Autobiography of John E. Massey; ed. by Elizabeth H. Hancock

Front matter

Class / Q. \j i

Book JlL

Copyright}!^-

Contents

CHAFTEH

I. Early Impressions

II. From the Bar to the Pulpit , III. Political Affiliations .... IV. Virginia After the War V. The State Debt and the Funding

Chapter I

My ancestors came from England to Virginia at an early period. The home of my grandfather, Reuben Massey, was in Spottsylvania County. His burial was the first thing I distinctly remember. I was carried to his grave in my nurse's arms, and the scene so impressed me that eighty years have not obliterated it.

The maiden name of my paternal grandmother was Mary Carter. She was an Episcopalian of the strictest kind, and she believed that the only way to Heaven was through " The Church.^' When my eldest brother became a Baptist minister, however, she modified her views sufficiently to hear him preach. Not one of her children, strange to say, remained in her church.

My mother, before her marriage, was Elizabeth Chewning, daughter of William and Frances Chewning, nee Fulcher. Soon after she became the wife of my father, Benjamin Massey, they were both baptised, and they united with the Mine Road Baptist Church, of which my father was for many years the clerk.

My parents were in the condition financially for which Agar prayed, having " neither poverty nor riches." Both of them lived to be old. My mother died first, and the following extract from her obituary gives some idea of the loveliness of her character:

" Her piety was calm, thoughtful, and mature.

When the time of her departure came she was in the attitude of readiness; and though her death was sudden, it was peaceful. ... In her neighborhood, as a skillful nurse, and a sympathizing friend and counsellor, she was eminently useful. But it was in her family circle that her excellence was most felt. As a wife and mother, her sound judgment, her great prudence, and her amiable disposition gave her almost unbounded influence. Her family not only loved her but reverenced her. To the day of her death, her counsels and cautions had controlling influence with her children: with them her wishes had never ceased to command the respect of a binding authority, her approving smile had never ceased to be a pure delight."

The vigor and cheerfulness of my father were unusual. He lived to be eighty-eight years old, and he had been a member of the Baptist Church for nearly sixty years. The following extract is from the notice of his death, published in the Religious Herald:

" He was the devoted friend of that humble, good man, Elder P. P. Pendleton, so long his pastor. He was contemporary with Absalom Waller, Andrew Broaddus, J. Chaddler, J. A. Billingsley, Jacob Herndon, and their colaborers, and he often listened to their instructions with delight and profit. Though catholic in his feelings toward Christians of every name, he was strong in his attachment to the doctrines and usages of the Baptists. To the sick and afflicted he was ever ready to offer ministrations of love. His hospitalities were cordial, and were limited only by his means and opportunities. His faith was strong and his hope joyful."

I was born in Spottsylvania County, Virginia, on the 2d day of April, 1819, and I was the youngest of seven children.

The Christian example and instructions of my parents impressed me with religious sentiments at an early age. I cannot recall any time of my life when I did not wish to be a Christian. I remember while I was yet a small child sleeping with my parents, I was so concerned upon the subject that I was once weeping when my father came to bed. He wished to know what was the matter, but I could not explain, I asked him to pray for me. I had no proper conception of what constituted a Christian, or how to become one, but I thought Christians must be good and happy. Servants, with whom I frequently talked on the subject, filled me with horror by their descriptions of the " lost." They told me to be good and to keep on praying, and when the Lord was ready to convert me I would see Jesus in the sky, or hear him call to me from the clouds. I prayed, and looked, and listened. I often repeated, " Oh, when shall I see Jesus ! "

My brother Benjamin, about six years my senior, was " seeking religion," and I thought that I, too, was making fair progress. I was sincerely concerned about his spiritual condition, and I felt more anxiety about him than I did about myself. I thought I was getting along well, and would soon be all right; that I had only " to keep on praying."

After Benjamin and I had retired one night, not knowing his frame of mind, I said something amusing to him. Instead of being interested, as I supposed he would be, he said that he believed he could be a Christian if it were not for me. His remark irritated me for a moment, but soon made me unhappy. The thought of hindering a dearly loved brother from becoming a Christian was distressing to me.

Not long after this, while we were at dinner one Sunday, my sister Mary entered the diningroom, and announced that brother Benjamin had been received by the Good Hope Church as a candidate for baptism.

