The life of Rev. Daniel Witt, D. D., of Prince Edward County, Virginia

Introduction

l/H Y should the life of Daniel Witt be % written? This question is natural and proper. The world is desirous to know the history of great men. If a man is eminent for genius, or learning, or heroism, or exploits, or has in any manner conferred benefits, or made kn abiding impression, on his generation, his contemporaries are curious to learn his origin, his training, his intellectual and moral qualities, his habits, the striking incidents of his life, and the various steps by which he attained distinction. His biography will not only be demanded, but, if well written, will have a wide and remunerative circulation. Witt was not great. He occupied but a narrow sphere in the affairs of the world. He was a plain man, living all his days among a plain, 2 rural people. He was not renowned for the brilliancy of his intellect, his scholarship, his labors, or his successes. Indeed, he was but little known beyond the very limited range of his ministry. What need is there, then, that his life should be written ?

It is true that Witt occupied no wide sphere ; but it is equally true, that within his sphere no man was more admired, loved and useful. If he had not a splendid genius, he had a sound and practical intellect ; if he had not profound learning, he had what was better, an experimental acquaintance with divine truth, an intimate knowledge of the scriptures, and an uncommon art of winning souls; if he was not great, as the world counts greatness, he was, at least, eminently good; and if his influence was limited, it was all the more concentrated, powerful, and controlling. The only proper motive for writing the life of any man is, to do good. The lives of renowned men too often shine only to dazzle, bewilder, and mislead. They inspire a false ambition, instill corrupt principles, awaken delusive hopes, and conceal

Introduction. 7

the odiousness of vice by the splendor of success. The life of Dr. Witt, if truthfully written, can shed no deceptive and misguiding light. It is not only safe to follow his example, but, in all its essential traits, it may be imitated by the rich and the poor, the high and the low. His Life, among his friends and acquaintances, indeed, among all who shared in the benefits of his ministry, will be read with uncommon interest ; for he had, in an extraordinary degree, the power of attaching to himself all persons with whom he associated. There is no reason, however, why the circulation of his Life should be limited to his personal acquaintances. If its author is not at fault, it must have a charm for all the admirers of well developed, symmetrical, and matured piety.

Why, among the friends of Dr. Witt, should I be selected to write his life ? The question merits a candid reply. Of all his admirers, I am, on some accounts, the most unfit for the task. Our lives, for a considerable time, were so blended that it is difficult to separate them. I shall, therefore, be in constant danger of fall ing into that egotism which is so offensive in a writer of biography. Besides, I was his friend — his intimate and admiring friend — and even if I could divest myself of all partiality in judging of him, it is not likely that the world would give me credit for the attainment. In other respects, I am better qualified to perform the service than any other person. I knew him longer and more intimately than any of his friends. Indeed, it is questionable whether one man ever more thoroughly knew another than I knew Daniel Witt. Through a period of fifty years, we never concealed a secret the one from the other. His life, from his boyhood to the hour of his death, is almost as well known to me as is my own. To write his life is to me, not only a duty of friendship, but a labor of love. I only lament that, amid the almost incessant claims of editorial duty, I have not the time requisite for the performance of the task in such a manner as the ardor of my affection for my lamented friend, and the unsurpassed loveliness of his character, demand. What materials can be furnished for writing

Introduction. 9

the Life of Dr. Witt? This is a needful in quiry. But little interest can be imparted to the most distinguished life, if the events of which it was composed have not been preserved in their freshness, either in written records or in the memories of the living. Through the earnest persuasion of Dr. William E. Hatcher of Petersburg, who thought that a record of Dr. Witt's life should be preserved, he was induced, a short while before his death, to write a brief autobiography, extending to a period several years after he entered the ministry. This will, doubtless, be the most interesting portion of his Life. Had he continued the record to the close of his labors, though greater fulness of detail might be desired, my present labor would have been, in a large measure, superseded. He left some brief journals, written within the period covered by his autobiography. His preserved letters are quite numerous, but though composed in a pious spirit and abounding in noble sentiments, they record but few of the events of his life. Several of his written sermons have been preserved, which can hardly be considered as fair specimens of the unwritten, but not unpremeditated discourses, that, in his happy moods, he poured forth from the pulpit to the never failing delight of his hearers. The dim outline of his life is ineffaceably photographed on my memory. From all these sources, it is proposed to make a small volume, recording the labors, delineating the character, and portraying the end of Dr. Witt, that may be a valuable memorial to his friends, and a light to guide serious inquirers into the path of piety, peace and usefulness.

