CHAPTER 40 THE INTREPID MISSIONARY
CHAPTER 40 THE INTREPID MISSIONARY The Methodist Church has furnished missionaries who for zeal and courage, in planting the standard of the cross on the battlements of heathendom, have not been excelled by any other denomination. Of this number was our young brother, Daniel Poe, a short sketch of whose life and labors we propose to give. He was born in Columbiana county, Ohio, on the 12th day of October 1809, and was born again at a campmeeting, on Wayne circuit, five miles south of Wooster, Ohio, in August, 1825, in the sixteenth year of his age. He united with the Methodist Episcopal Church, at the house of Judge William Henry, near where the town of Massillon now stands, under the ministry of Rev. A. Goff. Though but a boy, he was remarkable for his exemplary piety, and was soon appointed a class-leader and licensed to exhort. In April, 1830, feeling a divine call to the ministry, and desiring to prepare himself by a better education, he went to Worthington, Ohio, and attended an academy through the summer. In the same autumn he went to Augusta College, Kentucky. During vacation, in 1832, he visited his brother, the Rev. Adam Poe, who was then residing in West Chester, and traveling Miami circuit.
It was while he was there that we first formed an acquaintance with him, having attended with his brother the campmeeting which was held just before the session of the Ohio conference at Dayton. By our advice he was licensed to preach and recommended to travel. He was, accordingly, admitted on trial in the Ohio conference, and appointed to travel Letart Falls circuit, with the late Rev. A. B. Stroud as his colleague, and Rev. I. C. Hunter presiding elder. There he labored successfully and acceptably. The next year he was appointed to Eaton circuit, with Rev. W. Sutton, and we were his presiding elder, having succeeded Bishop Morris, who commenced his duties as editor of the Western Christian Advocate. The next year he was appointed to Hamilton circuit, with Rev. J. Hill, and in 1835 to Oxford circuit, with Rev. Westlake. In May, 1836 he was sent by Bishop Soule to the Oneida and Menominee mission, west of Green Bay, then under the supervision of Rev. John Clark, now of the Rock River conference. Here his labors were very arduous and responsible. He commenced a school among the Oneida Indians west, and extended his visits to Brothertown, and other fragments of tribes, scattered through the Wisconsin territory. On one occasion, in the month of February, 1837, after visiting an encampment of Indian hunters, between Green Bay and Lake Winnebago, he wished to go to Brothertown to meet an appointment; and as he made all these journeys in the wilderness on foot finding that he could save some thirty miles in the distance by crossing the lake on the ice, he proposed to do so. An old Indian of the company, at his request, took him in a bark canoe on to the ice, which was at that point parted from the shore some thirty rods. After they reached the ice, the Indian drawing up his canoe, ran some distance forward, and stooping down placed his ear near the ice, then rising, he said,
"You can’t cross, you must go back." Daniel, however, replied, "I have an appointment, and I must go."
"Then," said the Indian, "you drown."
He, however, persisted in going forward. The Indian then bade him farewell with tears, saying, "I never see you more." As Daniel could see across the lake, he felt confident that he could run over safely, and started on a rapid trot. After passing quietly about five miles, he heard suddenly a report as of a cannon, and looking forward, saw the ice breaking and rolling up in waves toward him. Seeing his imminent danger, he ran with all his might in an opposite direction, to escape the opening made by the swell. Getting round it, he struck his course anew for the same point on the opposite shore at which he had before been aiming; but soon again he heard in advance a similar alarming report, and saw the ice again thrown up by the rolling waves. Again he was forced to run for life. In a word, this terrible race continued through the day. Still the resolute missionary kept his eye fixed on the distant shore, and ran forward as soon as he could avoid one opening, only to meet another, eating as he ran, when he became hungry, some parched corn, with which he had filled the capacious pockets of his coat. Just as night was closing upon him, he reached a place on the ice within some twenty or thirty rods of the shore, and springing into the water and swimming for the nearest point of land he reached it, but was so exhausted as to be unable to stand.