The announcement was like an electric shock to me. I went at once to a grove some distance off, and, falling upon my knees, prayed as I had never prayed before. I had been asking God to make me good. I now felt, for the first time, that I was a poor sinner deserving His displeasure; that I had insulted Him by my empty prayers, and that His wrath was about to be poured out upon me. I implored forgiveness. When I arose to return I felt unable to do so, and I believed that instead of getting better I was " lost." I fell upon my knees again, and begged for mercy with all the ardor of my nature. It was the wailing of despair. But suddenly my burden left me! I heard no sound, I saw no sight, I felt no rapture. Tranquillity took possession of me. I could not understand the change! I returned to the house wondering what it meant. The calm that I experienced soon gave me uneasiness, and I became distressed because I could not feel as solicitous as I had done before. I spoke of my perplexity to my father. His explanation and instruction comforted me, and I felt eager to confess Christ before the world and to unite with Christians.

It was not then the custom to receive persons so young and small as I was into a Baptist church, and when the pastor was informed of my wish, he and the deacons held a conference to consider the advisability of even hearing what I had to say. They finally decided to do so, arid •my examination was rigid — very much on the order of the cross-examination of a witness. At its conclusion the pastor said : " Well, my little brother, if God has received you, we will have to do so, too."

Before the arrival of the day appointed for baptism my brother Samuel returned home, having been converted while away. He, brother Benjamin, and I were baptised on the 15th of September, 1832, by Elder Jacob W. Herndon, and we became members of Good Hope Baptist Church, in Spottsylvania County.

I thought then that all church members should sit together in the " amen corner " ; but as I passed on my way to it one of the prominent sisters said, " The gallery is the place for boys." This troubled me. I went to the gallery a few times, but felt out of place there, and soon resumed my seat among the members, although I felt that my doing so was considered presumptuous. But my duty as a member of the church troubled my conscience in many ways. Our pastor once failed to attend one of his Sunday appointments when a large congregation had assembled. After waiting a reasonable length of time for him, everybody left without having heard a prayer or sung a hymn. I had not the courage to say anything, but I felt unhappy, and I resolved, God helping me, that such a thing should not occur again when I was present.

Soon after the silent meeting I attended a four days' meeting in a grove at Mount Hermon Church, and after the preaching was over I felt an irresistible impulse to make an exhortation. Being small, even for one of my age, I stood upon a bench and talked to the young people. When I concluded my remarks I felt that I had acted obtrusively ; but my pastor came to me, and putting his hand upon my head, spoke in a way to encourage me.

Not long afterward I attended a similar meeting at Antioch Church, in Orange County, and although I was not acquainted with the pastor or members of that church, I had a feeling of dread that I should be asked to say something. I went into the church early, and took a seat behind a door. After an earnest sermon by Elder Powell, and an apparently ineffective exhortation from the pastor, the former looked over to me and said, " My little brother, can't you talk to the people? "

The brethren around me led me forward and placed me on the pulpit steps. I felt embarrassed, and I commenced by saying, " Will you hear something from a little boy? " I have never been able to recall anything else I said. My discomposure left me, and I spoke as the spirit gave me utterance.

The effect amazed me. Men and women arose in every part of the house, crowded around the pulpit, and falling upon their knees, cried, " Pray for me ! pray for me ! " The whole congregation seemed moved as I never saw one moved before, and have never seen one so universally moved since. The effect was doubtless due more to' my childish appearance than it was to anything I said.

I was sent to both Sunday and " old-field " schools at an early age, and I continued to attend them until I was fifteen years old. Sundayschool teachers in those days required the scholars that could read to commit to memory verses of Scripture, and stimulated them to do so by giving them tickets. I did not then understand much that I learned, but I had the texts stored away in my mind, and found them helpful in after years. My Sabbath-school instructions were the best training for the ministry that I ever had.

Many of the " old-field " schoolmasters were poorly qualified for their vocation. They were deficient in education, and unskilled in imparting what they knew. Their manner of teaching grammar, if it could be called teaching, was to require pupils to learn the examples under the twenty-two rules of Murray's Grammar and to repeat them in the precise language of the book.

The " rod " was an important adjunct to the teacher's work. It was usually installed in a conspicuous place as " Prime Minister," but it exercised the functions of all departments of government — legislative, judicial, and executive — and was emphatically the " Minister of War." " Aaron's rod that budded " was scarcely more awe-inspiring to those that beheld it than the pedagogue's was to his scholars.

The " old-field " schoolhouse was usually built of unhewn logs, with the spaces between filled with split saplings and mud. A writing-desk was constructed in one end of the house by fastening two planks in a slanting position on a frame about four feet high, and a log was left out of the wall a little above this desk in order to give light and ventilation. The benches were made of split logs sawed on the top, with legs driven into holes bored in the bottom. They were often so high that the feet of the smaller scholars could not reach the floor, which was, in many cases, the bare earth.