To one point I invite special attention. The autobiography of Dr. Witt, written under the shadow, or rather within the radiance, of the tomb, is published just as he left it. It contains some matters not exactly relevant to his life, omits many facts that properly belong to it, and prevents, to some extent, a symmetrical composition of it ; but his friends will wish to see it just as he wrote it. Almost all the facts stated by him came within my personal knowledge. It may be questioned whether it is in

Introduction, 11

good taste to publish the extravagant encorriums of the lamented author on the biographer. It should be remembered that they were written by a devoted and partial friend, with the expectation that they would not be published until both the writer and the subject of his praises should have entered the land where all earthly praises are worthless. These highly colored compliments could not be erased without doing injustice to the unselfish friendship of Dr. Witt. I receive them with pleasure, as the effusion of his warm, personal affection, and, if the reader so considers, his excessive admiration ; hoping that my age, if not divine grace, may preserve me from any undue elation. To one who has passed the age of three score years and ten, it must seem, and really is, of small moment whether he be praised or censured of men.

Chapter i. AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Chapter i.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

H E following correspondence is the best preface that can be furnished to the ensuing brief sketch of his early life, written by Dr. Witt. I figure more largely in the correspondence than I had supposed. That I do not strike out all references to myself is due to the fact that my life is so closely connected with that of Dr. Witt that they cannot well be separated. The reader must pardon what is seemingly egotistic, in view of the necessities of the narrative. The correspondence needs no elucidation.

Petersburg, 1th March, 1871.

Rev, D. Witt, D. D.,

My Dear Brother : For some time, I have felt anxious that a full and reliable account of the childhood, conversion and early ministry of yourself and Dr. Jeter, should be prepared and preserved. Too young to urge the subject upon your attention, and far too timid to volunteer my services for the work, I have so far done nothing.

During a recent visit of Dr. Jeter to Petersburg, I ventured to open the matter to him, and he expressed a wish that I would undertake the collection of material for such a work, and agreed to place in my hands such facts as he remembers of your and of his early life. Of course, the account cannot be made complete without your help. Hence I must be bold enough to come with the case to you.

I feel a double embarrassment in approaching you. Your humility will render you reluctant to furnish what is to be the basis of your own history. Then I fear that my application for these materials will seem equal to a request that I may be your biographer. For myself, I must frankly say, that I would feel it a precious honor to be chosen to guard the memory and prepare the history of yourself and Dr. Jeter, and, moreover, that if I survive'you, and no one else, better qualified, can be found to do it, I would certainly do it. At the same time it is not my present object to propose such~a service, or to ask the privilege of doing the work.

I feel as a Baptist and as a Bedford man, that as your and Dr. Jeter's entrance into the ministry makes a strong and important point in our (State) denominational history, the record of it ought to be preserved. I am sure too that if such a statement is ever made, most of the facts must be gotten from him and yourself, since nearly all who knew you fifty years ago are gone, Even those who survive could only furnish disjointed and fragmentary recollections.

You must excuse me then for what I am about to say. Have you, in any form which your friends could use, an account of your early life ? If so, is it as full and candid as they would wish to find it ? If you have not such an account, may I urge to prepare it at once, and let it be as just to yourself as I know it would be to Dr.* Jeter? You need not put it in form for publication, but leave it as matter of reference, and you can entrust it to such persons as you prefer. * * *

Permit me to say that I will be equally satisfied, if you wish it, for you to deposit your memoranda in other hands than mine ; but along with many of your brethren and friends, I would be deeply grieved, if you declined to accede to my request. May I hear from you at once ?

Very hastily and affectionately,

Your brother in Christ,

Wm, E. Hatchee.

To this letter Dr. Witt promptly returned the subjoined reply :

Life of Rev. Daniel Witt.

