent good sense, that the New Testament 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

was their standard of doctrine, and the 
Discipline merely a brief expression of 
this. Finally he told me that my wife 
would unite with the Church if I would 
only agree to go with her. 

This interested me a great deal, and I 
assured him that the matter should re- 
ceive thoughtful attention. 

After much consultation and prayer, 
we decided to accede to his request, 
which decision I reported to him. 

"But," I said, ^4et it be distinctly un- 
derstood that I do not believe your doc- 
trines, but I desire a home in some relig- 
ious organization, and whenever there is 
an opportunity for my return to the 
Church of the Disciples I shall feel free 
to embrace it." 

I also told him never to call on me to 
pray in public or speak in class-meeting, 
because I could do neither. 

His diplomatic reply was, " We will get 
along with that." 

We put ourselves under his pastoral 
care. Not long after this we went into an 

New Light. 

adjoining neighborhood to hear him preach 
in a settler's shanty. 

At the close of his sermon he said, "Let 
us join in prayer with Brother Jones." I 
shook my head, and he immediately called 
upon my brother-in-law, also a new mem- 
ber, who proved more courageous and 
made an attempt, but soon broke down. 
The pastor prayed, and dismissed the 

My soliloquy on the way home was 
anything but comforting. I said to my- 
self, "That is the way the Methodists 
do; everybody knows that you have 
joined the Methodists, and you ought at 
least to have tried." 

Upon reaching home, I put up my 
team and then went into the chaparral 
brush, and in my ignorance prayed to 
God, asking him, if I had done wrong, to 
forgive me, and vowing, that if he would 
do so, I would try to pray the next time 
I was asked. He graciously lifted the 
condemnation from my soul, although I 
hoped no one would again ask me to pray. 
3 33 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

In due time the quarterly-meeting was 
announced, when the Rev. T. F. Royal, the 
presiding elder, was expected to be present. 

Being unacquainted with Methodism, I 
supposed that the Saturday afternoon 
meeting would be attended by officials 
only, so I spent the day hunting, but my 
wife went to Church. 

When I returned in the evening she 
said, "0, I wish you had been at the 
Church to-day. Our presiding elder 
preached such a good sermon." 

"Preached!" I said. 

"Yes, he preached, and will preach 
again to-night." 

We attended the evening service, and 
sitting on the front seat I led the singing. 

He preached a good sermon, and at the 
close invited people desiring to become 
Christians to come to the altar. A young 
man and his sister bowed at the altar for 
prayers. The elder called on several 
persons to pray. Not knowing me, he 
reached over, tapped me on the shoulder, 
and said, " Brother, you pray." 

New Light. 

First I thought, no. Then remembered 
my vow in the chaparral brush, and so I 
tried for the first time to pray in public. 

Perhaps my prayer lasted a minute. I 
never was able to recall a word of it, but 
that night as I wended my way home I 
could hardly feel the ground under my 
feet for the joy welling up in my soul. 

Next morning at the love-feast I was 
one of the first to bear testimony to the 
love of God. 

Now I determined to see for myself 
what this Methodism really was, and 
asked the pastor to lend me a Discipline. 

I read it from cover to cover, and was 
astonished that the objectionable some- 
thing for which I was searching could not 
be found. I thought it must have been 
overlooked, so I read it again, but still 
failed in my quest. 

My mother-in-law then lent me an old 
Methodist hymn-book, and I read every 
hymn, and many of them thrilled my soul 
with joy; indeed, to my surprise, the 
hymns exactly voiced my own experience. 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
-^ ""'■— " . ► 

Here I was enjoying the witness of the 
Spirit without knowing anything of it 

I became an ardent Methodist, and 
have never since had any desire to re- 
turn to the Church of my childhood. 

Soon after our reception into full mem- 
bership, I was appointed class-leader. 
The public means of grace were some- 
what limited. We heard a sermon once 
a month, and walked six miles to class 
and prayer meetings, the nearest place of 
public worship, but we kept the fire burn- 
ing upon our family altar, and often it 
was my great privilege to gather a few 
of the miners in our cabin and relate 
what the Lord had done for my soul. 

Although uiy wife found much pleasure 
in these meetings, she had not yet re- 
ceived the witness of the Spirit to her ac- 
ceptance, and I was very anxious for her. 
Being an official member, I tried to attend 
all our quarterly-meetings, which of course 
came in both winter and summer. 


New Light. 

The winter season was the only part of 
the year when we could obtain sufficient 
water for mining purposes, and it was a 
great sacrifice for us to attend a meeting 
at such a distance as necessitated a stop- 
page of work. 

On one occasion of this kind our pre- 
siding elder called to urge another miner 
and myself to be present at a meeting 
thirty miles distant. We walked to this 
quarterly-meeting, leaving my wife at 
her mother's, six miles on the way. 

My reward was a wonderful baptism of 
the Divine Spirit, so that on returning, 
after a walk of twenty-five miles through 
a snowstorm to the home of my mother- 
in-law, I must needs exhort the w^iole 
family to be reconciled to God, until sev- 
eral of them broke down and wept. Next 
morning my wife and I returned to our 
miner's cabin. 

With such a revival in my own soul, I 
felt an irresistible longing to see one in 
the Church, and persuaded our pastor to 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

announce one, to commence a few weeks 
hence. I prayed daily — indeed was in- 
stant in prayer — for the coming meetings. 

The evening for the first service came, 
and with it one of the most violent rain- 
storms we had so far witnessed in South- 
ern Oregon. We must go seven miles to 
meeting — my wife upon a pony; myself 
on foot. 

On our way we called for my sister-in- 
law. Reaching the schoolhouse we found 
it in darkness — no one there. 

Our young pastor was in a comfortable 
home about a half mile away, and thought 
the night was so stormy that he would 
have no congregation. I was somewhat 
disappointed and discouraged. We turned 
about and went to my mother-in-law's 
to remain for the night, and at family 
prayers my wife, for whom I had prayed 
during these two years, was gloriously 

Next night what proved to be a great 
revival commenced in the schoolhouse, 
and there was hardly a home within ten 

New Light. 

miles that did not feel the benefits of the 
meeting. Before long the little society 
made me an exhorter, and my opportuni- 
ties to bear witness for Christ were con- 
stantly increased as I went from school- 
house to cabin in His name. 


Chapter III. 


n^"T"OT long after finding the Savior, I 
^ was greatly agitated by the con- 
viction that it was now my duty 
to preach to others this glad news of sal- 
vation by faith, but my lack of prepara- 
tion was a source of much discourage- 

Going about doing the duties of an ex- 
horter in the Church, I would hear in my 
soul the words, " I gave myself for thee. 
What hast thou done for me?" And this 
would be accompanied with the sugges- 
tion, " Go tell the people that Jesus can 
save." At our camp-meeting, and when 
the pastor held revival-meetings, the fire 
would burn in mv soul until, sometimes 
before fully realizing what I was doing, I 
would mount a bench and exhort sinners 
to come to Christ. 





My Call to Preach. 

In the spring of 1871, the winter's 
mining over, I took my team and drove 
from Grant's Pass to Eugene in search of 
V7ork. They were building the railroad 
between Albany and Eugene, so that I 
anticipated no difficulty in my effort to 
find work for the summer. 

Immediately I began freighting at Eu- 
gene, and had abundance of work with lib- 
eral pay, and everything seemed to glide 
smoothly along until August, when the 
railroad was completed to this place, and, 
of course, the freighting ceased. 

My efforts to obtain work in the har- 
vest-field, notwithstanding a general de- 
mand for laborers, proved futile. 

On Saturday afternoon, after having 
spent the week in fruitless efforts to find 
work, I met an acquaintance. 

"What are you doing?" said he. 

"I am hunting work," I replied, "and 
am very much disappointed to find none 
when general report says there is plenty 
of it." 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

"You are just the man I want to see," 
he responded, " I want to get some moun- 
tain balm." 

The mountain balm grew on the high 
peaks near Grant's Pass. 

I entered into a contract with him to 
deliver in Albany within forty days, one 
thousand pounds of mountain balm. 

The next Monday morning I started 
back to Grant's Pass, hired some boys ; 
camped at the foot of the mountain on 
reaching the place ; gathered the balm ; 
dried it, and then put it into sacks, and, 
at the very time that the Oregon Confer- 
ence was in session, it was all ready to 
be taken to Albany. 

At class-meeting, on the following Sab- 
bath, one of my friends said to me, "1 
wish you could stay and attend our first 
Quarterly Conference next Sabbath, when 
our new presiding elder will be with us." 

" I would," was my answer, " but I can 
not afford to stay here without work." 

"Well," he replied, "I have some wood 
to chop, and will give you a week's work." 

My Call to Preach. 

Therefore, since there would be ample 
time to fulfill my contract, I remained 
until the following Sabbath. 

We were delighted to learn that our 
pastor, the Rev. J. W. Kuykendall, was 
returned to us to serve the third year, 
for we had learned to love him, but the 
new presiding elder, upon his arrival, ex- 
pressed a desire to remove him to another 
charge, and to take some one from among 
us to put in his place. 

He inquired for local preachers, and 
discovered that we had only one, and he 
was too old for such a task. 

^^Then," said he, "have not you some 
one out of whom we could make a 
preacher ?" 

Father Kahler, the person questioned, 
replied, "Nobody, unless it should be 
Brother Jones. We have thought that 
he might some time make a preacher." 

The new presiding elder looked at me, 

and his gaze seemed to pierce through 

me. I shall never forget the thrill that 

went through my being, and the trembling 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

that shook my frame. I walked away, 
and shortly afterward the presiding el- 
der and the pastor came to me and said, 
" We want you to accept a license to 
preach, and take charge of this Circuit." 

I said, " Impossible ; I can not preach. 
I never preached in my life.'* 

" But we believe it to be God's will," 
they replied, " and your friends here think 
that God intends you for a preacher." 

I again answered, "I can not, and, fur- 
thermore, I am under obligation to de- 
liver some balm in Albany." 

" I '11 take the balm for you," re- 
sponded a friend. 

I went to my miner's cabin and spent 
the night in prayer. I was afraid to say 
no, and yet dare not say yes. At length 
the time came when I must give my an- 
swer, which was this, " You know that I 
can not preach, but if you fail to find a 
more suitable man for the circuit, I am 
willing to go around and hold meetings 
for prayer and exhortation, and thus keep 


My Call to Preach. 

together the membership until you can 
find a preacher." 

On the Saturday following, September 
3, 1871, I received my license to preach, 
and the presiding elder appointed me 
pastor of that circuit. My charge was 
ninety-five miles long and seventy wide, 
consisting of sixteen preaching places, 
and owning only two dollars and fifty 
cents' worth of church property, viz., a 
church record and two class books. Our 
preaching places were miners' cabins, set- 
tlers' shanties and little schoolhouses. 

My first appointment, the following 
Sabbath, was about fifty miles from home. 
On the Tuesday I began to search for a 
text, and when I found one my stock of 
ideas was very soon exhausted ; then I 
would try again with another. This pro- 
cess was continued until Thursday, when 
I started for my appointment. 

On the Friday I made a firm resolve 
to take this text, " Wherefore come out 
from among them, and be ve separate. 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean 
thing; and I will receive you, and will 
be a Father unto you, and ye shall be 
my sons and daughters, saith the Lord 
Almighty." (2 Cor. vi, 17, 18.) 

On the Sunday morning I appeared in 
the little schoolhouse, which was full of 
expectant people. I announced my text, 
and after a few sentences thought it re- 
quired announcing again, and so on again, 
and again, until twelve minutes had ex- 
pired, when I ceased. 

Shall I ever forget the disappointment, 
humiliation, and sense of failure and the 
desire to hide away from everybody ? 

A few days after this, at a public gath- 
ering in the neighborhood, the most fruit- 
ful topic of conversation was the removal 
of Brother Kuykendall and the appoint- 
ment of myself. 

My predecessor was very popular, and 
some of the people feared that the change 
would be nothing less than ruinous to the 

The reason for the consternation on all 

My Call to Preach. 

sides was forcibly stated by Sister Mid- 
dlesworth, an official member, '' We were 
getting along so nicely, and now they 
have sent Brother Jones. Now, while he 
may be a good man, he can not Dreach a 
bit, and never will." 

When this interesting fragment of the 
conversation was reported to me I held 
my peace and endeavored to look wise, 
but something within said, "Yes, that is 
true; I know I can not preach, and every- 
body feels about it as that woman does, 
and my appointment is simply an imposi- 
tion upon the people." 

But, encouraged by the conviction that 
my Master asked no more than faithful- 
ness in doing what one was able to do, I 
kept my appointments on this big circuit, 
although a full month would intervene 
between some of them, and sometimes 
strange events would have happened be- 
fore 1 came around again. 

At a place called Jerome Prairie — a lit- 
tle basin in the mountains between two 
streams — I had preached in a new school- 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

house on several occasions. When I 
reached the place in the month of Novem- 
ber, the windows and the stove had been 

" How is this ?" I inquired. 

" Oh, Mr. B (an avowed infidel), 

is bitterly opposed to preaching, and since 
he has furnished these things, he thought 
he might justly remove them." 

The reason why he had previously re- 
frained from expressing disapproval in 
this way was the fact that they were 
holding school there during the week, but 
now it was discontinued for the winter, 
and here was his opportunity. 

I built a fire under a tree and waited 
for my congregation. It was a cold, foggy 
morning, yet perhaps twenty people 
gathered at the schoolhouse, and they 
sat shivering while I, standing between 
two window openings, preached to them. 

At the close of the service I said, ''I 
would like to come and do what I can for 
you people out here, but we can not wor- 
ship in a place like this." 

My Call to Preach. 

Just then a very wicked man — an en- 
emy of the one who was putting us to 
this inconvenience — rose and said, "Mr. 
Jones, you may preach at my house." 