The books generally used were the New York Speller, Pike's Arithmetic, and Murray's Grammar. Many scholars had no reader but the New Testament. One boy that I attended school with had a copy of " Robinson Crusoe " ; another had " Pilgrim's Progress " ; and when they said their lessons I listened with admiring wonder, believing the narratives to be veritable histories.

Unpromising as these schools and their environments were, they sent forth to bless mankind many successful doctors, brilliant lawyers, distinguished statesmen, and consecrated ministers of the Gospel.

The greatest meteoric display of the nineteenth century occurred on the night of the 7th of November, 1833, when I was fourteen years old. I refer to the " falling stars." The scene was grand and beautiful beyond description, and lasted from before midnight until after daybreak. The whole heavens seemed to be on fire, and the sparks to be descending instead of ascending. The downpour was as abundant as the falling of hail in a fierce storm; and the earth was lighted up as though it were on fire. The terror produced among the masses can be but faintly imagined. The negroes ran to their masters for protection. Men and women left their homes and ran, screaming and praying, to their neighbors' houses, which they generally found deserted. It was the means of arousing many persons, both white and black, to a sense of the importance of being prepared for death and the judgment-bar.

In 1836 I attended the Virginia Baptist Seminary, now Richmond College. I walked most of the distance, sixty miles, and carried my belongings in a pillow-case swung over my shoulder.

At the Christmas vacation I started home on a wagon that was to go to a point within ten miles of my father's house. A heavy rain, and a consequent rise in a river we had to cross, rendered the bridge over it unsafe for the wagon, which was delayed. I crossed over on foot and continued my journey alone. When the day was nearly gone, and I was wet and cold and hungry, I approached an unpretentious house near the roadside. A woman met me at the door, and, in reply to my request to be allowed to spend the night there, said that she had nothing for me to eat and no bed for me to sleep in. She had several children and she was very poor. I told her if she would give me a pallet before the fire I would ask for nothing else ; and she agreed to this. There was wood in the corner, and I used it freely; but when I did so the third time the woman raised up in bed and told me I must burn no more of her wood; she wanted it for the morning. I promised to cut more if she would let me keep up the fire through the night ; and to redeem my promise I arose at daylight. In order to do so, however, I found that I would have to take a dull axe, go some distance, cut down a sapling, drag it to the house, and cut it up. The task was severe; and the temptation to abandon it great. I had had neither dinner nor supper the day before; I was weak, and the weather was cold. But I persevered; and after carrying the wood into the house I started on my lonely journey, feeling thankful to fhe poor woman for shelter and lodging — poor, indeed, but the best she could give.

A competent teacher taught school four miles from my father's in 1838, and during my walks to and from that school I believe I learned more than I ever did before or since during the same length of time. In 1839 I attended Dr. Gillespie's school in Louisa County for a short while, and the following year I taught a large school in that county. In 1841 I re-entered Richmond College.

When I became eighteen years old I joined a large volunteer military company. Soon after, the captain resigned, and I was elected his successor. Some officers of the regiment said to me, after my election, " You ought to treat your company." I did so, feeling that I was doing wrong in conforming to a custom I did not approve; and I never repeated it.

After I had been in office several years, a furniture dealer in Richmond, of whom I was making purchases, addressed me as " Colonel " so frequently that I said to him in a serious tone, " General, if you please — and no little brigadier at that, but full general ! " He began to apologize; said he knew I was a military officer, but did not know my rank. I replied, " I am neither general nor colonel, and if you are going to give me a title that doesn't belong to me, give me one worth having."

The height to which a little title elevates some men in their own estimation reminds me of the story of the man just elected corporal. He was telling his wife of the honor conferred upon him; his children, hearing it with delight, asked, " Father, ain't we all corporals? "

" No," said the mother, " none but your father and / are corporals."

After leaving college I studied law under the instruction of Starke W. Morris, Esq., of Louisa Court House. While doing this I worked in my father's shop in the day and studied at night. My father was a farmer and a mechanic. I made spinning-wheels and chairs in his shop; these I took to Louisa and Spottsylvania Court Houses in a horse cart on court-days, and thus earned money to pay for my law books and my instruction.

From early boyhood I had desired and purposed to be a lawyer. When the opportunity came to prepare myself for it I was fascinated with its study, and applied myself as closely and earnestly as my circumstances permitted. I was licensed for its practice in 1843 by Judges Richard H. Fields, John B. Clopton, and Peter N. Nichols. Soon after receiving my license I went to Loudoun County to practice in the courts of that and adjoining counties.