He laid down upon the beach, a bluff of some forty or fifty feet being above him, which it was impossible for him to ascend. Here he thought his toils must end, and he gave himself up to die. After commending himself to God, he thought of the home and friends he should see no more; he thought how those dear to him would mourn him as lost, and never probably learn how he had died. At this the love of life sprung up in his heart as he had never felt it before, and with a powerful effort he rose upon his knees. Crawling along the beach some distance, he came to a small ravine, where the melting snow was running down into the lake. Up this he clambered on his hands and knees, taking hold of bushes and roots to help himself along, till he reached the top of the bank. Here he shouted glory till the woods rang. The moon was shining beautifully, lighting up the snow-covered forest with its brightness, and, hence, there was sufficient light for him to find his way. He perceived that he had landed very near the point at which he had been aiming, and getting into an Indian trail, after resting awhile on his snowy bed, he started forward courageously toward his appointment, at Brothertown. After walking some distance along the path, he saw an owl light on a bush just before him. Being exceedingly hungry, and having a loaded pistol in his pocket, he thought he would shoot it and eat it raw.
He approached near, with his pistol in his hand, and aiming it so as to make sure of his prey, he pulled the trigger; but, alas! his pistol only snapped. He then remembered he had been swimming with it in his pocket, and "I think," said he, "I never felt a disappointment more severely than to see that owl fly slowly away, leaving my hunger unsatisfied." After walking about five miles, he came to an Indian camp near the trail. He entered and found four or five Indians, who had been encamped there some time hunting. They were all fast asleep. At their fire he saw a pot, and without waking up the proprietors, to ask their leave, he helped himself heartily to its contents, which consisted of boiled venison and corn. Then lying down before the fire with a thankful heart, he fell asleep and rested sweetly till nearly ten o’clock the next morning, when finding his host all up and gone to their hunting, he again helped himself to the corn and venison, and pursued his journey to Brothertown, where he preached to nearly all the inhabitants who professed to be Christians. These Indians had lost their Indian dialect, and were speaking only the English language. Their religion, however, appeared to be a mixture of Christian tradition and pagan superstition.
They had an old woman as successor to their last missionary, who, it seemed, had been a Freewill Baptist, and they regarded her with great confidence as a prophetess. After he had preached to them, she said she was taught by the Spirit, that he had told them God’s truth. He staid several days preaching to them and visiting from house to house. About twenty professed conversion, and he formed them into a class. To this, however, the prophetess was much opposed, and told them the preacher was a false teacher, and they must not join his Church. To this one of them replied, "When he first preached to us, you said the Spirit taught you that he told us God’s truth. Now you say, without the Spirit, that he is a false teacher." The old woman was confounded. The class met and encouraged each other in the service of the Lord.
Daniel continued to visit them monthly, and was much aided by a young lady, Miss Jane West Ingram, who, having heard of their settlement and condition some months before, left her father’s house at Pontiac, Michigan, and procuring school books at Detroit, took passage on a steamboat to Green Bay. There she hired an Indian guide and pony, and putting her books in a bag on the pony, she started with her guide, riding the pony herself while the Indian ran before. When she reached them, she told them that she had come to teach them, and had brought them books. She induced them to build a cabin school-house, and gathered all the children she could into it. There, among those Indians, without any white person near to sympathize with, or advise her, that young, devoted female instructed the Indians in letters, daily praying with and for them, and visiting the sick and suffering among them. She affectionately pointed them to the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world, and had seen some of them die happy.
It was at her request that Daniel visited them and commenced his labors among them. At the first interview of these young missionaries, they found in each other congenial spirits, and mutually formed an attachment for each other, founded in Christian love. In the month of June, 1837, they were married. Jane then went with Daniel to the Oneida mission, and her place in the Brothertown school was supplied by brother Clark, the superintendent. At Oneida they felt the need of a house of worship. Jane had some three hundred dollars, which she had earned by school teaching in Michigan; this she offered as capital to commence with. Daniel got most of the male members of the mission to go with him into the pine woods, on Fox river, and cutting saw-logs, they took them to a mill, ten miles distant, and prepared lumber for their house.
He came out to the ensuing sessions of the Michigan and Ohio conferences, and obtained some funds, with which he returned, and soon they had a comfortable meeting-house. There has been a flourishing mission ever since at that place. Our young brother traveled on horseback through an almost solitary wilderness, from Green Bay to Alton, Illinois, in the autumn of 1838, to attend the Illinois conference. There Bishop Soule transferred him back to the Ohio conference. He could not get back to Ohio in time to get an appointment that year, but reached his father’s house, in the neighborhood of Massillon, in December.