"All right/' I said, "I will preach in Mr. 
Tate's house on the fourth Sunday of De- 
cember, at eleven o'clock in the morning." 

About the time for the appointment 
thus announced there came a very heavy 
storm, the rain continuing for three days. 
The Rogue River lay between my cabin 
home and this place, and when I reached 
the river on the Saturday I found it over- 
flowing its banks. The Italian who kept 
the ferry pronounced it impossible for us 
to cross. Returning a few miles I staid 
with a Christian neighbor until morning. 

The Sabbath opened bright and crisp 
as though no storm had ever disturbed 
the peaceful heavens, and I started out. 
Since in those days I held the opinion 
that, to miss an appointment was an al- 
most unpardonable sin, it may be taken 
for granted that I should seek by all means 
to reach Mr. Tate's house that morning. 
4 49 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

" I must cross this morning," I said to 
the ferryman, on reaching the river, 

" It is impossible," he replied. 

^^ I will put my horse in your barn," I 
rejoined, "and you take your canoe and 
paddle me across, then I will walk the 
six or eight miles on the other side." 

He remonstrated, but I urged my plea, 
and at last he consented. With great 
difficulty we crossed the roaring torrent. 
When across he said, '^ I know you can not 
get through, because the lowland between 
here and the mountain is overflowed." 

"I'll try," I replied, "and if I can not 
get out I will come back." But I did 
not intend to come back. 

After walking half a mile I reached a 
slough so wide that I could not see the 
opposite bank. I walked as far as pos- 
sible upon a drift of logs, then, finding 
that the water was not over my head, I 
jumped in up to my neck and waded out. 
In this way one slough after another was 
crossed, from one to four feet deep, until 
at length I reached dry land again, 

My Call to Preach. 

The whole neighborhood had turned 
out to the ungodly man's house to hear 
the young preacher. 

Eleven o'clock came and no preacher. 
Some one said, '' He will not come." 

Mr. Tate swore that he would come, 
and then, by way of additional proof — 
thinking, perhaps, that an oath was not 
the best evidence in such a case — he 
said, " I can tell by the looks of that fel- 
low's eye that he will come." (He after- 
wards told me that he would rather have 
lost the best horse on his place than that 
I should fail to come, so anxious was he 
to " spite " his enemy.) 

Eleven-thirty came, but no preacher. 
I was climbing the mountain, soaked to 
the chin, and with boots full of water. 
Twelve o'clock : the congregation came 
outside, ready to disperse, when Mr. Tate, 
seeing me coming over the hill, said, 
"Yonder he is," and shouted like a Co- 
manche Indian. 

Approaching, I said, " Good-morning, 
gentlemen," and walked into the house, 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< . " ► 

opened my hymn book and began sing- 
ing, '^ 0, for a thousand tongues to sing," 
and then proceeded to preach, the water 
dripping from my clothes and running 
across the floor. 

After dinner I borrowed a horse and 
rode ten miles to an evening appointment, 
preached in a settler's shanty, sat up un- 
til eleven o'clock around a pleasant fire, 
then was taken to another tireless shanty 
to sleep, and took a cold which staid 
with me all that winter. 

Nevertheless, I was able to continue 
my work, and counted it all joy because 
God blessed my crude efforts to serve 
him, in the salvation of a few precious 

How greatly was this increased, and 
how rich was my reward, when in the 
third year of service among these people, 
more than sixty made the great confes- 

During the first year of my service 
upon this charge I came in contact with 
frontier life in its rudest forms, by ac- 

My Call to Preach. 

companying my presiding elder through 
Klamath and Lake Counties — very wild, 
mountainous country. 

Each of us possessed a good horse — in 
fact, the presiding elder was very proud 
of his — and we had a strong hack and a 
complete camping outfit. 

On our first night away from the set- 
tlement we camped in the Siskiyou Moun- 
tains. It rained in the night and made 
the mountain road somewhat slippery. 

Next morning, when we had made 
everything ready to start out, this fine 
animal belonging to the presiding elder 
refused to move. We spent several hours, 
using various devices, but he refused to 

Then we took off his harness, I got on 
his back and started for the settlement 
to exchange him for another. 

Some freighters persuaded me to re- 
turn, offering their assistance, and in this 
way we climbed the mountain. 

Not many nights after this we were 
camped on the Sprague River, far away 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

from all settlements of white people, and 
about forty Indian warriors unceremoni- 
ously called in for a visit. Painted and 
armed, they looked very threatening, and 
conducted themselves with a liberal dis- 
play of impudence. 

They demanded food, which we could 
not supply, but told them that we had 
scarcely sufficient for ourselves until we 
should reach a white settlement. About 
dark, much to our relief, they rode away. 

Scarcely had we returned to civiliza- 
tion when these Indians began to murder 
travelers and kill and drive off the stock 
of white people. This was just on the 
eve of the Modoc War. But this trip 
was by no means devoid of amusement. 

The few settlers in the Goose Lake 
Valley had only the poorest accommoda- 
tions, and some of them did not make the 
most of these, but were very untidy. In 
this respect, unfortunately, the pastor we 
visited did not set a good example. 

We reached his place on a Saturday 
evening in the darkness. They had been 

My Call to Preach. 

expecting us for two or three days, and 
yet not only was supper not ready, wood 
not chopped, but none was hauled, and 
the ax was lost. 

Here, on the prairie, where he had 
taken up a homestead, lived the pastor 
and his wife, a married son with his wife, 
a daughter with her husband, and a sin- 
gle young man, in a little shanty. 

All except the pastor and wife had gone 
out to a temperance meeting. 

" Brother Jones," he said, " You take 
your team and go off about half a mile 
toward the lake and you will find good 
grass, where you can stake your horses." 

On my return they were seeking the ax. 

"You show me some wood," said I, 
"and I '11 soon make it into stove wood." 

He brought a few posts which had 
been used for a fence around the house, 
and soon with my camp ax, sufficient for 
many fires was made ready. 

At eleven o'clock we sat down to eat, 
with a large supply of hunger sauce. 

One day, while visiting here, I went 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ^ — ► 

over to the lake, out on the peninsula, 
where the birds deposited their eggs, and 
filled a bucket with eggs of the gull, 
goose, curlew, snipe, etc., intending to 
bring them home as curiosities. 

On my way back to the house I shot 
several birds, which I gave to the lady, 
saying, " Here are some nice birds for 
breakfast." Imagine my surprise when 
at breakfast next morning we were offered 
a variety of fried eggs, and informed that 
they had thrown away the birds. 

On the first Sabbath, after service, a 
lady invited us to come over the following 
Thursday and take dinner with them. We 
accepted the courteous invitation, and 
reached the house at eleven o'clock in 
the morning. Adjoining a comparatively 
new house was the little log cabin in which 
they started life out here. 

We were taken into the new building. 
In one corner was a pile of about one 
thousand pounds of wool, just as it had 
left the sheep's back. In another corner 
twenty or thirty undressed deer skins. 

My Call to Preach. 

The woman handed me a chair, but it 
was so dirty and sticky that, excusing 
myself, I took a seat on the doorstep. 

By careful scrutiny it became evident 
that the dirty, greasy dress of the woman 
was made of blue denim. Soon she ex- 
cused herself and retired to the log cabin 
to prepare the dinner. 

What ravenous appetites we had, trav- 
eling so much and camping out. In three 
hours from that time we were called into 
the log cabin for hot biscuits, green peas, 
butter, and buttermilk. 

In the corner of the cabin was a stack 
of large sacks of flour set up endwise. 
Here were also three girls ranging from 
eleven to fifteen, dressed in a single loose 
garment reaching to the knees. 

While we were eating, the girls amused 
themselves by climbing up the flour stack, 
squatting down, tucking under them their 
gowns, and sliding down. 

It was not easy to relish the meal even 
with our appetites. 

Having been appointed to the same 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

charge for a second year, I desired to 
move down from my miner's cabin to a 
point nearer to the schoolhouse. 

A friend offered me space on his land 
for a shanty near to a big spring at the 
foot of a mountain. I moved my wife 
and child and household goods, and 
camped under a tree without any tent; 
hauled my lumber four miles, and built a 
shanty sixteen feet square, in which we 
lived for three years. 

During the erection of this structure, 
I left my wife and child one evening and 
attended a prayer-meeting at the school- 
house, three miles away. In my absence 
the wolves came around the camp and 
barked, growled and snapped their teeth 
until my young wife was badly frightened. 

When I came home about ten o'clock, 
the wolves scampered off to the mountain, 
but I found my wife with her head cov- 
ered and her child pressed to her bosom. 


Chapter IV. 

IN 1862, on the occasion of my com- 
ing from the bleak regions of the 
Idaho gold mines to spend a winter 
in the beautiful Willamette Valley, in Ore- 
gon, I became acquainted with a man about 
ten years my senior. A tall, brawny man, 
measuring about six feet four inches, and 
drawing the scales at not less than two 
hundred and forty pounds. He was a 
professional gambler, but I found him to 
be a man of generous nature, and, al- 
though never a gambler myself, we be- 
came quite intimate friends. 

Years passed by. We had gone in 
different directions to woo fortune. In 
the meantime I had found Christ, entered 
the ranks of his ministry, and in the year 
1873, on this large circuit in Southern 
Oregon, I went a long distance to preach 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

M === — ► 

in one of the small fertile valleys of that 

My appointment was at a small coun- 
try schoolhouse, and I reached the hum- 
ble sanctuary on the Sunday afternoon to 
find fifteen persons present, all strangers 
to me, and not a Christian among them. 

At the close of the service, a very 
large, black-whiskered man came up and 
said, "Will you go home with me?" 

"Why, thank you," I said, "I will be 
glad to do so." 

"My name is Sizemore," he said. 

" My name is Jones," I replied. 

He then introduced me to his wife, a 
pleasant, intelligent-looking woman. 

It was a winter evening, and his com- 
fortable home, with its bright warm fire, 
presented a most cheerful appearance. 
He had on the place eight or ten hired 
men, gathering corn. 

After supper the wife brought out a 

beautiful Bible, which had certainly not 

suffered much from usage, and asked me 

to conduct family worship. This done, 


The Gospel and the Gambler. 

the hired men scattered, and the children 
retired for the night, but my host, host- 
ess, and I entered into conversation. 

I said to him, "I was once acquainted 
with a man of the name of Sizemore." 

^^You were?" 


"^Where T 

" In the Willamette Valley." 


"About the year 1862. His other 
name was John." 

"Did you know a man in the Willa- 
mette Valley in 1862 whose name was 
John Sizemore ?" 

"I did." 

" Well, my name is John Sizemore, and 
I was in the Willamette Valley in 1862, 
but who are you?" 

"I am Lew Jones." 

"You Lew Jones?" 


"And a Methodist preacher?" 


" Well, well. I am John Sizemore," and 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

extending his hand, much surprised with 
each other, we renewed our acquaintance 
in a friendly grip. 

Then I said, ^' How is this that you 
have a wife and children, and the latter 
almost grown to manhood and woman- 

"I married a widow," he replied, ^^and 
these are her children." 

We turned our attention to old times, 
and I told my religious experience — how 
I had been convicted and converted, and 
how the Lord had called me to preach. 
And as we talked the place became a 
veritable sanctuary, for both of them 
were deeply interested in my story. At 
midnight we retired. 

Next morning, when I was about to 
leave, they said, " Whenever you come up 
here to preach, make this your home," an 
invitation of which I took frequent ad- 
vantage, and always found a cordial wel- 
come, was requested to ask a blessing at 
the table, and to conduct family worship. 

The summer following my first visit to 

The Gospel and the Gambler. 

these friends, I arranged to hold a camp- 
meeting in that valley, and appointed a 
certain day on which to prepare seats 
and a pulpit in an oak grove. 

Some of my Christian friends from 
Grant's Pass, thirty miles away, accom- 
panied me for the purpose of rendering 
aid in arranging the grounds. While in 
the midst of these preparations my friend 
John, and his wife, came up to see me. 
They lived about a mile away. I intro- 
duced them to my wife, and then said to 
him, ^"'I wish you would come with your 
family and camp during our meeting." 

"What, me? I would be a pretty 
looking fellow to camp at a camp-meet- 

The reputation of the neighborhood 
was by no means reassuring to those en- 
gaged in such work as mine. Indeed, it 
was said that the ruffians would break up 
the meetings, and I knew that if I could 
persuade John to attend, his respect for 
me would insure his assistance in keep- 
ing order, and I said, "Yes, it would be 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

the nicest kind of a thing for you and 
your wife to come and camp." 

Turning to his wife, he said, " What 
do you say, wife?" 

"You know I love to camp, and would 
just like it," she responded. 

"All right, I'll fix camp for you and 
the children." 

The next day he fulfilled his promise, 
and pitched his tent close to ours. 

The meeting commenced on a Thurs- 
day, and the Tuesday following I noticed 
a stranger in the congregation, dressed in 
his working garb, and I felt a very strong 
impulse to speak to him. At the close of 
the service I introduced myself to him, 
and ascertained that he was not a Chris- 
tian, that he lived seven miles away over 
a mountain spur, that he was on his way 
home, and had just called in while pass- 
ing. He promised to come back on the 
Saturday and stay over the Sabbath, 
bringing also his family. I shook hands 
and said, "God bless you." 

The meeting gradually developed in 

The Gospel and the Gambler. 
< ► 

interest, and the power of God was man- 
ifested in our midst. 

On Friday, after the evening service, 
perhaps at ten o'clock, a lady came and 
shook hands with me as I proceeded from 
the altar, and said, "0, Mr. Jones, Mr. 
Yarber, who was here last Tuesday, is 

"Is it possible?" 

" Yes, he is dying." 

"Poor fellow, I wish I could see him. 
If I knew where he lived and how to get 
there, I would go." 

My friend, the gambler, stood by. He 
said, "Mr. Jones, I know where he lives, 
and if you want to go I'll take you." 