Chapter II From The Bar To The Pulpit

When I went to Loudoun County to practice law I transferred my church membership to Ketocton Church, of which my brother, Joseph T. Massey, was pastor. I had continuously taken part in religious services — I had read the Scriptures, and exhorted, and prayed in meetings. Soon after my connection with Ketocton Church a protracted meeting was held. High water prevented the preachers that expected to attend from being present, and as my brother wished me to assist him, I did so for several days.

My brother, on another occasion, was prevented by sickness in his family from filling an appointment at Mount Zion, in Berkeley County ; and he requested me to go in his stead. A large congregation was expecting all-day preaching. I was invited into the pulpit, but I preferred to remain in front of it. At the conclusion of the second service that day a collection was taken, and I was told it was their custom to pay preachers for their services. I replied that I thought they were right, but that I was not a preacher. " What have you been doing to-day but preaching? " said they.

Again, I attended a meeting at North Fork Church, in Loudoun County, and just as the Saturday services closed the pastor was called home by illness in his family. He said to me, " I will have to get you and Brother Richard to conduct

From the Bar to the Pulpit 21

the services to-morrow." The next morning I spoke to the congregation in my usual way, and as I was about to resume my seat, Elder Richard Herndon took hold of my arm and said, " It is time to go into the pulpit." Before realizing what it implied, I started with him. When about half way up the steps I paused, not knowing whether to go on or to return. I went forward, however, and seated myself, feeling that I was occupying sacred ground without a right to do so.

My desire from early childhood was to be a lawyer, but God seemed to order otherwise, and I found myself in the pulpit without intending to be there. I had been often told that I should preach, and I then felt that I should seriously and prayerfully consider my duty in the matter. While doing so, I took charge of a school at Kabletown, in Jefferson County, then in Virginia, now in West Virginia. Before the year was out I decided to become a minister.

The Ketocton Church, the oldest Baptist church in Virginia, licensed me to preach on November 22, 1844. I visited, by invitation, some churches in Pennsylvania, and was invited to become pastor of several of them, but I declined those calls. There was great destitution of Baptist preaching in the Valley of Virginia, and I felt impelled to labor there. I was ordained on the 15th of January, 1845, at Ketocton Church, by Elders T. D. Herndon, Joseph T. Massey, Thaddeus Herndon, and John S. Reynoldson.

Soon after my ordination I spent a night with Rev. Thornton Stringfellow, one of Virginia's ablest preachers. He said to me:

" My young brother, I shall give you some advice that an old brother gave me when I commenced to preach. It is this: You will meet many things during your ministry that are unaccountable — things said of you and of your work, misconstructions and misrepresentations of things you have said and done, and prejudices against you — all wholly unaccountable. A minister of the Gospel could not please the Devil better than by wasting his time to account for unaccountables. Lay them down, and go about your Master's business. You will also find many incurable things — things, it may be, that you have said or done, that you truly regret and would gladly unsay or undo, but you cannot. A minister of the Gospel could not please the Devil better than by wasting his time to cure incurables. Lay them down, and go about your Master's business.

" I did not," continued Dr. Stringfellow, " understand this advice when I received it; but I understand it now, and have made two great piles ! One of unaccountaMes and one of incurables.'^

I did not then appreciate this advice. " What," thought I, " can any one say of me? I have a fair record now, and I shall be so guarded in the future that I shall not arouse prejudice, make enemies, or give any one occasion to say unkind things of me."

Alas, alas! how little I knew of the world, of the Devil, and of myself!

The fifty-five years I have lived since that interview have been full of unaccountables and incurables. I, too, have made a great pile of

From the Bar to the Pulpit 23

each, and I fear I shall continue to enlarge them until I am called hence.

The Valley of Virginia, lying between the Blue Ridge and the North Mountains, is about thirty miles wide, and its length from the Maryland line to Lexington, Virginia, is about one hundred and sixty miles. This is one of the most beautiful, populous, and productive portions of the State.

The only Missionary Baptist churches in this valley, at the time of my ordination, were Mount Zion in Berkeley County, Zoar in Jefferson County, Berryville and Bethel in Clarke County, and Front Royal in Warren County. There were none in the counties of Shenandoah, Page, Rockingham, and Augusta. Anti-mission, or, as they called themselves, " Old-school-Baptist " churches, were more numerous.

The Salem Union (Missionary) Baptist Association met at Cedar Creek Church in Frederick County, in 1845. Mr. Joseph Coffman, one of the excellent of the earth, having become tired of the do-nothing policy of Antinomianism in his county of Rockingham, attended the Association to invite its ministers to visit his county. He was advised to invite me. My youthful appearance and my inexperience, as he told me afterward, made him apprehensive that I would not be able to contend with the " hard shells " I should meet. He finally, with many misgivings, invited me. I accepted his invitation, and authorized him to make two appointments for me for the Sabbath I was to be with him.

