Thirty-three years a live wire; life of John T. Hatfield, the "Hoosier evangelist,"

Introduction

To the People of America That Love Something Hot and Full of Life:

Well, here it is ; it is the life of the Rev. John T. Hatfield. He stands to-day the most peculiar man that walks the dirt; there is but one John Hatfield on the face of the whole earth. Many of you know Brother Hatfield through the press, and many of you know him personally, but to the millions that have not had the blessed privilege of seeing him face to face, I want to introduce you to him through this book.

To know John Hatfield is to love him, and to love a man makes one Christlike. I would love to tell you just a little bit about Brother John, but there is not a man that lives that can describe John Hatfield; he is indescribable, you never know just what he is going to do next. We talk of men being full of fire — well, that is John Hatfield; we talk of life and energy — well, that is Brother John. I am willing to just take down

iii iv Introduction.

my sign when it comes to doing things, I am not in it at all. John Hatfield can preach longer and louder, and keep at it longer, and shout more, and jump higher, and get more people to the altar, and pray longer and harder, than any man that walks on the ground.

He is the only man that I ever saw that could run a six-o'clock prayer-meeting on a camp-ground. I have seen many others try to get something done, but, brother, there is nothing on earth like the six-o'clock prayer-meetings that John Hatfield runs. Other things that I have seen look tame when we compare them to one of his prayer-meetings; he seems to never tire or wear out, but is always full of juice and freshness and fire and glory. Brother John never runs a meeting by a program; he is as liable to call mourners at the opening of his service as to call them at the close of his service. He is one of the greatest puzzles to the devil that is now living; the devil never knows what he is going to do next; he is about as liable to preach in one end of the church as the other — no strings on that man !

He is a cyclone of grace turned loose on the hills of the earth to do just as the blessed Holy Ghost suggests to him.

Introduction. v

Now, it will be impossible for all the people of this country to hear this mighty man of God, but there is a way in which you can hear him, you can all buy one of his books, and that will be the next best thing for you to do, for as you can't hear him you can get a glimpse of him through the book that you can't get any other way. When you read the book you will see John Hatfield on the firing-line, with his guns loaded and his finger on the trigger, and when he shoots he gets game He always shoots to kill, and he puts in old plow-points and ham-irons and old log-chains. Folks, there is something a-going on when John Hatfield gets to town. He doesn't wait a month to see if anything is going to happen, he just opens fire and the thing is happening right now. If you miss one of the books, you have missed your chance. Whatever you do or do not do, get one of these books.

Bud Robinson.

Author's Preface

After many years of travel over this country and in Canada, from ocean to ocean, and from Gulf to the Great Lakes, often telling my experience and the thrilling adventures of my life, my friends would often say to me that I should write a history of my life, and put it in book form, so that more people could get the benefit of it ; they felt that it would be a blessing to any one who would read it. At last I consented to do so. After twenty-five years had passed away, when I had completed the manuscript, I sat down to read it over and make what corrections were necessary, and it seemed to have so much self in it that I threw it into the wastebasket, and refused to publish it. A few months later I met Rev. John C. Patty in a camp-meeting as my co-worker, who insisted on my publishing the book, and if my conscience would not let me write it myself he would write it for me, and take the "I" out, so I consented to let him do so,

xi xii Preface:.

and the book was published entitled "Twenty-five Years on the Firing-line." But my friends thought I should have written it myself. Not but what Brother Patty had done justice in writing the book, but they thought it should be in my own dialect. As time passed on I felt more and more that it was the will of the Lord that I should be the author of the book myself, and after the third edition had been published I was convinced that I must rewrite it myself. Thirty-three years have passed away since my first beginning in this work. I have kept no diary, all I have is what I have retained in my memory, therefore, for me to go back for a third of a century and give everything in perfect detail would be impossible, but I have the substance. So you have it as it now comes from my own pen, and I dedicate it to all of God's dear saints in the world.

John Thomas Hatfieux

CHAPTER I. Boyhood Experiences

On the eighth day of August, 1851, in the woods, in a little frame house, near Cleveland, Ind., I was privileged to look out on this old world for the first time. I will acknowledge that my eyesight was not very good. I would not have known my mother if I had depended upon that, but my sense of smell let me know who she was, and find the place where I could get a square meal at all hours in the day or night; and I did not have to read a long bill of fare in French to find out what I wanted, and figure up the price it would cost, and then when I was done have the waiter to stand and look at me with a wishful eye for a tip. I have no recollection what my thoughts were at this time, but I am very certain that I was not bothering myself much about preaching the Gospel.

My boyhood days abounded with daring and mischievous exploits. One who would see me

14 Thirty-threes Years a Live Wire.

now would scarcely believe that I possessed such characteristics in my early life. In those days I delighted to stand upon a railroad track and laugh at the engineer of an on-coming train, as he frantically jerked the whistle cord warning me to clear the way, and this I would tantalizingly refuse to heed until the engine was almost upon me ; and when the engine passed* me I was sure to get all the benefit of the force pump until I would be dripping with water.

It was a luxury for me to break wild colts to ride, and young calves to the yoke. The uglier the disposition of the animal, the greater pleasure it afforded me in subduing it. One time my mother sent me up to the little village to get some jugs to put up some maple molasses. I rode one of these fiery steeds. And when I had gotten all the jugs in the town, and had both hands full, and was riding back without holding to the rein, I saw a cow in the road and spurred up the colt for a run. The crazy cow turned across the road, the horse struck the cow and knocked her down, the horse fell over the cow and threw me off and broke all my jugs, the cow bawled, the horse snorted, and I — said something ! When fog and dust cleared away the cow was gone, the horse providentially was standing in the road, and I was lying on my back with one foot in the stirrup; but I was soon on the horse again and on my way home. My mother asked me why I didn't get the jugs. I told her there was not a jug in the town.