"All right," I replied. 

His team and buggy were on the 
grounds, and in a few minutes we were 
rapidly driving over hill and vale. Some 
time after midnight, away back in the 
woods, we came to a cabin dimly lighted 
by a candle. We went in, and there lay 
the man upon his bed. I approached 
him and said, " Do you know me ?'* 
5 65 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

He looked up, and replied, "Yes, it's 
the preacher." 

"I heard you were sick," I continued, 
*^ and thought I would come and see you." 

"Yes, I am dying" (then a paroxysm 
of pain). When again able to speak, he 
said, " 0, I wish I had staid at the camp- 
meeting; I wish I had been converted," 
and was again overcome with pain ; " but, 
0, it is too late." 

In a very short time he passed away. 

About three o'clock in the morning we 
started back for the camp-ground, and as 
we drove over that mountain in the brac- 
ing mountain air I preached Jesus to 
John, and he said as we approached 
home, "I think I have learnt a lesson to- 
night which I shall never forget." 

A few nights later John's wife was 
converted, and he was deeply moved. 
The altar was crowded with penitents. 
John was at the edge of the crowd, and 
I stepped up to him, extended my hand, 
and said, " John, won't you come ?" 

"No," he replied. 

The Gospel and the Gambler. 
< ► 

I pressed his hand and said, "Do 

He answered, " No," but stepped 
toward me and bowed his head. 

I said, "0, John, do come." 

" It is no use," he replied, " but if you 
will pray for me, I will come." 

I led him to the altar, and he had no 
sooner bowed his knees than he broke 
out into earnest prayer for himself. 

Many professed conversion that night, 
and the meeting lasted until a late hour. 
Finally we closed, but John remained on 
his knees and would not leave. I knelt 
down beside him, and placing my arm 
around his neck, said, "John, how do you 

" I feel as if I would like to go into 
the woods where nobody could see me," 
he replied. 

" Let us go," I said, and giving him 
my arm, we passed out into the woods. 
There he told me the story of his life. 

As I think of that night, under the 
star-studded heavens, my soul is thrilled 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< — ► 

with the matchless love of the Great 
Shepherd for his lost sheep. 

His mother was a Christian woman, 
but his father died while he was quite 
young, and then came a cruel stepfather. 
So the boy ran away from home when 
only eleven. 

" Mr. Jones," he said, " time and again 
when I have been in the saloon, playing 
cards and drinking, I have seen my 
mother upon her knees praying for her 
wandering boy, and more than once have 
I thrown down the cards and gone out 
into the darkness of the night, and silently 
lifted my heart to my mother's God. But, 
0, I am such a sinner. "Do you think 
there is hope for me ?" 

And there again, in the night time, I 
preached Christ as a Savior of sinners 
until the day dawned about us, and the 
greater day of salvation dawned upon 
John's anxious soul. 

He and his wife became members of our 
Church. I was their pastor for more than 


The Gospel and the Gambler. 

two years, and when I left the charge he 
was an office-bearer in the Church. 

Twenty-nine years have passed since 
that camp-meeting, but John is still prov- 
ing the power of God's grace by a use- 
ful Christian life. 


Chapter V. 

THE time had come for me to leave 
Grant's Pass. I had lived here for 
a long period. Here I had been 
married ; here, with my young wife, I 
had united with the Methodist Episcopal 
Church ; here I had been class-leader, local 
preacher, and then pastor. I had trav- 
eled this large circuit for four years. 
Three years was the limit, according to 
the law of the Church, but at the end of 
the third year the people desired that I 
should be returned to them, and I was 
anxious to stay with them. So the name 
of the charge was changed, and I re- 
turned to the same work for the fourth 

Now I must move. It was a trial to 

me and my consecrated wife, for we had 

about persuaded ourselves that no such 

people could be found at any other place. 







A Frontier Methodist. 

Our new charge was known as Clear 
Creek Circuit, and was distant about three 
hundred miles. Taking my wife and 
child, I drove from the old to the new. 
Our little stock of household goods, and 
the few books of which I had become 
the happy possessor, were hauled by a 
freight team to the nearest point on the 
railroad, one hundred miles, and they did 
not reach us until two weeks after our 

Here we found a very dilapidated 
building dignified with the name of par- 
sonage. No one had occupied it for a 
long time. 

The last pastor they had had become 
blind, and left the work in the middle of 
the year; his predecessor had found it a 
troubled sea — one Church trial followed 
another, until the Church was badly 
wrecked. In these circumstances it was, 
perhaps, natural for them to look upon a 
new pastor with many misgivings. 

My coming was noised abroad, and a 
service announced for the next Sunday 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

A ► 

morning in the Mount Pleasant Church. 
This church was in the country, sur- 
rounded by dense woods — not a house in 
sight. It was a rude structure, and seated 
with rough boards. I drove there early in 
the morning, and soon the people began to 
come in from every direction. Many 
families came with ox teams — two or four 
oxen to a wagon — a distance of six or 
eight miles. It was a picturesque sight 
that rose before me when I faced that 
new congregation. I was very> timid and 
somewhat embarrassed. 

When about time to commence, a very 
odd-looking man entered, more than six 
feet tall, above two hundred pounds 
weight, dressed in plain, cheap clothes ; 
his trousers did not reach to the top of 
his heavy brogan shoes by nearly three 
inches ; he carried a cane in his hand, 
and wore a very large ^^ stove-pipe " hat 
that had quite an ancient look about it. 
He walked up the aisle, sat down on the 
front seat, laid his cane aside, deliber- 
ately took off his hat, wiped the perspira- 

A Frontier Methodist. 

tion from his high forehead, set his hat 
down, and then gave me a look that I 
shall never forget. 

I felt the cold sweat start, it seemed 
to me, from every pore in my body. I 
preached about twenty minutes with much 
embarrassment, upon which I announced 
a class-meeting, urging all Christian peo- 
ple to remain. Then I dismissed the con- 
gregation, and the two or three persons 
with whom I had become slightly ac- 
quainted introduced me to some others, 
and among them was this peculiar-looking 

"Father Palmateer," said he who in- 
troduced me to the queer listener. 

I shook hands with him, then I said, 
" Brethren, who is your class-leader ?" 

They introduced me to a man named 
Mattoon, and said, "This is the class- 

I said, " Brother Mattoon, will you lead 
the class T 

He was a man slow of speech, and be- 
fore he could answer, old Father Palma- 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< "" ^ ► 

teer said, " No, sir, he won't ; you must 
lead the class. If you have come here 
to work, you must do it." 

I said, "All right, I like to lead class." 

So I went around and asked every per- 
son in the house to speak, while wife and 
I at intervals would sing some hymn. Of 
course. Father Palmateer spoke, and re- 
minded the new preacher that he had 
been a member of the Church for more 
than forty years. 

At the close of the meeting I made 
some announcement, and was just in the 
act of dismissing when the old man arose 
again and said, "I want to say a word 
before we dismiss." 

I said, "All right." 

He stretched himself to his full height 
and then said, "We did not want a 
preacher here this year ; I told the pre- 
siding elder not to send us one. I in- 
tended ^oing to the Conference myself, 
but was so poor that I could not do so. 
The last preacher we had went blind, and 


A Frontier Methodist. 

the one before that was worse than no- 
body, and we did not want any more of 
them. But the Conference and the pre- 
siding elder have done as they always 
do — -just as they please — and they have 
sent us a preacher. I understand that 
he has a wife and a young one — I do not 
know whether it is a boy or a gal — but 
I understand that there are three of them. 
What are we going to do about it?" 

After much more in this strain, sud- 
denly the old man turned to discuss the 
new preacher's personality. 

" I like the cut of this fellow's ^ jib/ " 
he said. " One thing is sure — he is not 
going to kill us with long sermons ; and 
his wife is a good singer." 

He wound up his harangue with a rous- 
ing exhortation to the members to rally 
around this " little preacher " and see if 
they could not do something. "I will 
bring him over a sack of flour and a side 
of bacon, and we will try him. Maybe 
there is salvation for Clear Creek yet." 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

After this unique reception I went to 
work with a will. I found thirty mem- 
bers on a circuit of seven appointments. 

Father Palmateer lived about eight 
miles from where I first met him. He 
was an old pioneer, and his children and 
grandchildren had settled around him un- 
til the place was known as Palmateer 
Neighborhood. Here there had been no 
religious awakening for years. When 
winter came we commenced a series of 
meetings. Great was our victory, and 
many were converted, among them some 
of the Palmateer young people. 

The old man was very faithful and effi- 
cient. Perhaps the most eccentric man 
I ever met, yet withal, a man of good 
judgment, and of a rich Christian experi- 

The meetings continued for four weeks, 
and the whole neighborhood was stirred. 

On the last night of the series we 
were having a most enthusiastic time, 
and, as the people gave testimony, sang, 
and praised the Lord, my soul was bub- 

A Frontier Methodist. 

bling with joy. But suddenly I missed 
Father Palmateer (he had always sat 
near the pulpit)) ; I looked over the con- 
gregation, and at last saw him sitting at 
the back, near the door. He was hold- 
ing his head down between his knees. I 
was frightened. What could be the mat- 
ter? So while a song was being sung, I 
went back to the old man whom I had 
learned to love like a father. He was 
groaning, and seemed to be in great 

I said, "Father Palmateer, are you 
sick ?" 

"No," he answered. 

"What is the matter?" I inquired. 
"We are having a good meeting." 

"I was thinking," he replied, "what a 
pity that some one would not come along 
with a big club and knock all these con- 
verts in the head, and take them to 
heaven before they backslide." 

I was so bewildered that I had noth- 
ing to say. 

The revival fire spread over the entire 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

circuit. The Rev. T. L. Sails had joined 
the Conference that year, and was sta- 
tioned at Rock Creek, adjoining me. We 
spent the whole winter in revival work 
on these two charges, helping each other, 
Indeed, we did not cease when spring 
came, but held camp-meetings, and we 
saw large numbers turn to Christ. 

One Monday morning, late in the 
spring, I called at Father Palmateer's on 
my way home from a revival-meeting. I 
was cold and wet, and, as I stood before 
his big fireplace warming myself and dry- 
ing my clothes, he pulled at my coat and 
said, "Brother Jones, is this the best suit 
of clothes you have got ?'* 

I answered, "Yes." 

He said no more about it, but soon I 
found that he was going around that 
large circuit, on foot, with a subscription 
paper (I carried it afterwards for years) 
which read thus : " We the undersigned 
give the sum opposite our names to buy 
our pastor. Rev. T. L. Jones, a new suit 
of clothes." 


A Frontier Methodist. 

Here is one of his appeals as reported 
to me afterwards: "Now Brother Jones 
has worked hard, and we want him to 
come back next year. When he came he 
had a good suit of clothes, but now they 
are quite shabby. I do n't want you to 
give much, but I want every one that de- 
sires his return next year to give some- 
thing. If he gets up in Conference with 
tho old coat, the preachers will say, 
Brother Jones, where were you last year? 
And he will hang down his head and say, 
Clear Creek, and they will think I do 
not want to go to Clear Creek. But we 
will get him a nice suit of clothes, he 
will go to Conference, and the brethren 
will say. Brother Jones, where were you 
last year ? And Brother Jones will hold 
up his head and say, Clear Creek, and 
they will think, Well, I would like to go 
to Clear Creek." 

When he had finished his canvass of 

the entire circuit, he came and said he 

wanted me to get my team and hack, 

and take him and his wife to the city 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< --■== ► 

next week, about twenty-five miles away. 
At the appointed time we went to the 
city, and he took me into the store of 
one of his acquaintances, and said to the 
merchant, " This is our preacher ; I want 
you to give him as good a suit of clothes 
as you can for this money." 

The merchant counted the money — 
nearly fifty dollars. When I met my old 
friend a few minutes later, he was as 
proud of me as ever little boy could be 
of his new boots. 

I heard of a neighborhood in the moun- 
tains, at some distance from Palmateer's, 
where the people had no religious serv- 
ices of any kind, and I longed to sow the 
seed in this neglected soil. '^Father" 
Palmateer knew some of the people over 
there, and encouraged me to go. In the 
second year of my pastorate I went over, 
during the hohdays. I found two ancient 
Methodists, but most of the people loved 
to fiddle and dance, and cared nothing 
for religion. Commencing meetings, I 
preached twice a day, and visited from 

A Frontier Methodist. 

house to house for two weeks. The con- 
gregations were good, but I could not 
persuade them to accept the gospel; in 
fact, failed to obtain any expression of 
interest beyond attendance at the meet- 

I told them that I would go home, and 
the next time there was a fifth Sunday — 
in three months — I would return and 
preach to them again. I went to my 
home, twenty miles away, but could not 
sleep. The people of that neighborhood 
were before me in my troubled dreams. 

In two days I went back. School had 
now begun after the Christmas holidays. 
I went to the schoolhouse and told the 
teacher and the children that I would 
preach there that night. The children re- 
ported this to their parents. The people 
were surprised, and came out from all 
directions. I preached all that week, 
prayed and pleaded with them from house 
to house. They were very kind and hos- 
pitable, but no one would heed my exhor- 

6 81 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

On the Saturday I preached twice. In 
the afternoon Father Palmateer came 
over. How glad I was to see him. There 
was no one to pray, no one to lead the 
singing or even assist. That evening the 
schoolhouse was crowded ; there was deep 
conviction, but none decided to start. 
Sunday morning the meeting was of a 
deep, solemn nature ; I exhorted, begged, 
and prayed that they would repent, but 
not one of them moved. Then I ex- 
claimed, "I do not know what more to 
do or say to you; I would be willing to 
lay down my life for you, but I can not 
do more than I have done, and I will 
quit and go home." 