Prince Edward County, March 13, 1871. Eev. W. E. Hatcher,

My Dear Brother : I have just received your letter, and will say a few things in reply. I hardly know how to dispose of your proposition. Not that I am unwilling that you should be entrusted with the facts which you desire me to furnish. I know no man in whose judgment I have greater confidence, nor one with whom I would sooner leave the sacred trust of guarding my memory after I am dead. You are one of the Bedford • boys, and would " naturally care for my state." But really my life has been an uneventful one ; and, in the review of it, 1 can see nothing that seems to me to be worthy of sending down to posterity. God, in His providence, and, I doubt not, in great mercy to me, has placed me in a comparatively retired country position ; and you know there is little to attract attention or to gain celebrity in such a position, I have attended regularly to my ministerial duties all the time, and, I trust, some good has been done ; or if little or no good has grown out of my ministry, I am sure the world will not be the worse for my having lived in it so long. I never wrote a line in my life with the expectation that it would be published after my death ; and I have very meager memoranda of my early history. In complying with your request, I should have to beat the bush of my memory, to start out the facts and the scenes, which, after the wear and tear of half a century, have become dim to my view. I think, however, that I could recall most of the facts of my early life ; and facts are all that you want. The thing presents itself to my mind as eminently egotistic; and I should shrink from the task, if it were not for the persuasion which rests upon the minds of some of my brethren that such a thing might do good. The idea that anything which I may have said or done, during my life, should speak a word for Jesus after I am dead, does please me well ; but Oh, "my leanness, my leanness!" I am afraid the picture, if faithfully drawn, will be a hideous skeleton rather than a well developed man. But with my present impressions, I agree to furnish you the information which you desire. * * *

I learned from a sister from Charlotte a few days ago, that you will attend our Sabbath School Convention, at Ashcamp, on the 28th inst. I do hope you will come ; your presence would give fresh interest to the meeting ; and it would allow us the opportunity of talking over, more at large and without reserve, the subject of our present correspondence.

I have reached a period of life, and a state of health, when ambition, if I ever had it, seems to have burned itself out of my heart. The gush of youthful feeling — the vigor and flutter of early hope — and all the glitter of life are gone with me. It only remains for me to close up, as best I may, the long life which a kind providence has measured out to me, and which now draws near its termination. Personally, it matters nothing what the world may say of me, either living or dead. " Honor cannot set a broken joint," while I live, nor put a pulse in my heart when I am dead. Nor can detraction or contempt disturb my repose after I shall have put off the shackles of mortality, and gone to the " rest that remaineth." But if you can make anything in such a life as mine subserve the cause of Christ when I am dead, the thought will not be unpleasant to me in my old age nor in my dying hour. The memoranda, if providence permit, tcill be put in your hands." Very affectionately, your brother,

D. Witt.

Shortly after the above letter was written, Dr. Witt prepared the desired memoranda of his early life ; but it did not reach the hands of Dr. Hatcher until their venerated author had gone to his "long home."

The inquiry very naturally arises : Why did not Dr. Hatcher, as was anticipated, prepare the life of Dr. Witt ? As Dr. Witt and myself were contemporaries, it was not expected that one would survive to write the life of the other. God, however, seemed to order otherwise. My numerous engagements appeared to present insuperable barriers to my undertaking the work; but many of the Doctor's friends, Dr. Hatcher among the rest, insisted that my long continued intimacy with the deceased rendered me the most suitable person to prepare his biography. After some hesitation and delay, for the reasons stated in the introduction, I consented, at the earliest practicable moment, to commence the not unpleasant task.

Autobiography.

Contents: Reflections on Old Age. — His Birth and Parentage. — His Early Occupation. — His Conversion. — Remarks Concerning his Experience. — His Entrance on the Ministry. — Temperance Pledge. — His Itinerant Labors.— His Visit to Eichmond. — Remarks on the Importance of Current Events. — Formation or the General Association. — First Missionary Tour. — Impressions of the People of Western Virginia. — Tour in Eastern Virginia. — Reasons for not seeking a collegiate education. — hls resi- DENCE with Semple. — His Labors in Williamsburg and Vicinity.

Autobiography.

f HE days of our years are three score years and ten." I am now treading on the verge of that appointed limit of life. I have entered my seventieth year ; whether I shall live to see its close is known only to Him who sees the end from the beginning. My advanced age, and the increasing infirmities which attend it, remind me continually of the approaching hour when my life shall end, and I shall rest from my labors. I am trying to prepare for an event which, I know cannot be far in the future ; but I have to deplore now, as much as ever, a spiritual leanness, which seems to have eaten into my very soul. I fain would let go this world, with all its perishable interests, and concentrate my thoughts and purposes upon the eternal future, which seems to lie so near me. There ought to be a pause between the active period of life and the hour of death. If that pause is not made in the evening of our years, it will not be made at all.