He visited his brother, in Tiffin, who was presiding elder of that district, in January, 1839 and one of the preachers in the district having failed, he was employed on Mexico circuit, where he labored with zeal and usefulness, till the session of his conference, in September, 1839, when he was appointed to McArthurstown circuit. The next two years he was appointed to Tarlton. At the session of the Ohio conference, held at Hamilton, September, 1842, he, by the advice of Bishop Morris, took a transfer, with several others, to the Texas conference. He immediately started with his wife and three little children, the youngest but a few weeks old, to that then Republic of the Lone Star. His letter, published in the Western Christian Advocate, of May 19, l843, gives an account of his journey there and the session of the Texas conference held that season at Bastrop.
During his first year in Texas, seeing the great want of schools and teachers throughout the country, after consultation with Rev. Littleton Fowler, his presiding elder, and with his consent and by his advice, he came to Ohio and obtained a corps of teachers, with whom he returned and commenced a number of schools at most of the prominent points in Eastern Texas. During his sojourn in Ohio, while he was gathering up his teachers, there occurred a great amount of sickness and suffering Milam, where his family was located. While at the Ohio conference, we recollect distinctly the thrilling appeals of this intrepid young missionary. When some of his brethren expressed fears for his safety and that of his wife, whom he left in her shanty on the distant plains of Texas, coupled with what was a seeming intimation, that their courage would scarcely be adequate to breast the dangers and hardships of that border land, he replied, that "if he thought there was a drop of coward blood in his veins, he would let it out with his jack-knife, and as for his wife, there could be no fear on her account, as he found her among the Brothertown Indians alone, teaching the children in the wigwams of the distant west." It was an interesting season in the conference, and many of the brethren indulged in remarks relative to the missionaries of olden time. One brother related an interview he had with the Hon. Thomas Corwin, who said, "Methodist preachers were the very men for the times; and while they went with their elbows out, and wore blankets instead of coats, peeling bark with their teeth, and sleeping in the woods, those who affected to despise them could never imitate their courage or rise to their usefulness."
Daniel, while at the conference, received a letter from his devoted wife, giving a thrilling account, among other things, of the conversion of an infidel, and, also, a description of his death. The editor of the Ladies’ Repository, Rev. L. L. Hamline, requested it for publication; and while brother Poe was on his return home on the steamer, he wrote out the account of the awakening, conversion, and death of this infidel, but from some cause or other it was never sent, and consequently never published. It was entitled, ’’ The power of the Gospel in Texas,’’ and we give it to our readers:
"I made my residence in the beautiful village of Milam, Sabine county, Texas, where there had been recently formed a small society of Methodists. Here, as well as all around the San Augustine circuit, I found the Church in a feeble and lukewarm condition, and so continued till the first of May last. We had appointed a two days’ meeting in Milam, and prayed much and earnestly that a work of divine grace might there commence. The time came, and on Saturday the congregation was small, and a death-like stupor and coldness seemed to pervade almost every heart.
"There lived, adjoining the village, a Dr. W , who was said to be a very wicked man, a Universalist, and a great enemy to the Methodist Church. It was said, too, that he had a very worthy, pious wife, who desired to attend meeting and unite with the Church; but it was said that the Doctor would not permit her to do so. While meeting was in progress on Saturday, the Doctor was at the tavern across the way, uttering bitter curses against the Methodists.
"The Sabbath came, and the congregation was unusually large. I was preaching on the doctrine of rewards and punishments, when my eye fell on the Doctor, who was seated in the very rear of the congregation. He seemed much excited; sometimes his face would redden, and then an almost deathly paleness would pass over it. He seemed very restless, too, and kept constantly turning on his seat. I knew not whether he was enraged or whether conscience was doing its office, awakened and enlightened by the holy Spirit. I thought, however, that I would talk fearlessly and plainly, and leave the result with God. I spoke, in conclusion, of the fearful account that that man will have to render on the day of judgment who keeps his wife and children away from the house of God, and bids them follow him in the way to hell. An appointment was made for the afternoon, and the congregation dismissed.