Father Palmateer arose, his tall, ga,unt 
form towering up almost to the top of the 
little schoolhouse, and said, "Brother 
Jones, I know that you are very tired, 
but I also know that these people are al- 
most ready to give their hearts to God ; 
now can't you stay and preach to-night, 
and give them one more chance?" 

"You are older than I," was my an- 

A Frontier Methodist. 

swer, "and if you think it best, I will do 
so/' and then announced the meeting for 
the evening. 

The place was so crowded that I had 
to put my feet under the little stand 
which I used for a pulpit, in order to 
kneel to pray. I preached on the final 
judgment. It seemed as if I could see 
the people dropping into the bottomless 
pit. It was awful. The people turned 
pale and trembled. At the close of the 
sermon, I said: "If any of you people 
want to escape hell, arise to your feet." 

Nearly all in the house arose. " Open 
the door," I exclaimed, " and carry out a 
lot of these seats." It was quickly done. 
Then I said, " Put that long seat down 
here for an altar; and now, if you peo- 
ple want to be saved, get on your knees at 
this seat and confess your sins quickly." 

There was a rush for the altar, and the 
prayers, the groans, and soon the shouts 
of victory that went up from that rude 
altar, until almost morning, combined to 
produce a memorable scene. 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

Continuing the meetings for four more 
days almost the entire community were 
converted. And so, once more this ec- 
centric old man proved himself a very 
effective helper. 

I received into Church fellowship, on 
that circuit, one hundred and fifty-three 
persons. Some of them have gone to 
their long home, but many are still there, 
the pillars of the Church. 


■'■'uoeI^-3: .^ENox 



Chapter VI. 

IN 1877, being at Sheridan, and my 
friend T. L. Sails at Dayton, only 
twenty miles from me, we continued 
helping each other in revival-meetings. 
About seventy-nine were converted on 
my work, and perhaps as many on the 
Dayton charge. 

The most remarkable meeting we held 
during the year was at Dayton. This 
was the second year, of Brother Sails's 
pastorate here. When I arrived at the 
parsonage we began to make our plans. 
Opening the question, he said, " Brother 
Jones, they tell me this church was built 
more than twenty years ago, and dedi- 
cated by Bishop Simpson, and there has 
never been a soul converted in it. Let 
us ask our Father to take away this re- 
proach." We immediately laid the mat- 
ter before God. 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< — ► 

That night we opened the meetings 
with much promise. 

One afternoon when only about a dozen 
of us were gathered for prayer, we be- 
sought the Lord to so convict the people 
that they might come and repent. At 
that hour there was a man who did not 
attend Church, indeed, he called him- 
self an infidel, out in his field plowing. 
He heard the church bell ring ; he knew 
we were at prayer, and, as we prayed for 
conviction, the Holy Spirit began to knock 
at the door of his heart, and said to him 
(as he afterward reported), "What if 
those people are right and you are wrong? 
What if there is a heaven, and a hell ? 

He continued his plowing, but God had 
heard our prayers, and when he came to 
the house in the evening he said to his 
wife, " Hurry up supper a little, I want 
to go to Church to-night." 

He came, and when the invitation was 
given for the people desiring to become 
Christians to rise to their feet, this man, 
with others, arose. 


More Work and More Light. 
< ► 

The next night he bowed at the altar, 
and was soon converted. He afterwards 
became class-leader at this place. 

Not long after the revival Brother 
Sails built a church at Webfoot, three 
miles from Dayton, and just a little while 
before our Conference some young men 
from the country near, drunk with whisky, 
went to the new church, broke open the 
door, tore up the Bible and burnt the 
church down, destroying all it contained, 
the new organ, Sunday-school library, etc. 

The next year I was appointed to suc- 
ceed Brother Sails at Dayton. My first 
sermon at Webfoot was preached under 
the trees, close to the spot on which the 
burnt church had stood, and at its close 
I said, " We must have another church 
here." The expression of the faces in 
my audience seemed to say, " True, we 
need one, but we have put into the other 
all that we could spare." In fact, the ob- 
ligations incurred had not all been met. 

We, however, went to work, and in 
three months, with the help of the Church 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

Extension Board, we paid all the old 
debt, and it was my joy to preach in the 
new building, incomplete, but so that we 
could hold service under shelter. 

We began revival-meetings, and God 
responded to the self-sacrifice of the peo- 
ple in the conversion of many of their 
children. The following spring we fin- 
ished the church, and on the day of dedi- 
cation, P. M. Starr, our presiding elder, 
conducting the services, we had a great 
jubilee in the consciousness of possessing 
a new church and no debt. 

Toward the close of my second year of 
revival work and a delightful pastorate, 
my health began to decline, and the good 
people gave me a three months' vacation, 
so with my father I visited the home of 
my childhood in Illinois. 

During my absence the faith of my 
dear wife met with a severe test. 

One morning the family had used the 
last dust of flour for breakfast, and the 
children said, " Ma, where is our next 
bread coming from?" 

More Work and More Light. 

i< =► 

My wife replied, " I do not know, but 
God will send it." 

She took the baby early in the morn- 
ing and went to the garden to hoe pota- 
toes, laying the baby down in the fence 
corner upon a little blanket she worked 
until about ten o'clock. As she left the 
house she told her niece to start dinner, 
and the girl replied, "Aunt Mary, there 
is nothing to cook." 

My wife told her to put on some dry 
beans, of which we had plenty in the 
house, and go ahead just as if we had 
all that was necessary for dinner. At 
ten o'clock the girl called, " Aunt Mary, 
come to the house, somebody is here." 

On reaching the house, to my wife's 
surprise, there stood Brother Clubine, 
one of the official members from the coun- 
try appointment. He was accompanied 
by one of the stewards, and his wagon 
was at the door loaded with flour, meat, 
fruit, and vegetables. 

My wife said, " How is this that you 
come in the middle of the week?" 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ■ '"" ► 

"I started to the mill this morning/* 
he replied, "and when I got about half 
way there the thought occurred to me 
that I had better go to the parsonage, 
perhaps Sister Jones is out of flour. I 
immediately returned to the house, and 
my wife wished to know why I had come 
back, and I told her that I thought I 
ought to go to the parsonage with flour 
and provisions." 

Starting out, he called upon the neigh- 
bors, and soon his wagon was loaded. 

The dinner was prepared with thank- 
ful hearts that God had answered the 
prayer of the pastor's wife. 

The year 1881, when I was serving a 
pastorate at LaFayette for the second 
year, was a very notable period in my 
life, and one that exercised great influ- 
ence upon my future work. 

For some years I had been deeply in- 
terested in the doctrine of entire sancti- 
fication, and much desired to enter into 
the experience. I read the biographies 
of the fathers of Methodism and yearned 

More Work and More Light. 
< ^ ► 

for the same power to win men to Christ 
which was so conspicuous among them. 

My friend, Brother Sails, and I had 
spent many hours in the search for this 
helpful experience. We had fasted and 
prayed, and consecrated ourselves over 
and over again. Out of these things 
came many blessings, and God gave us 
some fruit in our ministry, yet we knew 
that what we desired above every thing 
else — the experience of entire sanctifica- 
tion — was not yet ours. In our search 
we had passed through many vicissitudes, 
sometimes almost daring to claim it, and 
at other times greatly discouraged. 

In December of this year, William 
(afterwards Bishop) Taylor, came to Port- 
land, Oregon. Brother Sails was pastor 
of the Centenary Methodist Episcopal 
Church of that city, and he requested 
William Taylor to preach in his church. 
William Taylor agreed to do so. Then 
Brother Sails said, " I wish you would 
preach a sermon on holiness." 

"All right," he replied. 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

When the time came for him to preach 
he took for his text 1 Thess. iii, 10, 
"Night and day praying exceedingly that 
we might see your face and perfect that 
which is lacking in your faith." 

His preaching was lucid and persua- 
sive, and my dear Brother Sails found 
the light he had been seeking so long. 
At the close of the sermon the good old 
man invited all who desired the blessing 
of full salvation to come to the altar. 
Brother Sails was the first one on his 
knees, and there he entered into the 
experience his soul had desired. 

He wrote me and said, " Brother Jones, 
come down; the Lord has sanctified my 

With alacrity I accepted the invitation. 
We shut ourselves in his stud.y 

" Brother Jones," he said, " I know 
what is in your way." 

"What?" I inquired. 

"We have been consecrating ourselves," 
he replied, "and then trying to find out 
how we felt." 


More Work and More Light. 

M ► 

"Yes, quite true," I agreed. 

Then he said, " We can not have the 
evidence that a thing is done until it is 

" No," I said. 

" Now," he continued, " It can not be 
done until we believe. First consecrate 
all to God, then believe he accepts the 
sacrifice, and the work will be done, and 
we shall have the evidence. We have 
been wanting the evidence before we be- 

I saw it. We kneeled there together. 
I wanted to be sure that my consecration 
was complete, so I went into detail; and 
when I knew all was on the altar, I 
looked up and said to my Heavenly 
Father, " I believe the promise — that 
the blood doth cleanse me." And there 
came into my soul a sensation of such 
peace and rest as was unknown to me 
before. I arose and said to Brother Sails, 
"It is done, I do believe." I was not 
excited, nor boisterous, but 0, such a 
sweet, calm peace in my soul. 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

This occurred in the morning, and all 
day long I kept ejaculating, " This thing 
is settled, I am all the Lord's. 

In the evening I preached for Brother 
Sails, and on my way to the parsonage, 
after preaching, there came the baptism 
of the Holy Ghost. It just deluged my 
soul over and over again. It seemed to 
me that my heart was like a small cup 
under the great Niagara. 

I returned home the next day, and at 
prayer-meeting in the evening, I told the 
people what the Lord had done for my 

Soon after this I commenced revival- 
meetings, and how the good Lord blessed 
me in my work ! About two hundred 
people were saved during the year, and 
many of our best and most efficient work- 
ers were sanctified. 


Chapter VII. 

IN the year 1884 my health was poor, 
and my presiding elder wished to 
help me to recover my usual vigor, 
so he decided to give me a charge which 
would make few demands upon my 

" Now," he said, " here is Oregon City, 
with an income from rents almost large 
enough to support a preacher. The 
Church is dead, so that you can not spoil 
it should you fail to do any aggressive 
work. You go there and rest.'* 

I reached the place Thursday noon, 
and in the evening we had ten persons 
present at the prayer-meeting. Next 
Sunday morning our congregation con- 
sisted of twenty-six persons, and in the 
evening of forty-three. The Church had 
a surfeit of pride, but was bereft of its 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

After the Sabbath services each week, 
I would find myself confined to my bed 
for two or three days. 

In November I went to visit Brother 
Sails, who was pastor of Hall Street 
Church, Portland. I found him in the 
midst of revival-meetings, with Dr. Deni- 
son assisting. 

Here I remained several days partici- 
pating in the meetings, but not daring to 
take any prominent part on account of 
the state of my health. 

One afternoon, when seated in the 
study with these two godly men, we were 
discussing my lack of health and God's 
power to heal the body as well as the 

"I believe," was one of my remarks, 
"that if the Lord sees it would be best 
for me to get well, he will heal me." 

They both agreed with this. We read 
over many of the precious promises, and 
then engaged in prayer. Brother Sails 
prayed first, Dr. Denison followed, and 











A Place of Eest. 

concluding said, "Now, Lord, while 
Brother Jones prays, hear him." 

I told God that my desire for healing 
was not because I wished to escape suf- 
fering, but, if it would be to his glory, I 
asked him for Jesus' sake to heal me. 

In an instant I felt as if an electric 
shock went from the crown of my head to 
the soles of my feet, and I was filled 
with a spirit of praise. 

"Brethren," I said, "the work is done." 

How near God felt to be! 

How sweet, yet awful, was the con- 
sciousness ! 

I came home that night and reported 
this remarkable occurrence. 

For some days I did not feel strong, 
yet my faith did not waver, but I went to 
work with renewed energy. Indeed, after 
this I could not feel satisfied to merely 
perform the routine of Church work with 
the spiritual temperature so low. In De- 
cember we commenced revival-meetings 
with the assistance of Brother Sails, and 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

-< ■■■■""■'■'■ =► 

continued them for five weeks. Large 
numbers were converted and many were 
sanctified, and I came out of the meetings 
stronger than when I began. 

During the early part of the meeting 
our class-leader, W. H. Hampton, became 
very deeply convicted for the experience 
of entire sanctification, but refused to 
make the consecration, and his last state 
was worse than the first. 

One day, after this revival, he came 
from his shop to my door to make inquiry 
about some business. 

"Come in," I said. 

"No, I can not," he replied. 

"You must." 

He came in, and I said to him, "My 
dear brother, I can not bear to see you 
so indifferent to your religious welfare 
You must meet the conditions — get right 
with God." 

"There is no use," he remarked. 

I insisted, but he repeated this expres- 
sion of despair. 

"Let us pray," I said. 

A Place of Rest. 

My wife and I knelt down, but he re- 
fused to kneel. I began to pray, and soon 
he joined us in the kneeling, and did not 
rise until he had received the baptism of 
the Holy Ghost. He became a very ear- 
nest worker. Many years before, he had 
heard the call to preach, but resisted. 
Now he was ready to undertake anything 
for God. 

He entered the ministry, and while I 
was presiding elder in later years, he was 
one of the most efficient pastors in my 
charge. Scores of people were converted 
under his ministry, and during those six 
years he built four churches. 

Our membership exactly doubled at 
Oregon City, and on the last Sabbath we 
had three hundred people at the morning, 
and four hundred at the evening service. 

Chapter VIII. 

■^^yOTWITHSTANDING a universal 

^ request from the Oregon City 
Church for my return for another 
year, it seemed good to the authorities of 
the Church at large that I should be sent 
to Drains, a very large circuit on which, 
for years, there had been no revival. 

The Rev. J. W. Miller preceded me 
here, and, after the appointments were an- 
nounced, he said to me, "Brother Jones, 
have you a good bank account ?" 