I have lived long enough to learn that age does not always destroy worldliness, nor bring with it the calmness and repose which we sometimes think belong to that period of life. Man, in his best estate, is a poor sinner; and the accumulation of years does not make him a saint. But in the leisure which old age allows, it is not only proper to anticipate the future, and prepare for its solemn realities, but it is permitted us to retrospect our lives, and gather whatever of instruction and comfort the review may furnish. It is a blessed provision of Providence, that when present enjoyments fail, and our lives have no future, we may bring up from the abysses of the past something to supply the deficiency of the passing hour.

My life has been an uneventful one. The most of it has been spent in a pastoral relation with a plain country people, and in the regular performance of the duties which belong to such a relation. There are some events, however, connected with my history, now growing dim in memory, which I desire to record, as an illustration of the Providence of God, and the riches of sovereign grace. They are of some interest to me; they may never interest others.

I was born on the 8th of November, 1801. My parents were Jesse and Alice Witt, of the county of Bedford, Va. I have great reason to be thankful that they were pious people. Both of them were members of the Baptist church ; and their children were reared "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." From my earliest recollection, my father's house was the home of the preachers, and I have still, photographed on my memory, the very forms and features of the venerable fathers of the ministry of the last century who were in the habit of visiting his house. He, in early life, fought through several years of the Revolutionary war, and received injuries in the service which made him an invalid for life. He walked on crutches until the day of his death. Being cut off by his bodily disabilities from active pursuits, and being exceedingly fond of books, he acquired a large fund of information upon almost all subjects. He was especially fond of doctrinal and controversial divinity ; and I well remember the fierce conflicts which sometimes occurred between 1/t him and tj/o eminent Presbyterian ministers, and with whom he was on terms of great intimacy. He was a stern and uncompromising Baptist ; a man of strict integrity, conscientious and true. He died in the 80th year of his age, in full hope of a blissful immortality.

The maiden name of my mother was Alice Brown. She was born, and lived, and died, in Bedford. I suppose every man thinks well of his mother, but it really seems to me that no one ever deserved to be held in everlasting remembrance more than the blessed woman who bore this tender relation to me. She was tall, spare, delicate in her frame, but generally of fine health and spirits. She was the very image of modesty, and meekness, and purity, and piety. She was almost worshipped by her children ; and I can never forget how the remark from an elder sister, "What will your mother think?" often checked me in some improper conversation, or in some sinful indulgence. The snows of seventy winters are on my head ; the length of life, and its crowding cares, have effaced from my heart the image of many a friend of former years, but her likeness is left in my secret soul, and her gentle voice still lingers in my ear. I have abundant reason to thank God for such parents, and it is one of the comforts of my declining years, that I shall soon see them again, in the world of blessedness, "where the wicked cease to trouble and the weary are at rest."

My father inherited no fortune, and being an invalid, made a meagre support for his family by the trade which he learned after the war of the Revolution. He was enabled, by industry and economy, to purchase a small farm in the neighborhood of Liberty, upon which his large family of children was raised. Though fully alive to the importance of education, he had no means of giving his sons the advantage of much literary culture. "When I was ten years of age, I was sent to a school in the neighborhood, and was kept at it for two years and three months. At the close of this period my literary opportunities ended, and I was put to work on the farm. I had learned to read, write, and cipher ; I had a smattering of geography, and, what was considered a rare accomplishment in those days, a not very extensive, but pretty accurate knowledge of English grammar. Perhaps, after all. it was a kind Providence which forced me from school, and sent me to labor for the support of my dependent parents at so early a period of my life. From my earliest childhood I was a pale, delicate, little weakling, with no strength of constitution, and without any promise, except the promise of an early grave. Being obliged to labor in my father's field, my health improved, my strength increased, and hardened under a system of daily toil, which finally became a pleasure to me. I have lived, contrary to my own expectation, and the expectation of every body else, to make this statement in the seventieth year of my life. Being the youngest son of the family. I never dreamed of anything other than living with my parents, and laboring for their support during their lives ; nor was the thought of doing so at all unpleasant to my mind. But the Providence of God was even then shaping for me a course of life of which I little thought.