The novelty of hearing a " New-school-Baptist " preacher brought out large congregations.

I rode twenty-two miles to my morning appointment, and six to that of the afternoon. I met there an old brother that said afterward, " I feared that you would not come ; and when you rode up, I wished you had not come — a mere boy instead of the man I expected ! "

There were many denominations and much preaching, such as it was, in the Valley; but there was great dearth of Gospel preaching.

From that time forth I traveled constantly from Martinsburg, in Berkeley County, to the county line of Augusta — about one hundred and twenty miles — and preached wherever I could, in churches, schoolhouses, private houses, groves, and once in the upper story of a distillery. On the 15th of November, 1845, Salem, the first Missionary Baptist church of Rockingham, was constituted, and it consisted of twelve members. About this time Dr. Robert Ryland, of sacred memory, visited the Valley ; and upon his return to Richmond had me appointed a missionary of the Virginia Baptist Association, which relation continued until I left the Valley in 1854.

Bitter denominational feeling was expressed in those days in language that was crude and uncouth; and, after having had a variety of experiences, I no longer wondered that the name " Baptist " was unpopular in the Valley. I found that I was between the upper and nether millstones; that I had to steer my course between Paedobaptists on one side and Old-school- Baptists on the other, as carefully as if I were sailing between Scylla and Charybdis. Missionary Baptists were unknown in a large portion of the Valley; and I, young and inexperienced, was the only missionary Baptist preacher be-

From the Bar to the Pulpit 25

tween Winchester and Lexington. Anti-mission Baptists were comparatively numerous, and had quite a number of churches. The changes that have taken place since that time are truly wonderful. Anti-mission Baptists have become almost extinct, while missionary Baptists have increased.

On August 30, 1847, I was married by my brother to Margaret Ann Kable, daughter of John Kable, Esq., of Kabletown, Jefferson County, Virginia.

After our marriage we lived seven years in Harrisonburg, Virginia. There was no Baptist church there, so I rented a hall, employed a sexton, furnished lights, and preached. It was natural that those denominations that had established churches there should oppose newcomers entering their fields, and this was fully demonstrated in my experience. I met fierce opposition on all sides; yet this was a happy period of my life.

The growth of Baptist sentiment, the belief in Baptist principles and doctrines, and the increase of Baptists and Baptist churches in the Valley have more than met my anticipations. There are now two flourishing missionary Baptist associations in this field — the Augusta Association, with thirty-three churches and 3346 members, and the Shenandoah Association, with twenty-four churches and 2524 members. Of these fifty-seven churches, forty-eight have been constituted since the spring of 1844.

In 1854 I accepted calls to the pastorates of Mt. Ed Church in Albemarle, and Hebron and Adiel churches in Nelson County. I boarded with Mr. Joel Smith, who lived near the line between the two counties, for two years; and during that time John Brown spent several days there. He introduced himself as Dr. Mc- Lane, And professed to be treating cases of hernia. He said to me that very few people had any idea how many negroes were afflicted with it; and he stayed with them every opportunity he could get. The horse he drove was a good one, and in his light wagon he carried trusses. He was intelligent, well informed, pleasant in manners, affected great piety, and seemed familiar with the Bible. He wished me to make an appointment for him to preach. The instinctive feeling that he was not what he professed to be made me decline to do so. I visited the jail in which he was imprisoned after his Harper's Ferry raid, and at once recognized him as the pretended " Dr. McLane."

In 1862 my health failed and I had to discontinue all pastoral labor. I purchased Ash Lawn, a farm in Albemarle County that had once been the home of President Monroe; and my family has resided there ever since.

Chapter III

My father was an " old-line Whig," and, believing he must be right, I accepted his political sentiments. After I commenced practicing law I made speeches in advocacy of the election of Henry Clay. When I entered the ministry of the Gospel I ceased active participation in politics.

Rockingham County, where I resided for about ten years, was the " Tenth Legion of Democracy " ; and although there were, I think, at least ten times as many Democrats in the county as there were Whigs, I voted none but Whig tickets.

Just before becoming a citizen of Albemarle, which was largely a Whig county, I visited my brother Joseph, who was then pastor of the First Baptist Church in Bellingham, Massachusetts. I traveled through the Middle and New England States, and what I saw and heard during my sojourn in them convinced me that none but the Democrats were friends of the South.