" No, Sir," I answered. 

" Well," he continued, '*• you can not 
get a living there." 

" If the Lord has sent me there he will 
look out for that," was my response. " I 
had to rent a house," he said, " and sup- 
plement the support I got from the 


Back to the Frontier. 

Dr. Denison was sent to Seattle, Brother 
Sails to Oregon City. We three, who had 
for years worked together, were now put 
far apart. 

Brother Denison and I went off into 
the woods and prayed over the matter, 
and since my appointment was looked 
upon as a grievance, we asked God to give 
me one hundred souls that year as seals 
to my ministry. 

Brother Sails and I agreed to assist 
each other in one series of revival-meet- 
ings during the year. 

When we arrived in Drains we found, 
upon the hillside, a little shanty which 
was pointed out as the parsonage, and it 
had not been occupied for years. 

Hogs were under the house, no fence, 
no furniture, except an old stove. 

I brought water three hundred yards up 
the hill, and my wife began to scrub the 
old place, singing hymns, as was her habit, 
in the process. 

An official of the Church passed by at 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

this time. He went dowa to the store 
and inquired, " Who is that up in the old 
parsonage ?" 

'' The new preacher," some one replied. 

Said he, " If a preacher's wife can sing 
in a house like that, she must be the right 

While we were in the midst of this 
cleaning process a large hog walked into 
the kitchen, and our boy Ebbie, about 
eight years old, put a rope around its 
neck and shouted, " Papa, come in here ; 
I've got this hog; let's kill him and have 
some beef." 

Next morning the official member sent 
a man to dig post holes, another man to 
haul posts and lumber, and in a short 
time the hogs were fenced out. 

For years I had strong convictions that 
it was my duty to become an evangelist, 
but here was a circuit of so many ap- 
pointments and such distances that it 
took six weeks to compass it. Six weeks 
between appointments was very unsatis- 
factory. Why not become an evangelist 

Back to the Frontier. 

at once ? Here was ample scope on my 
own charge. 

I commenced meetings at Drains. 
Brother Sails came to my help, and we 
had a great victory. 

Next I went to Wilbur. Twenty-three 
persons attended our first meeting. The 
young people were talkative, but I en- 
deavored to deal kindly with them. 

I said to my wife, " If we can have 
twenty converts here I shall be satisfied." 

The fire soon began to burn, the house 
was crowded, conviction was deep and 
pungent, conversions were bright and 

One evening, on our way from Church, 
my wife inquired how many had been 
converted. I replied, "About thirty." 

" Let us go home," she said, " you only 
wanted twenty." 

" Now," I said, " I want fifty." 

A few nights later she repeated the 
inquiry, and sixty people had been con- 
verted. Then I wanted one hundred. 

At the end of four weeks I wrote 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

Brother Sails, at Oregon City, " I am 
worn out. We have had seventy conver- 
sions, and forty were at the altar last 
night. I wish you were here." 

Next night, when the train ran into the 
station, this dear brother got off, and we 
continued the meeting for one more week. 
One hundred and three persons were 
brought to Christ. Every business man 
in the town, except a German blacksmith, 
was among the number. I took into the 
Church fifteen husbands and their wives, 
besides many young people. Among 
them was Brother Smith and Brother 
Cox, whose conversions were interesting. 

Brother Smith lived three miles from 
the place of meeting He and his wife 
were brought under deep conviction. 
They had small children, so that they 
attended in turns. The wife was not long 
in finding peace, and then she staid with 
the children, that he might attend every 
night. For seven successive evenings he 
came to the altar. About midnight on 


Back to the Frontier. 

the seventh occasion he came into the 
marvelous light, and went home shouting 
God's praises. 

Next morning he found his ecstasy 
gone, and Satan tempted him by suggest- 
ing, " Here is a proof that you were not 
converted ; it was all excitement." This 
put him in such a state of fear and anx- 
iety that he saddled his horse and started 
for town to see the preacher, and, as he 
expressed it, " Put the whip to the horse 
and prayed every jump." 

Just as he came up to the gate where 
I was entertained, the light came again, 
illuminating his soul, and he approached 
the door praising God for his great work. 

Brother Cox lived five miles away. 
Together with his wife he manifested great 
concern for salvation. His wife preceded 
him in finding peace. 

I was not well acquainted with him, 
but had become much interested in him, 
and one evening as he knelt at the altar, 
trembling from head to foot under deep 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

'^ ■'^"— ■"■""' ■ ■■■"■—' ^— ^ 

conviction, he grasped my hand and, draw- 
ing my head down to him, said, " Do you 
think God can save a drunkard?" 

" Yes," I replied, " Jesus came to save 
sinners, and he can save anybody." 

Very shortly the man was praising 

In this community was a church of an- 
other denomination. Their pastor desired 
very much to increase its membership. 
Our meeting had been in progress for four 
weeks, and I had not yet invited any one 
to unite with the Church, but had spent 
the time in persuading people to come to 

The time had come for the communion 
service of this Church, and the pastor, 
who lived in another town, came over to 
request me to omit our Sabbath morning 
meeting that they might invite all to 
this service. We acceded to his request. 

Very soon I discovered that, in com- 
pany with an official of his Church, he 
was going from house to house inviting 


Back to the Frontier. 

the young converts to come into fellow- 
ship with his Church. 

While thus engaged, he with his friend 
came to the house of one of the wealthi- 
est men in town, whose wife had been 
converted, but the gentleman himself had 
shown no special interest. 

These zealous Churchmen urged the 
lady to unite with their Church on the 
coming Sabbath. 

She was somewhat undecided, and after 
they had left she said to her husband, 
"What do you think about my uniting 
with that Church?" His frank reply 
was, "It might be well enough to live in 
such a Church, but I would hate to die 
in it." 

On Friday night he was at Church 
with his wife. Conviction was very deep 
among the audience. I announced serv- 
ice for Saturday morning at eleven 
o'clock, at which time I added, "An op- 
portunity will be given for any so desir- 
ing to unite with the Methodist Church." 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< g=a= — ► 

As this gentleman afterwards told us, 
that night, while his wife was sweetly 
sleeping, he was struggling for the light, 
and some time during the night the room 
was illumined as though the sun were 
shining into it with all its glory, and into 
his soul. He awoke his wife by shouting 
praises to God, and then exclaimed, " I 
am not going to be left behind; I am 
going with you to the better world." 

We knew nothing of all this, but at the 
appointed hour the house was crowded. 
At the close of the sermon the invitation 
to unite with the Church was given, and 
to the astonishment of all, this man was 
the first to offer himself. His wife and 
about fifty others followed. 

The next day we attended the other 
•Church in crowds, and here also a similar 
invitation was given, but to their sur- 
prise no one accepted it. They were all 
housed, and we had not been guilty of 
the sin of proselyting. 

At Oakland, we possessed an old church 
on the point of a hill, and the new town 

Back to the Frontier. 

had been built away from it. Pastors for 
some time had been using the Baptist 
church, down in town, once in three 
months. Now we got himber, seated our 
own old church, and commenced our next 
meeting here in March. Again God's 
Spirit was with us. After three weeks, 
Brother Sails once more came to help me, 
and at the close we counted forty con- 
verts. Among these was a young man, 
a son of the wealthiest man in Douglas 
County. One night I preached on the 
subject of "Restitution." This young 
went home that night, and, taking from 
his pocket a beautiful gold watch — a 
present from his mother, this conversa- 
tion took place. 

"Father, I want to sell you this watch." 


"I want some money." 

" Well, you always have all the money 
you want; if you need any, I'll give it to 


"No, I don't want you to give it to 
me; I want to sell my watch." 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
-^ — — — ^' . ► 

The father began to feel a little annoy- 
ance amid his surprise, and insisted upon 
knowing the reason. 

"Well," said the son, ^^Mr. Jones says 
if we have wronged anybody, we must 
make it right, or we can not get right 
with God, and I want to be a Christian 
at all costs. I have wronged some of 
the boys out of their money, and I want 
to pay it back." 

The father, although himself not a 
Christian, was deeply moved, and said, 
"You shall have all the money you want." 

He made restitution, and was gloriously 

We closed this meeting on the Friday 
evening, and I at once started out for 
Garden Valley. Commenced a meeting 
here the next evening. 

On the Sunday morning I observed a 
pleasant looking gentleman in the audi- 
ence whom I had not seen before. He 
was evidently deeply moved. At the 
close of the meeting I introduced myself 
to him, and found that his name was 

Back to the Frontier. 

West; he lived about three miles from 
the schoolhouse. I urged him to attend 
our meetings. He did not come again 
for several days, but I was so deeply in- 
terested in him that one afternoon I 
walked out the three miles and found 
him alone — his wife was out visiting. 

Immediately I addressed myself to the 
question of his soul's salvation. He broke 
down and wept, and I said, " Let us kneel 
down and seek your conversion now." 

^•No," he said, "wait till my wife 

Soon his wife returned, and a little 
conversation revealed her desire to be- 
come a Christian. 

I took supper with them, and we went 
together to Church, where that night he 
was brought to Christ, and not long after- 
wards his wife also was converted. 

After a Sabbath spent at Drains, I 
commenced meetings in the Calipooi 
Schoolhouse, holding one for forty min- 
utes at the noon hour among the school 
children, and then another in the evening. 

From the GtOld Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

There was one man in attendance who 
would hurriedly leave the house at the 
close of the service, and I could not ap- 
proach him. His wife was a member of 
the Church. She said to me, "I want 
you to go home with us some night that 
you may speak with my husband." 

" I will go the first time you bring the 
wagon," I responded. 

A few evenings later I accepted this 
invitation, and found my opportunity 
next morning after breakfast, when his 
wife said, " Mr. Jones, Mr. Cook wants to 
ask you some questions." 

"All right," I replied, "I will answer 
any question that I can, and, if unable to 
answer, will frankly say so." 

"Well," he said, "I want to know 
where the third heaven is." 

"My dear sir," I answered, "I don't 
know where the third is, but I can tell 
you how to get to the first," and I 
preached unto him repentance. 

He then asked, "What was the gulf 
fixed between the rich man and Lazarus?" 

Back to the Frontier. 

"I do not know," was my response, 
^^but sin is the gulf between man and his 
God," and I preached unto him Jesus the 

After several other questions of like 
nature, he arose from his chair and left 
the room. 

It was understood that he was to drive 
me back to the schoolhouse for service 
at noon, but he failed to return in time. 
One of the boys hitched up the team, and 
we went without him. 

He came to the evening meeting, how- 
ever, with his family, and sat near the 
front with his devout wife. When the 
invitation for seekers was given, he was 
the first upon his knees." 

I knelt beside him, and said, "Mr. 
Cook, are you going to give God your 

"I have done," was his prompt reply, 
"and am converted, but I thought I ought 
to come to this altar to let people know 
that I am not ashamed of it." 

When an opportunity for testimony 
8 113 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

was given he arose and said, " This morn- 
ing I asked Brother Jones where the 
third heaven was, but he told me that I 
must repent or I should never get to the 
first heaven. He preached Jesus until I 
could stand it no longer, and I went out 
into the woods. While you were here I 
was praying, and the Lord has wonder- 
fully blessed my soul." 

He became a faithful official member 
of the Church. 

This great visitation from the Day 
Spring on high culminated in two camp- 
meetings, sixty miles apart. 

A^t the time of the first one we had a 
great rainstorm, but I took my family 
and camp equipage to the scene of the 
meeting, found nobody present, and no 
preparations for the meeting. I went up 
to the public school, about a mile away. 
The teacher gladly permitted me to hold 
a noon meeting and announce my camp- 
meeting. Next day I repeated this at 
another schoolhouse four miles away. 

In order to reach the schoolhouse I 



Back to the Frontier. 


must walk across the pasture where the 
grass, dripping with water, reached up to 
my knees. 

I put on a pair of gum boots and, drag- 
ging behind me a fir bough, made a path 
for my wife and children to follow. This 
I did on two successive days, when the 
storm broke away, and the people came 
in crowds. And we had a remarkable 
meeting, resulting in the conversion of 
forty persons, some of whom are to-day 
official members of the Church. 

Among the converts was a man named 
John White, who had been a periodical 
drunkard. He was very deeply moved 
and, after a long, hard struggle, was glori- 
ously converted. 

At the final camp-meeting my other 
self. Brother Sails, rendered me much as- 
sistance. Indeed, so close was the affin- 
ity between us that it could not fail to 
be observed by others. 

John White attended this meeting, and 
heard Brother Sails for the first time. 

After a few services, he said to me, in 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

his quaint way, " Do you know what you 
and Brother Sails reminds me of?" 

"No," I answered. 

" Why," said he, " You remind me of 
two old hounds I once owned." 

"How is that?" I inquired. 

" When out in the mountains/' he re- 
plied, "I would start the dogs out, and 
one would look at the other and throw 
up his head and sniff, the other would 
throw up his head and sniff back, then 
they would start out in different direc- 
tions. So I see you look at Brother 
Sails and nod your head, he nods back, 
and you seem to perfectly understand 
each other and work so harmoniously to- 

John became a great worker in the 

The father of the boy who made res- 
titution was brought to the light. 

When he and his wife knelt at the 
altar — the man being more than sixty 
years old — he exclaimed, " Wife, we will 
give up everything, won't we ?" 

Back to the Frontier. 

" Yes, Lord," she responded, " every- 
thing, money and all." 

Money had been his God, so that they 
were getting close to the kingdom. 

When they gave themselves to God, 
what an influence it exerted ! Twenty 
relatives were also gathered in. 

This broken down circuit paid its 
preacher, that year, a larger salary than 
he ever received before. 

At the close of the year God had an- 
swered our prayers with good measure, 
pressed down and running over. Instead 
of one hundred, we had three hundred 
and twelve conversions, out of which 
more than two hundred persons united 
with our Church. 


Chapter IX. 