"As I was returning to the afternoon service, I saw the Doctor standing at the corner of the court-house, where the meeting was held. When I was yet a few rods distant, he started out to meet me. I had heard that the Doctor possessed considerable personal courage, and that he had been through a number of bowie-knife and pistol fights. Whether he came in peace or came armed for a deadly encounter I knew not, nor was it my business to know; my business was to meet him. We met, when he gave his trembling hand, and said in accents broken with sighs and accompanied with tears, ’Mr. Poe, I wish you to open the door of the Church this afternoon for my wife to join.’ I said,
’Thank you, Doctor, but what are you going to do? you are a sinner, and must have religion, or be lost eternally.’ He answered, ’I feel as I never felt in all my life — is there, can there be mercy for such wretched sinner as I have been?’ I told them that there was mercy, free and full, and exhorted him to look to Jesus, as we walked together into the congregation. After an excellent sermon was preached by my colleague, I stated that I was requested to open the doors of the Church, and went on to give an invitation. The Doctor’s wife immediately came forward, together with a number of others. I then invited all who desired to seek their soul’s salvation, to come to the mourner’s bench. The Doctor and many others came trembling and weeping, and kneeled in prayer.
"A glorious revival commenced that afternoon. God’s people were heard shouting for joy, and sinners were heard weeping and crying aloud for mercy. The meeting lasted some two weeks, during which the many sinners were awakened and converted. The Doctor came forward at every invitation, and seemed powerfully awakened and deeply engaged, and yet he found no relief. I visited him often, and talked and prayed with the family. He did not attempt to conceal or extenuate, but acknowledged that he had been the greatest of sinners — that he had long hindered his wife from going to meeting and joining the Church — that he had set an awful example before his children. Mercy was his only plea. Sometimes he said, ’I am just entering the kingdom, when my sins rise up and shut me out.’ He said he was determined to seek on, and if he went to hell he would go a praying penitent. I left him in this state of mind about the first of July last, well satisfied that if he persevered, his dungeon would yet shake, and his chains fall off, and his soul be set at liberty.
"I received a letter from my wife, saying that the Doctor was very sick and in great distress of mind — that he had sent for her very often to sing and pray for him. I have just received another letter from my wife, saying that the Doctor is no more.
"I have just returned from the funeral of Doctor W , he sent for me both by night and day to sing and pray with him, and about two days before his death he found peace and died very happy.
Just before he left the world, he called me to his bedside and said, "Tell brother Poe, of all the men I ever saw, I loved him the most; I would be glad to have him now about my dying bed, but that can not be. Tell him to go on and keep preaching Jesus, and I will meet him in heaven."
"To be made the humble instrument in the hand of the blessed Savior, of plucking that brand from eternal burnings, more than compensates for all the sacrifices we have made, in leaving our native land and friends and all. But that is not all; the revival that commenced at that meeting, spread all around the circuit, and hundreds have been added to the Church."