On the fourth Sunday in August, 1821, there was held, at Hatcher's meeting-house, what was then called a " section meeting." It was before the age of protracted meetings, and other appliances and means which have been more recently put into operation for the promotion of the cause of Christ. The association was divided into four sections, in one or more of which annual meetings of two or three days were held by the ministers of the body, and others, whose services could be procured. At this meeting, held on the fourth Lord's day in August, 1821, I received impressions which changed all the plans of my life, turned my thoughts, and impulses, and purposes into a new channel ; and whatever may have been the source or the character of them, have exerted a controlling power over my life for half a century.

The distance I had to travel to this meeting was less than twenty miles. I had never been so far from home before. Like some sapling, I had vegetated and grown up in my native valley, without knowing anything of the regions beyond. I went on the night before to the house of a minister who was in the habit of visiting my father, and where religious services were held. Here I met, for the first time, with my life-long friend, Rev. J. B. Jeter. I do not know how we were introduced to each other, or how we fell, immediately, into a familiar ac quaintanceship. He was then a tall young man, with rather awkward manners, but full of fire and enthusiasm. In general information, and in force of native intellect, he seemed to be far in advance of the boys with whom I was in the habit of associating. There was something which drew us together, and like kindred drops made us mingle into one. And here commenced a friendship which has not been exceeded in tenderness, nor permanence, nor purity, since the days of David and Jonathan. Like a beautiful stream, it has run smoothly on for fifty years, without a ripple on its surface, or the smallest impediment to interrupt its progress. During that whole period of time, I do not recollect that anything has occurred to make an apology from one to the other, or even an explanation, necessary. Of one heart, and of one soul, we have lived like brothers, sympathizing with each other, in prosperity and adversity. To this union I am indebted for much of the pleasure and the usefulness of my lif e ; if, indeed, such a poor life as mine can be said to have been useful.

The next morning we rode together to the place of meeting, little knowing what would befall us there. Certainly the idea of being converted, or of receiving any religious impression, was not in all our thoughts. The taste of one of our restless congregations now would be shocked at the thought of spending a whole day in unintermitted service ; such, however, was the custom of those times, and Jeter and myself took our seats together, prepared for a long session. In the early part of the exercises I found myself, unexpectedly, the subject of new and strange emotions. I could not account for it. There was nothing unusual in the character of the services. There was no special ability in the discom^se to which I was listening, and nothing in the surroundings of the moment, to awaken my feelings ;* and yet an uncontrollable power had fallen on me, and mastered my soul. I had never wept before in a public, worshipping assembly, and was really ashamed when the big, unbidden tears began to drop down my face. I summoned up all my resolution, and determined by one mighty effort to quench the flood of feelings which like proud waters was overflowing my heart; it was a vain effort. I hid my head behind the shoulders of my friend, unwilling that he should witness my weakness ; but still I shook convulsively, and soon found that he too was under the control of similar impressions. It was a day " much to be remembered," and before the close of it, we had both determined to be Christians. The congregation broke up, and we silently and solemnly returned to our homes.

* John Davis, Leftwich, Harris, and Dempsy preached on the occasion.

I had a considerable distance to ride, and when I reached home, there was a group of young people from the neighborhood assembled at my father's house, engaged in the frivolous conversation and common amusements in which they were then in the habit of indulging. As soon as I entered the room, I saw that my presence and appearance threw a damper over the company. I could hardly answer their enquiries in regard to the meeting ; and as soon as I could, I left the house, and took a solitary walk in the darkness. I had often prayed before this time. My father had regular worship in his family ; and in my childhood, taught to lisp the name of Jesus, I had often been on my knees, and sometimes thought I was becoming a verygood little boy. But now, for the first time in my life, under a sense of real wretchedness and want, I bowed myself in earnest before "the great and dreadful God. " I can never forget the feelings of that hour. I kneeled on the ground ; I lifted my eyes towards heaven ; there the stars shone out in all their silent beauty ; but where, I thought, is the God who lighted their lustre,

3G Lift <>f lite. Daniel Witt.

and bade them shine ! Will He hear a poor sinner pray \ I looked ^around me ; all was darkness. I looked within me, and the outward gloom was brightness to the midnight which rested on my soul. I seemed to be a lone, lost sinner in the vast universe of God, and could only utter a feeble prayer for help. I had not yet learned the full extent of my helplessness and guilt, and hoped, by and by, by the use of the proper means, to secure the favor of God.