IN the year 1885, by request of the 
Oregon Conference, Bishop Walden 
gave Brother Sails and myself nomi- 
nal appointments, with the understanding 
that we should act as Conference Evan- 

During the year, desiring to visit com- 
munities destitute of the gospel, we went 
into the Illinois Valley, where they had 
no religious services of any kind. 

We held a few meetings in school- 
houses, and then announced a camp-meet- 
ing, and, with the assistance of a man 
and a team, got lumber and arranged 

We were told of young people eighteen 
years of age who had never heard a ser- 
mon. Certainly some of them acted 
strangely in a religious meeting. 

Bishop Taylor's Sermon Bearing Fruit. 
< ► 

One evening, as I began to preach, a 
tall, sturdy young man came in and took 
a seat near the front of the pulpit. He 
wore a slouch hat on one side of his 
head, had a short pipe in his mouth, and 
a young woman hanging upon each arm. 
He neither removed hat nor pipe, but 
looked up at me with great curiosity. 
The fumes of smoke ascended into my 
face, and began to produce a choking 

Very kindly I addressed him, and said, 
"Will you please stop smoking until I 
stop preaching?" 

" Yes, sir; yes, sir," was his reply, and 
he put the pipe in his pocket. 

"And won't you please take off your 

"Yes, sir." And off it came. 

He seemed to be perfectly willing to 
do anything that I might suggest to him. 

The weather was very warm here, and 

one afternoon a young man brought a 

bucket of water from the spring and, in 

the midst of the sermon, passed through 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

the congregation to water the people as 
if they had been a herd of cattle. 

On the last Sabbath of our meetings, I 
saw, on the outskirts of the congregation, 
a man whom I knew to have committed 
murder. He had served a term in the 
penitentiary, and I had visited him there. 
I recognized him, but could not get near 

In the evening thirty or forty people 
came to the altar, and this man was among 

He knelt apart from the others. I went 
over to him and said, " Do you want to 
be a Christian ?" 

With much earnestness he said, "0 
yes ; yes." 

Then he said, " Mr. Jones, do you know 

^'Yes, I know you," was my reply. 

" Do you think there is any hope for 
me, I am such a sinner?" 

I quoted from the blessed Book, 
" Though your sins be as scarlet, they 
shall be as white as snow." 


" ^-t IfEf/ YORK 



Bishop Taylor's Sermon Bearing Fruit. 
< ► 

That night he found peace. 

At Sheridan, where Brother Shoreland 
was pastor, we witnessed seventy-six con- 
versions, and thirty-one persons professed 
to have entered upon the life of entire 
sanctification . 

During this meeting Brother Shoreland 
was seized with a profound conviction 
that he ought to go as a missionary to 
Africa. He resolved to offer himself to 
Bishop Taylor for this work, and wrote 
his letter, but left it unsealed and prayed 
all night, asking God if it were his will 
that he would open the way. In the 
morning he posted his letter. 

M. C. Wire was pastor of the First 
Church, Salem, and urged us to come and 
hold a meeting. 

The Church was deluged with worldli- 
ness — the young people were dancing, 
and skating in the rink. I said to 
Brother Wire, "As far as we are able to 
judge, every member of the Sheridan 
Church is now converted, with perhaps 
one exception." 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< -^ ^ 

He replied, " I would be a happy pastor 
if such were the case in my Church." 

We commenced on January 9th, and for 
three weeks preached night and day to 
the Church. We enjoyed the hearty co- 
operation of the presiding elder, W. S. 
Harrington; the president of Willamette 
University, Thomas Van Scoy; and the 
faithful pastor and his wife. 

At the end of this time, in a consecra- 
tion service on the Friday evening, the 
baptism of the Holy Ghost came upon us. 
Old feuds were settled, and a spirit of 
earnestness took possession of the mem- 

Now we turned our attention to the 
outsiders, and they came flocking in 
crowds to the altar — as many as fifty 
were converted in one evening. The 
meeting continued for seven weeks, the 
whole city was stirred, and about five 
hundred people were converted. It was 
said that every student taking the college 
course in Willamette University was con- 






Bishop Taylor's Sermon Bearing Fruit. 

M ► 

During this meeting Brother Shoreland 
received a letter notifying him of his ac- 
ceptance by Bishop Taylor. He must 
come at once, for in a very short time a 
company of missionaries would sail from 
New York. But he had no money. He 
came to see us at Salem, and we sent 
him to our rich friend, W. W. Brooks, 
who, since entering into the experience 
of entire sanctification at the Canby 
Camp-meeting, had been devoting much 
of his means to missions. He furnished 
the means, and in a few days Brother 
Shoreland started for Africa, where, after 
a short period of faithful service, he 
passed away on the banks of the Congo. 

This excellent Brother Brooks became 
a great helper in Bishop Taylor's African 
Missions, and perhaps the original cause 
of it was Bishop Taylor's sermon on 
" Holiness," preached in Centenary Meth- 
odist Episcopal Church at the time that 
Brother Sails was pastor. 

At that time, as I have stated. Brother 
Sails was sanctified, and through him I 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

came into the same light, and through 
our preaching at the Canby Camp-meeting 
Brother Brooks received this great bless- 
ing, and in this way the Lord opened up 
resources for Bishop Taylor's great work. 
Indeed, Brother Brooks gave $34,000 to 
this work, and appointed me executor of 
his will, bequeathing the remainder of 
his estate to the same work, but Bishop 
Taylor having retired, after correspond- 
ence, the mission authorities relinquished 
their claim, and it went to Mrs. Brooks. 

From Salem we went to Albany, and 
among our converts here was Lizzie Mc- 
Neal. She had never heard of Bishop 
Taylor and his African Mission — not hav- 
ing been raised a Methodist. 

Soon after her conversion I put into 
her hands the "Life of William Taylor," 
by Davies. A few days afterwards she 
said to me, "Brother Jones, I shall have 
to go to Africa as a missionary." 

"Pray over the matter," I said. After 
prayer and due deliberation, she offered 




' 'NOX 


THE New Y^^- 



Bishop Taylor's Sermon Bearing Fruit. 
< ► 

herself, and was accepted by Bishop Tay- 
lor's commission. 

Brother Brooks furnished her money, 
and she landed in Africa, was carried 
from the boat to the shore on the naked 
back of a black man, and received by 
Amanda Smith on Sunday morning. 

That day they held services, and she 
wrote me that her heart was full of 
thanksgiving for the first day spent on 
African soil. She had seen two people 
converted. Soon she was placed in charge 
of a school, and we sent her cloth and a 
sewing-machine for the purpose of making 
clothing for her pupils, and she did sev- 
eral years of faithful service. 

Such were some of the fruits of our 
first year's work as evangelists. 

What a joy it was to count no less 
than one thousand converts at its close ! 


Chapter X. 

THE office of Conference Evangelist 
was not known to Methodism at 
this time, and Bishop Harris, who 
presided at our Conference in Forest 
Grove, was not disposed to give us nom- 
inal appointments that we might be free 
to do evangelistic work. However, the 
influence of F. P. Tower and other prom- 
inent men prevailed with him, and once 
more we started out in this delightful work. 

We held a remarkable meeting at Sil- 
verton. J. H. Wood was their new pas- 
tor, and he found about six members of 
the Church. 

We expected to entertain ourselves at 
the hotel, but, to our surprise and delight, 
we found on arriving Father and Mother 
Skaif, who had been under our pastorate 
in other years, and they gladly received 
us into their home. 


The Death of My Comrade. 

Here, in this stronghold of infidelity, 
God gave us one hundred and twenty- 
nine conversions, one hundred and five of 
whom united with the Methodist Episcopal 

Among many remarkable conversions 
was that of the editor of the local paper. 
His wife was already a Christian, and on 
the first Sabbath morning he accompanied 
her to Church. 

It was my privilege to preach the ser- 
mon on this occasion. This gentleman 
was so grievously offended by it that he 
told his wife he had no desire to hear 
Jones again. 

He absented himself for two weeks, 
and then tried again on a Sabbath morn- 
ing. To his chagrin, Jones was once 
more the preacher. He became so deeply 
convicted that he could hardly reach his 
home. He went to his room and locked 
the door. His wife prepared dinner, and 
then called him. 

"I don't want any dinner," was his 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< — ► 

About five P. M. he began to shout 
the praises of God, and came out of his 
room a saved man. 

In the evening he was at Church, and 
during the testimony-meeting just prior 
to the sermon he was among the first to 
speak. To the astonishment of preachers 
and people, he related what is here stated. 

Our year's work aggregated about eight 
hundred conversions. During our meet- 
ing in the summer on the Canby Camp- 
ground, I was laid low with sickness, and 
unable to do any more work this year. It 
seemed as if our evangelistic work must 
close. I was made a supernumerary 
preacher at the next Conference on ac- 
count of my feeble health, and Brother 
Sails was appointed pastor of our Church 
in McMinnville. 

To my joy, this great afiliction was 
lifted from me, and I started the year's 
campaign by assisting Brother Sails in a 
meeting on his charge. 

Now he began to show serious signs of 
failing health. The doctor soon decided 



-; ASTOP. L.E>3 0X 

The Death of My Comrade. 

that the sickness was unto death, and he 
preached his last sermon during this 
meeting from the words, "Prepare to 
meet thy God." 

Our meeting closed, and I returned 
home for a few days of rest; then 
started for Seattle, my next engagement. 

On my way to Seattle I called in to 
spend a few days with my dear Brother 
Sails, and was the messenger from his 
physician to tell him death was near. 

^' Brother Sails," I said, " the doctor 
says you have cancer of the stomach, 
and must die." 

"All right. Brother Jones," he replied, 
^'I'U be at the depot looking for you. 
Be sure and be loyal to God, and preach 
a whole gospel. Tell the people that 
Christ can save to the uttermost all that 
come unto God by him." 

He proceeded to make arrangements 
for his funeral as deliberately as if he 
were planning for our next revival-meet- 
ing, suggesting the preachers who should 
take part, and the hymns to be sung. 
9 129 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 


" Now," he saidj " You go on to your 
appointment at Seattle, and when I die 
they will telegraph you. Take the early 
morning train and you will reach Port- 
land at 11 A. M. They will take my 
body down on the noon train. You 
meet it at the depot and take it to the 
Centenary Church, and next morning you 
preach my funeral sermon. Bury me in 
Lone Fir Cemetery, and be sure to sing 
my favorite hymn at the grave, not omit- 
ting the stanza, 

" ' Then in a nobler, sweeter song 
I'll sing thy power to save, 

When this poor, lisping, stammering 

Lies silent in the grave.' " 

We had great meetings in Seattle, and 
in the midst of them the telegram came, 
and we carried out the program of my 
sainted friend as he had outlined. 




Chapter XI. 


AT the Conference in 1887 my rela- 
l\ tion to that body was still "su- 
pernumerary," and I continued in 
the evangelistic work. 

When in the midst of a stirring revival 
in our Albina Church (which is now Cen- 
tral Church, Portland, Oregon), I received 
a telegram from home containing this in- 
telligence, " Your wife has the small-pox. 
Come at once." I went home, and was 
quarantined for two months, and my en- 
tire family was smitten with that malig- 
nant disease, small-pox. 

All engagements were canceled. Just 
as we were becoming convalescent — for 
our Heavenly Father graciously spared 
us all — I received a communication from 
the presiding elder, stating that the pas- 
tor at Grant's Pass had resigned his work, 

From the Gtold Mine to the Pulpit. 

having become much discouraged; would 
I take charge until Conference, and build 
a new church. 

Many of my old friends were here, and 
some of those converted in our meetings 
on the Drains charge had taken up resi- 
dence at Grant's Pass, among them Hon. 
R. A. Booth and Judge Benson. 

I agreed to take the work, and so re- 
turned, after fourteen years' absence, to 
the scenes of my early ministry. 

I began at once to raise money for the 
new church. 

The people responded with splendid 
generosity to my solicitations, and before 
long our church was seen lifting its walls 
above the ground. 

We hoped to finish it by Conference, 
but the sash and door factory burnt down 
and delayed us, so I must return for an- 
other year and finish the structure which 
we had begun. At this time I was made 
" efi'ective," that is, since my relation to 
Conference was that of supernumerary, 
an action of Conference was necessary to 






Back to the Pastorate and After. 

< =► 

change it to effective, and my appoint- 
ment was Grant's Pass. 

We completed our beautiful church at 
a cost of nearly eight thousand dollars, 
and in 1890 entertained the Conference for 
the first time that it was ever held south 
of Roseburg. 

At this Conference, after much debate, 
the Oregon Conference was divided into 
three, instead of two, districts as hereto- 
fore, and Bishop Newman insisted that I 
should become presiding elder of the new 
district. The members of my Church de- 
murred, and the bishop had several meet- 
ings with the Official Board. 

Finally, one member, who was in the 
Quarterly Conference which years before 
had given me my license to preach, said, 
" Bishop, we made Brother Jones, and we 
have a right to him." 

" If that be true," said the bishop, 
'^ You ought to allow me to promote him, 
and especially since his residence will 
continue to be among you." They at last 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ► 

My presiding elder's district extended 
over a vast territory, from the Pacific 
Ocean into Southeastern Oregon, a dis- 
tance of three hundred and fifty miles, 
and one hundred more than this from 
north to south. 

At one time I would find myself travel- 
ing along the beach, and in a few weeks 
upon the mountains eight thousand feet 
high ; sometimes with buggy, again with 
hack and camping outfit, or on foot, I 
traveled this district for six years and 
one month, covering a distance of forty- 
eight thousand miles, preaching over a 
thousand times, and finding at the close 
twenty-six appointments, exactly double 
the number with which I began. 

On one of my trips into Southeastern 
Oregon a local preacher accompanied me, 
and, going from Silver Lake to Sprague 
River in the early summer we lost our 
way. No wagon had passed over the 
road during the year. 