After his return to Texas, he endeavored to commence an institution of learning at San Augustine. The ensuing conference adopted it and gave it their patronage. Daniel was appointed to the San Augustine circuit, and commenced his labors, having some three hundred miles to travel in filling his appointments every four weeks. After the first quarter, the teacher of mathematics, in their new college, resigned, and Daniel undertook to supply his place. While filling this post, he regularly rode into the country and preached on Friday night, twice on Saturday, and twice on Sabbath, and returned so as to attend to the recitations of his classes in the college, from Monday morning to the next Friday afternoon. In June, 1844, his wife was attacked with congestive fever, but in a few days she seemed to be convalescent, and he went to an appointment six miles from San Augustine the first Saturday in July, to hold a two days meeting. The congregation met in a grove, and he preached to them on Saturday, at 11 o’clock, from Lam. iii, 48. Dr. Greir, a member of our Church, told us that he wept profusely while he portrayed the desolations of sin, and exhorted the sinner to come to Christ for salvation. When he closed his sermon, he gave out the first two lines of a hymn, and stepping down from the stand, approaching the Doctor with his hand on his temple, he said, "Doctor, I feel as if my head was bursting." The Doctor perceiving that he had a violent fever, assisted him to his carriage, and took him to his house, and by prompt attention, through the afternoon and night, he thought him better next morning, and took him home. On Sabbath afternoon his wife was taken worse, and his two eldest children were violently attacked with the same fever. On Tuesday evening the Doctor told him his wife must die. About the same the Rev. L. Fowler, having returned from New York, where he had been attending General conference, brought him a letter from his brother, and spoke to him of the probable division of the Church. He read his letter, and laying it down exclaimed, "O, must Methodism be rent in twain!" He was unable to see his wife, as they were lying in separate rooms, and said to brother Fowler, "Tell Jane to commend her soul and her children to God. If I live I’ll do the best I can for them, if I die I want Adam to come and get them." he grew rapidly worse, and on Wednesday morning he was told that he too must die. He immediately commenced giving some direction about his business, requested Rev. Lester Janes to write to his brother, and request him to come and settle his business, pay all his debts, and bring his children to Ohio. In the midst of these efforts, his mind wandered, and he complained of excruciating pains in his head and of choking. In this condition he remained till morning, when brother Fowler returned and found him dying. He took him by the hand and said, "Daniel, you are going!" He answered, in a whisper, "Yes!" Brother Fowler asked, "How do you feel?" he replied, "Happy, very, very happy!" and expired. His wife had conversed, after being informed that she must die, with brother Fowler on her spiritual prospects, and asked him to pray with her; and while he prayed she was powerfully blessed. She then had her children brought to her, and commending them to God in a few words of prayer, gave them her last kiss, and handed them to friends standing around her bed, saying, "Take care of them till their uncle Adam comes for them." She knew their father was dying too; and though she was one of the most affectionate mothers we ever knew, she seemed to give her children to her heavenly Father without a single distrustful fear; and then in bright and joyous vision of her home so near, she shouted glory! till her voice sunk to a whisper; and she breathed out her happy spirit into the arms of the Blessed, who waited to bear her to heaven. They died within forty minutes of each other, and were buried in one coffin, immediately in rear of the Methodist church in San Augustine. "Lovely and pleasant were they in their lives, and in their death they were not divided." In December, 1844, his brother, Rev. Adam Poe, reached that place, and found all three of the children at different places, well taken care of by good friends, in pretty good health, having nearly recovered from their attacks of fever. After settling the business matters, according to Daniel’s directions, and being ready to start home, he took the children, the youngest in his arms, and the others walking on each side of him, to the grave of the parents, to take a last look. As they stood by the grave, the oldest, a little girl five years of age, sobbing as if her heart would break, said, "O, uncle, can’t you take up father and mother and take them with us to Ohio?" Her little brother, a year older, answered, "Susan, don’t you know father and mother will be as near to us in heaven, after we get to Ohio, as they are now? They will not forget us; they love us still, I know they do." The little one in his arms lisped, "Yes, I know my pa and ma love me anywhere."
Thus died, and were buried in the red lands of Texas, as noble a couple as ever labored and suffered in the Methodist itinerancy, in the prime of life and the midst of their years. Both of these devoted missionaries were very highly esteemed, as far as they were known, in Texas, and Daniel was as widely known as any minister could be, in the length of time that he was there. Of his talents, as a minister, much might be said to his credit. He laid the foundation of a good education in his youth, under the direction of the late Dr. Ruter, who was his warm, personal friend. He was a diligent and enthusiastic student through life, and most conscientiously did he observe the rule of a minister, which we have frequently heard him quote with solemn emphasis, "Never be unemployed, never be triflingly employed."
He was in person almost gigantic, being six feet three and a half inches high, and weighing about two hundred and thirty pounds. He possessed uncommon athletic force and activity, and the whole energy of his powerful body and mind was devoted to his Master’s work. His social qualities were such as to make him a favorite in every circle where he moved. In the wigwam of the Indian, and in the cabin of the Texan negro, as well as among the most refined in the higher walks of civilization, every-where he was beloved, and his ministry was crowned with many trophies, that no doubt will shine as stars with him in the kingdom of heaven forever.
Thus lived, and thus died one of the most zealous and indefatigable young preachers we ever knew. May God raise up many more such to carry the Gospel to regions beyond.