On the last night of the month of May 
we camped on the mountain without food 




\^^^^^^mmm TT . ':- Smmm -m ^sMF 


AS'lO-^, L.ENOX 
TlLDiZN : - '^ ■• - AliON 

Back to the Pastorate and After. 
< ► 

or blankets. On the morning of the first 
day of June the ground was frozen hard 
enough to bear up the horses and hack. 
We drove forty-five miles before reaching 
a settlement. The rivers were full to 
their banks, and the Sprague is a very 
deep, narrow stream. We desired to 
cross it. The Indians had a raft, which 
was too small for horse and hack together, 
and by a rope stretched across the stream 
they pulled the raft over. With two In- 
dians to assist us, we attempted to ferry 
ourselves across. 

First we put on the hack, and the In- 
dians and I took it across, putting it out 
on the bank, then they returned for 
Brother Downing and the team. He led 
the team on the raft, but they were not 
well balanced, and as soon as they loosed 
from the shore the raft began to sink at 
one corner. The swift current rushed 
over the raft and the horses slid down to 
the lower corner, and, along with one of 
the Indians, they went into the river. 
The horses swam to the bank, where I 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

awaited them, but the raft swept down 
the river with Brother Downing and the 
other Indian, who were utterly helpless. 

Some Indians ran along the bank op- 
posite to me and succeeded in throwing 
a rope to them with which they pulled 
themselves ashore. 

On another occasion, when out on a 
tour through the same part of my dis- 
trict, my horses took fright and I lost 
control of them. They ran down a steep 
hill into a clump of trees. I knew they 
must strike somewhere, and all that was 
left me was to commit myself to my 
Heavenly Father for help. The last I 
remembered was, that the hack struck a 

I was thrown twenty-six feet, picked 
up unconscious, and was laid up for four- 
teen weeks. Such was my introduction 
to the presiding eldership. 


Chapter XII. 

DURING the year 1891, as presid- 
ing elder I visited for the first 
time the Klamath Indian Mission, 
climbing the rugged steeps of the Cascade 
Mountains, and crossing them at an alti- 
tude of about eight thousand feet, travel- 
ing with my own team a distance of one 
hundred and fifty miles. 

For a number of years there had been 
no Methodist missionary at the agency, 
but a few of these Indians, who had been 
converted many years before, were mem- 
bers of the Methodist Church. 

I arranged to hold a camp-meeting 
among them, and we erected a rude pul- 
pit under some pine-trees, gathered a 
congregation of nearly eight hundred In- 
dians, and on Saturday held two services. 

I had a good Christian Indian as an in- 
terpreter, but this being my first attempt 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

to preach by such means, it required a 
little practice before I felt at ease. But 
God graciously sustained me, and made 
powerful the preaching of his word. 

The Sabbath was a beautiful summer 
morning, and large crowds gathered be- 
neath the graceful pine-trees. 

After the manner of Bishop Taylor, I 
presented first the law, taking as a text 
the Decalogue. Knowing that the Indian 
man is especially prone to idleness, I 
emphasized the " Six days shalt thou 
labor," and among other things said that 
many white people were not Christians 
because they were too lazy. 

I invited those who desired to be Chris- 
tians to rise to their feet, and scores of 
them accepted this invitation. Then I 
asked them to come to the front, and 
large numbers were soon prostrate and 
crying for mercy. 

Around the altar petitions went up to 

our Father, first in English and then in 

the Indian tongue, and answers came in 

glorious conversions, as was soon proven 


t— I 







Christ Among the Eed Men. 
< ► 

by the rejoicing of many of these simple 
children of nature. I requested my in- 
terpreter to make known to me what 
they were saying. Some cried out, 
"Praise the Lord," and others declared, 
" I love Jesus," while many testified that 
Christ had given them peace in believing. 
I explained to them the nature and obli- 
gations of baptism and Church member- 
ship, and then turned to my interpreter 
and said, " Do they understand ?" He 
looked at me and replied, " They under- 
stand it as well as you do." 

Then I said, "All who are going to 
lead a Christian life, and desire to be 
baptized, come forward." 

One hundred and seventeen presented 
themselves for baptism. 

After the morning service I took din- 
ner with the government agent, and just 
as I was leaving the house for a walk in 
the open air, before conducting the after- 
noon service, a large Indian followed me, 
and cried in broken English, " 0, I am 
so happy. I never heard such good 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

words before in my life. I do wish my 
wife had been here to-day. I will never 
lie no more, never steal no more, and I 
will work. Will I always be happy?" 

At this question he paused for reply, 
and I said, "Yes, my brother, you are in 
the right line." 

The following summer I visited them 
again, full of anxiety to know what spir- 
itual development had resulted from the 
year's experience. At the Conference 
following the revival, I had sent them a 
missionary, so that some attention had 
been given to their religious training. To 
my great joy, I found a large number of 
them leading consistent Christian lives, 
and making excellent progress in the 
knowledge of Christ Jesus. 

I was told of one who went up to the 
fort on a certain occasion, and while there 
he heard white men using profane lan- 
guage. He rebuked them. 

"Don't you swear?" they inquired. 



Christ Among the Red Men. 
< ► 

"Didn't you used to swear?" 


"When did you quit?" 

"When I got religion." 

"When did you get religion? 

" At the time Elder Jones was out here 
holding his picnic." 

(The Indians call all outdoor meetings 

In the spring following the camp-meet- 
ing, a number of the Indians went over 
to Lost River to fish, and during the sev- 
eral weeks they were away none of them 
would fish on the Sabbath. 

One Sunday, while they were sitting 
around the camp-fire, a peddler came along 
selling handkerchiefs, cheap jewelry, and 
other trinkets. He desired to trade with 
thel ndians, but they said, "No, thank 
you; this is the Sabbath." 

"But," said the peddler, "that makes 
no difference; every one around here 
trades on Sunday." 

They replied, " We belong to the Meth- 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

odist Church, and do not trade on Sunday, 
but would like to trade with you some 
other day." 

The civilized white man responded, 
^^ Unless you trade to-day, I shall go on 
and not return to your camp." 

"All right," they said, "you may go." 

He went three miles up the river to a 
place where a number of white people 
were fishing, and finding no religious 
scruples in such enlightened company, 
he did business with them on the Lord's- 
day, and returned on the Monday to trade 
with the simple Red men. 

Many of the young men and maidens 
in the government school were among 
the converts, and one of these was a full- 
bred Klamath Indian girl, sixteen years 
of age. She graduated soon after the re- 
vival, and was married to a good Chris- 
tian Indian, 

In the year 1894, on one of my tours 

in that country, I was suddenly seized 

with typhoid fever, and lay for several 

weeks at the home of our missionary. 


Christ Among the Eed Men. 

< === =► 

This Christian girl and her husband lived 
near the house, and she came to see me 
every day, and was very anxious that I 
should recover. One day she came in 
when the doctor (my traveling companion, 
who nursed me during my sickness) hap- 
pened to be out, and approaching my 
bedside said, "0 Brother Jones, is there 
anything I can do for you ?" " No, Sinda, 
I guess not," I replied. 

" 0, I wish I could do something for 

" I guess not," I repeated. 

But she persisted in expressing her de- 
sire to be of service to me. Finally, I 
said, " Well, you may pray for me." 

I meant that she might remember me 
in her prayers, but immediately she knelt 
down and poured out her soul in prayer 
for me. She told the Lord that I had 
been very kind to them ; that when they 
had nobody to tell them of Jesus, I came, 
and then afterwards sent them a mis- 
sionary, and that the Indians loved me. 

How it touched my heart to think that 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

this one-time heathen girl should be at 
my bedside praying for my recovery. 
She is to-day a noble Christian woman. 
What flowers of grace spring up in most 
unlikely places when God*s Spirit is hon- 
ored by Christian workers ! 

Another of these people came to see 
me while I was sick, and asked if he 
could not bring me something for my 
comfort. I could not eat, but he insisted 
that he would bring me some fish, al- 
though he lived thirteen miles away. 

He went home, crossed a lake about 
six miles wide in his canoe, caught some 
trout, and returned with them for me. 
"Brother Jones," he said, "we hope you 
can eat some of these. My wife wanted 
to come and see you, but she was out 
fishing with me all last night, and was 
too tired. But my wife prays for you, 
Brother Jones, and we hope you will get 

Dear, simple children of the wild hunt- 
ing-ground, how dare they slander you by 
saying that the only good Indian is a 

Christ Among the Eed Men. 

dead one ! Grace, grace, will elevate any 
race of people, while any other means 
without it will leave foul marks of deg- 

10 145 

Chapter XIII. 


IN the fall of 1893 my wife accom- 
panied me on one of my tours 
through the part of my district which 
included the Indian settlement, and we 
stopped at the agency to hold a service. 

Here was employed a bright Indian 
girl as laundress. She had been con- 
verted in our camp-meeting. Her name 
was Irene Johnson. 

In the afternoon we were sitting in the 
parlor. Irene was one of our company, 
and an Indian young man came in. It 
was soon evident that he and Irene un- 
derstood each other. 

After a pause in our conversation the 
agent said, " Brother Jones, when will 
you be back here ?" 

I looked at my program, and replied, 
"On the 17th of October, if not delayed 

A Marriage Among the Eed Men. 

by snowstorms. I have about three hun- 
dred miles to drive, but if all connections 
can be made I shall be here then." 

^^Well," he continued, ^^ Jim and Irene 
here want you to marry them when you 
come back." The girl dropped her head 
and perhaps blushed, but her complexion 
could easily hide such evidence of emo- 

Next day my wife and I went on our 
way. Snowstorms came on, and we 
camped out with our little tent in nine 
inches of snow, but we carried out our 
program, and on our return, when within 
about ten miles from the agency, we saw 
an Indian horseman on a high point of 
the hill. When we came up it proved to 
be the young man, Jim Sconshon. 

" Hello, Jim," I said. 

" Hello, Brother Jones," he responded, 
'' I am glad to see you. I was afraid 
you would not get back, and I came out 
to see." 

" Yes, Jim, I am on hand." 

As we parted, Jim said, I '11 be over, 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

< ===^= — ► 

after awhile/' and we went on to the 

Indians came in from all directions. I 
was announced to preach in the evening, 
and the marriage was to take place after 
the sermon. 

Jim came over to the agency some 
time before evening, and while there the 
agent said to him, "Well, Jim, you are 
going to get married like a white man, 
and get a wife that keeps house like a 
white woman, and you ought to pay the 
preacher like a white man." 

" What ! Pay the preacher ?" said Jim. 

"Yes," replied the agent, "I paid the 
preacher for marrying me ; Brother Jones 
paid the preacher for marrying him ; and 
that is the way we do." 

" I did not know that," said Jim, " but 
if that 's right, I '11 do it. How much 
ought I to pay him?" 

"Well," responded the agent, " I think 
you ought to give Brother Jones a horse, 
and then give me one." 

"All right; if that's right I '11 do it." 

A Marriage Among the Red Men. 
< =► 

After more banter and much laughter, 
the agent said, "No, Jim, I don t want a 
horse, but I think you ought to give 
Brother Jones one." 

After awhile he moved his chair over 
by me, and said, " Brother Jones, I '11 
give you a horse." 

"No, no, Jim," I replied, " the agent is 

"Yes, but I think I shall feel better if 
I give you one. 

" How many horses have you?" 

"About one hundred." 

" All right," I said, " if you have one 
hundred horses, and desire to give me one 
you may do so." 

"I shall have to give you a wild one." 

"But I can not do anything with a 
wild horse." 

" Well, I have only three gentle horses. 
I can not spare my team, and 1 want to 
sell the other for cash, so that I can only 
give you a wild one." 

"Never mind it, Jim; I don't want 



From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

This seemed to trouble him, and he gave 
himself to thought. Suddenly his face 
brightened, and he said, I '11 tell you what 
I will do — I '11 keep the horse for you this 
winter, and break it, and next summer 
you can get it/' 

" All right," was my reply. 

The church was crowded in the even- 
ing. After the sermon, the bride and 
bridegroom came to the platform. She 
was dressed in white. Using the beauti- 
ful ritual of our Church, I pronounced 
them husband and wife, and then intro- 
duced them to the audience as Mr. and 
Mrs. Sconshon. 

When the young women came up to 
congratulate Irene, what weeping ! She 
was a great favorite among them, and, 
notwithstanding her happiness, they were 
loath to see her go from among them. 

It was a bright, moonlight night, and 
at about eleven o'clock Jim said, " Well, 
it is time to go home." 

He was the owner of a good ranch 
which was about five miles away, and he 

A Marriage Among the Red Men. 
< ► 

had fitted up a house for the reception of 
his bride. 

The agent told the boys to bring around 
the horses and hack to the gate. Jim 
helped his bride into the hack, and, ad- 
dressing me, said, " Brother Jones, next 
summer when you come over, be sure to 
come and see us." 

I said, " I surely will," and he drove 
off with his wife. 

I thought, " What a blessing is Chris- 
tianity to this people !" Jim was the 
nephew of the old man Sconshon, who 
was executed on the gallows with Cap- 
tain Jack and Scarfaced Charlie for mur- 
dering General Canby and our own dear 
Dr. Thomas, under a flag of truce. 

Next summer I received my pony. 


Chapter XIV. 

TRAVELING the immense territory 
of my district, I would sometimes 
go from my home by railroad for 
one hundred and forty miles, take the 
stage for thirty-six miles to the head of 
navigation on the Umqua, go by boat to 
the mouth of the river, and then by stage 
up and down one hundred and fifty miles 
of the Pacific Ocean beach, returning by 
the Coquille River to the head of naviga- 
tion, then by stage sixty miles across the 
mountains to the railroad. 

During my trip of 1894, on reaching 
the head of navigation on the Coquille 
River, I found that the roads were im- 
passable for vehicles, so the stage had 
been taken off, and they were carrying 
the mail upon pack-horses. I saw no al- 
ternative only to walk the sixty miles 


Mountain Mud. 

across the mountains, and, with my valise 
upon my back, I started out. 

The first day's journey was only twelve 
miles, but the second day I must travel 
twenty. The mountain was rugged, the 
mud in some places almost to my knees, 
and the forest so dense that I was com- 
pelled to keep to the road. 

I started at dawn, intending to reach 
" Twelve-mile House" for dinner. Toward 
noon I ascended the elevation from which 
the house should have been visible, when, 
to my surprise, I could not find it. I 
soon discovered that it had been burned 
down. Looking about I noticed signs of 
life at the barn. Approaching, I rapped 
on the side of the building with a stick, 
when a man with a heavy, unkempt beard, 
long hair, slouch hat on one side of his 
head, and dirty, short pipe in his mouth, 
came around the corner. 

" Good-morning," I said. 

" How are you, sir," he responded. 

" Do you live here ?" 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
-< " ■■""■■■"■■'■" ■► 

" Yes." 

I saw at once that this was not the man 
who kept the hotel the year before. 

" Your house burnt up," I continued. 


" Are you living in the barn ?' 


" What chance is there of getting some- 
thing to eat ?" 

" A poor chance." 

" Have n't you got anything ?" 

"Not much." 

" Well, I want something, if you have 

" I guess you can not get it here." 

" See here, I am no tramp, and I am 
hungry. I am ready to pay for what I 
get. It is eight miles to the next house, 
and I am afraid can not make it. Sir, 
if you have anything to eat I want it." 

" Well, '11 see the old woman." 

Immediately he called out, " Old 
woman ; old woman." 

With that a woman's head projected 



Mountain Mud. 

from an opening in the side of the build- 
ing. Addressing this, the man continued, 
" Here is a man who says he is hungry, 
and won't go on until he gets something 
to eat. Can you give him something ?" 

"Yes," came from the opening, "if he 
can eat what we can." 

" I can eat anything," I said." 

He led me to the humble dwellino; 
in which he and his wife and six chil- 
dren were staying. The sawmill was ten 
miles away, the roads impassable, hence 
he could not rebuild for some time. 

While they were relating to me their 
misfortunes, one of the little boys sud- 
denly exclaimed, "Listen, I hear the 

His brother, about fourteen, sprang to 
his feet, seized his gun, and ran out. We 
heard him shoot, and when we followed 
him out we found a beautiful two-year- 
old deer. The dogs had run it down 
from the mountain, and as it came by 
the house the boy shot it in the head. 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

We gathered round the deer, and I 
said, " I guess we shall have something 
to eat; the Lord always provides." 

The stranger looked up into my face 
inquisitively, and I said, "I am a Meth- 
odist preacher." 

"You are?" 

"Yes, my name is Jones." 

"It is?" 

"Yes, I am a presiding elder of the 
Methodist Episcopal Church." 

"You are?" 

Of course, with mud up to my knees, 
and a generally bespattered condition, 
there was little in my external appear- 
ance to indicate the preacher." 

We dressed the deer. The woman 
fried some of it, baked bread in a frying- 
pan, boiled potatoes in their "jackets," 
made coffee, and we sat down to a sump- 
tuous meal. 

1 settled my account, although the 
man did not wish to take any compensa- 
tion, and started for the next dwelling. 
The rain was pouring down in torrents- 

Mountain Mud. 

Late in the afternoon I came to a place 
where the bluff reached down to the 
river, and to my left was a cave, into 
which I turned for shelter and rest. 
Somebody had camped there previously. 
With the chips and dry wood found here 
I made a fire, opened my valise, took out 
my Bible and read the Sermon on the 
Mount. Then I opened my hymn-book, 
and the first song I looked upon was, "A 
rock in a weary land, a shelter in the time 
of storm." This little revival refreshed 
me for the remainder of my journey. 

As the day wore on the tall fir-trees — 
many of which shot up stately columns 
of two hundred feet — shut out the light 
and seemed to suggest sunset long before 
its time. Mud, mud, everywhere, so that 
my rate of progress diminished at almost 
every step, and I became very tired. 
Suddenly I heard behind me a splash, 
splash, and looking round, saw a horse- 
man approaching. 

When he came up he said, "Mister, 
you look tired." 


From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

-< — '■ "' ==► 

^'Yes, I am." 

"You had better ride." 

Without turning my head, I replied, 
"No, you can not walk in this mud." 

By this time he was along side of me. 
"Yes, I can," he replied, "I have boots 

Then turning to me, he sprang from 
his horse, exclaiming, "Why, this is 
Brother Jones." 

"Yes, but who are you?" 

He then made himself known — a man 
I had not seen for fourteen years. 

He inquired as he assisted me into the 
saddle, "What are you doing out here?" 

" Holding quarterly-meetings." 

" Quarterly-meetings ! And only a 
house in twenty miles !" 

" I have been holding the meetings on 
the coast, and am trying now to reach the 

When we came to the creek near the 

hotel, I waded through almost to the 

waist, to wash off the mud ; then I passed 

into the hotel, and attempted to dry the 


Mountain Mud. 

A — ==► 

wet clothes before the fire. We took 
supper in true mountain style, bacon and 
beans, hot biscuit and coffee ; then to bed 
upon a straw mat, and next morning at 
daylight, I went on my way rejoicing, 
notwithstanding blistered feet. Indeed, I 
exclaimed from the heart, " How happy 
to work for God 1" 

Removing my boots on reaching the 
place of the next Quarterly Conference, 
ten miles away from the railroad, I found 
it impossible to put them on again, and 
was so stiff and sore that the services had 
to be conducted in the undignified posture 
of sitting in a chair. The slippers I wore 
were so ample that one got away from me 
while preaching. But we had good spir- 
itual services. 

I reached home in safety after an ab- 
sence of six weeks. 


Chapter XV. 

IN the month of June, 1893, I made 
a tour, as presiding elder, through 
Southeastern Oregon and Northern 

The young pastor had arranged for me 
to preach one evening at a schoolhouse in 
California, which I reached just in time 
for the service. I had never been there 
before, nor have I since had occasion to 
return. It was a surprise to me that the 
house should be full of people on a Tues- 
day evening, and in a sparsely settled 

I had fully made up my mind to preach 
on a certain subject, but when I en- 
tered the house it seemed to leave me 
entirely. Of course, I did not know the 
people, yet while they were singing the 
opening hymn I was impressed by the 


Sowing and Eeaping. 

Spirit " to whom all hearts are known," 
that I ought to preach on repentance. I 
did so. The congregation was very at- 
tentive, and I had a good time preaching. 

After the meeting I drove seven miles 
to stay the remainder of the night, and 
the next day went on my way to other 

In October, 1895, I was in Southern 
Oregon again, and held a quarterly-meet- 
ing at Lake View, on a Saturday and 
Sunday. Then the pastor had arranged 
for me to preach at New Pine Creek, fif- 
teen miles from Lake View, on the Mon- 
day, at two o'clock in the afternoon. 

Here we had a good congregation and 
much interest. The Holy Spirit came 
upon us, and I invited seekers to the ^ 
altar. Many responded and were con- 
verted. The pastor was not an ordained 
minister, nor was there one within a hun- 
dred miles, and since I should not return 
for nearly a year, it was necessary for me 
to baptize the converts. 

11 161 

From the GtOld Mine to the Pulpit. 
< ► 

Some of them desired to be immersed. 
We went to the lake, about four miles dis- 
tant, and there I immersed them. Among 
the number were a husband and his wife. 

Another service was announced for 
eight o'clock in the evening. Darkness 
was approaching when we reached our 
place of entertainment for some refresh- 
ment between the services. This man 
and his wife took tea with us, and when 
we were preparing to go to the little 
chapel he said to me, " Brother Jones, 
you do not know me, do you?" 

" I have no recollection of ever having 
seen you until this afternoon," I replied. 

" Do you remember the night that you 
preached at the Flat Schooihouse, a year 
ago last June ?" he asked. 

I answered, '' I do." 

" I was there," he said. " I had come 
over to visit some of my friends, and 
went to hear you preach. That night I 
was convicted, and saw myself a sinner 
as I had never done before. I returned 
to my home. There was no preacher in 

Sowing and REAPma. 

all our country, and I have been under 
conviction all these months. I heard that 
you were to preach here to-day, and I 
drove eighty miles to hear you. Now, 
wife and I are converted and we shall go 
home happy. If you ever come through 
our country, come and see us." 

That night we had a Pentecost. Four- 
teen were converted. How I longed to 
stay a few days with them, but my ap- 
pointments were announced, and early the 
next morning I was on the road. 

I traveled forty -five miles that day, and 
camped on a mountain where the ice froze 
an inch thick in my tent. 

The next year I went through the val- 
ley where these friends lived and enjoyed 
a good visit with them ; they came twenty- 
two miles to a little schoolhouse to listen 
again to the preaching of the Word. 


Chapter XVI. 

IN the year 1894, I received a letter 
from the pastor at Florence, a town 
at the mouth of the Siuslaw River, 
stating that some matters there demanded 
my personal attention. Being a young 
and inexperienced minister, he did not 
know how to deal with some difficulties 
which had arisen. 

It was midwinter. The place was 
more than two hundred miles from my 
home, but duty must be done. I traveled 
nearly one hundred and fifty miles on 
the railroad, to Drain, expecting to take 
the stage there for Scotsburg, thirty-six 
miles away, on the Umpqua River. To 
my disappointment, the stage had broken 
down and I was compelled to walk. 

I made the trip to Scotsburg through 
mud and snow (there was a heavy snow- 
storm that day), then down the river to 

Ocean Spray. 

its mouth, below Gardiner, on a little 

Here I took a stage, driven by an old 
man who had had charge of it for more 
than thirty years. He had an Indian 
woman for a wife, and they have a dozen 
or more children. His stage was an open 
wagon, without any cover, and the only 
seat, a narrow board across the bed of 
the wagon, having no back nor cushion. 

His route extended along the beach for 
twenty miles, between the mouths of the 
Umpqua and Siuslaw Rivers. In the 
summer it is a delightful drive ; the beach 
is as smooth as a floor ; sometimes we 
are in the surf up to the wagon bed, and 
sometimes out in the dry sand ; masses 
of emerald water are incessantly rolling 
in, curling into white crests and dashing 
themselves upon the sand and making 
rainbows of their spray in the sunshine. 

If one would travel on the beach he 
must submit to be governed by the tide, 
and on this occasion the stage driver in- 
formed me that we must leave at mid- 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 

night. But, as I said, the tide, not the 
weather, must be obeyed. 

I preached at Florence that evening, 
and then had to cross the bay, which is 
nearly a mile wide. The night was dark, 
and the pastor, who was to row me 
across, was not much of a boatman. 
When we pulled off from shore the wind 
was blowing a gale, the white caps were 
rolling, and it was so dark that we lost 
our bearing and drifted up the bay about 
a mile. Fortunately was it that we did 
not drift down, for then our frail boat 
would have been dashed to pieces. 

At last, with much effort, we reached 
the place where I was to meet one of the 
half-breed children, who was to take me 
in another boat to the stage barn. I 
waited. The pastor had gone to his home. 
I was alone. The rain and sleet were 
driven by a hurricane which almost blew 
me into the bay. There comes a lantern 
moving down the mountain toward me. 
When it came within hailing distance I 
shouted, " Who 's there r 

Ocean Spray. 

The boy replied, " It is me," and then 
added, " the boat is swamped, and you 
will have to walk over the mountain to 
the barn." 

We climbed the mountain, the boy lead- 
ing with his lantern, and I following close 
behind. The trail was narrow, and when 
we started down the mountain we had to 
walk in a liberal stream of water. Sud- 
denly my feet slipped from under me and 
I fell, with my back in the stream. Of 
course, I was soaked from head to foot. 
But here we are at the barn. 

" This is a rough night, Mr. Jones," 
said the driver. 

" Yes," I replied. 

"I could not get the wagon up the 
beach," he continued. " I had to leave it 
down, two or three miles from here. Can 
you ride a horse?" 

"I can do anything any other man can 
do," I answered. 

So he mounted one horse, with the 
lantern in his hand. The boy assisted 
me on to the other horse, which had no 

From the Gold Mine to the Pulpit. 
< — ► 

saddle, no blanket, and only a piece of 
baling rope for bridle rein. I had my 
valise in one hand, and held on to the 
horse's mane with the other. 

In some places the sandbank was two 
hundred feet high, and the beach was so 
narrow that the horses would be in the 
water up to their sides. The rain and 
sleet blew in my face until it almost 
bled. Finally we reached the wagon, 
and I held the lantern until the old man 
put on what he called his harness. Here 
it was tied with a bit of rope, there 
with a piece of wire : I quietly appreciated 
the smooth, hard sandy beach as a road 
for driving. After a while we start for 
our twenty miles of a drive. 

What now ? We have come to a stand- 
still with a jerk. The horses could neither 
go forward nor backward. We got out to 
see what blocked our path, and found a 
large log covered with sand; it had a 
limb as large as a stove-pipe, with a fork 
to it. The front axle had dropped into 
this fork. We hunted around in the 


Ocean Spray. 

storm for a pole, and at last pried up the 
wagon, the horses pulled it out, and down 
the beach we went. At times the wind 
would drive the spray of the breakers 
over us in sheets, until we were drenched 
through again and again. 

When vv^e reached the landing at the 
Umpqua, the little steamer had not come. 
The driver left me there with another of 
his boys, to wait for the boat. I walked 
up and down the beach to keep from 

When it arrived, the boy took me out 
to the steamer in a small boat. We 
reached Gardiner by daylight, and after a 
liberal meal and a good sleep, it was my 
pleasure to preach again in the evening. 






The Last Ditch 

Child and Country 

Lot & Company 

Red Fleece 


Down Among Men