One Sunday afternoon, while out with a company of young people, some one dared me to leap from a high precipice down into the quicksand below. Instantly, regardless either of the danger of losing my life or of ruining a fine suit of clothes, away I leaped, and had it not been for the heroic efforts of the other boys in the company, the treacherous sand might have swallowed me up, and that would have been "goodbye, John. ,, But the good Lord had His eye on me and I was spared.

At school one day a young lady fashioned a hat out of burdock burrs and presented it to me ; without a second thought, I slapped that burr hat tightly down upon my head. There was only one way to remove the hat and that was with a pair of scissors, and I went home from school that day with much less hair than I came with. I was nearly peeled on top of the head, but I still retained a fringe of long hair around the edge.

Once when I was fooling with a knife in a cutting-box, I put my fingers in just a little too far, and to this day I carry an ugly scar as a memento of the occasion.

I was a natural imitator. I spent much time in the practice of gymnastics. One time while attending a show I carefully observed and listened to all that was said and done. When I arrived at my home my brother and I were talking about the performance at the show and we declared that we could do many things that they did ; so we proceeded to the back yard to put the thing to the test, as a proof of the matter and make good our boast. Sure enough, we succeeded in many things, but there was one thing that remained that was an unsolvable mystery to us both, and that was to touch off a steel trap with your nose. I declared I could do it, and my brother dared me to try it. This was all that was necessary to start me in search of a steel trap, which I soon found, and, after practicing awhile with a stick, then with my finger, I felt confident that there would be no risk in making the venture, and declared my readiness to touch it off with my nose. Alas the day! I touched it off, and it touched me off, and I was instantly reminded that that trap was rewarded with a vision of a thousand stars, the Milky Way turned to crimson, and the revolving of old Mother Earth upon her axis at a swifter rate than I had ever been led to believe from my study of geography. Diagnosis revealed that my face was skinned from my cheek bone, and my nose had been mashed between the jaws of the trap. In my agony I danced around as if I were in the midst of a yellow jacket's nest, crying out between my screams to my brother, "Take it off, take it off, take it off !" By this time my brother was almost frantic with laughter. He stood upon his head, walked upon his hands, turned handsprings and somersaults, and laughed until he cried at last. When my brother's hilarity had somewhat abated, he undertook to relieve me from the trap, but he was so full of laughter he could not grip the spring, and I was so full of pain I was helpless to do the same, so I found it necessary for me to stand on my head while my brother put his foot on the trap. It lacked a little of coming to the ground, and when he pressed his foot upon the trap I thought in my soul my nose was coming off, but thank God! I felt the jaws release and I pulled my bloody nose out. I looked at my brother with tears streaming from my eyes, and blood from the end of my nose, and said, "I did it," but I have never had any desire from that day until this to repeat it. In that case, the first blessing was enough for me.

From 1858 to 1862, my father was the treasurer of the county and we lived in the city of Greenfield, Ind. During the times of vacation, when there was no school, my mother would often send me to the country to stay with my aunt, that I might be kept out of mischief; but it was in me, and it would crop out in«the country as well as in town.

I remember how my aunt used to break water in a big iron kettle to wash with. She would put in a bucket of ashes, then fill the kettle with water, and when it would clear up she would dip off the water and use it on the clothes. One washday I saw her fix the kettle and pour the water in, then go into the house to let it settle. There was a thought that struck my brain; just about the time it got 'settled I slipped from behind the old granary and jumped into it with my bare feet and "riled" it up. My aunt took after me, but I ran for the orchard and she could not catch me. I did this several times; by and by my aunt got "riled"; she warned me each time of a good "licking," but I could always beat her over the fence to the orchard. But at last she had a big gad and laid for me, and just about the time I was in the midst of my mischief she was on me with that gad. I thought she would cut me in two every step I took, and as I went over the fence into the orchard, from the way she pulled that switch over me I thought sure I would drop on both sides of the fence ; but I escaped the division and ' went out under an apple-tree and tried to choke myself to death to make her feel bad; but I survived the effort and was on decfe and ready for something else the next day.

I saw a man once go up in a balloon and come down in a parachute. That was a new proposition to me, but I soon made up my mind that if I could only get up I had a way of coming down ; so I made up my mind I would give it a trial. I stole the old umbrella out from the wardrobe and slipped around and climbed upon the back part of the house, and, finding the highest place, I spread the umbrella, gripped the handle tight, and then made a leap. Instantly my parachute turned inside out, and I went to the ground like a chunk of lead ; but God had His hand upon me and He let me down in a soft place, and I escaped with but little injury.

James Whitcomb Riley and myself were boys together. We were in the same class at school, and at the same "swimming hole," since made famous in one of Mr. Riley's poems. During the Civil War we marched the streets together with tin pans for drums and broomsticks for guns. Little did passers-by imagine, as they cast indifferent glances at us little dust-begrimed urchins out in the road playing soldier, that, in the coming years, little Johnnie Hatfield would bless his country as John T. Hatfield, "The Hoosier Evangelist," and little Jim Riley would be known the world over as James Whitcomb Riley, "The Hoosier Poet. ,,

My parents were unsaved members of the M. E. Church. They knew nothing, experimentally, of belonging to the glorious Church "without spot or wrinkle." Our home was the stopping-place for Methodist preachers, and yet no minister ever deliberately thrust arrows of convicting truth into their hearts sufficiently straight and true to awaken them out of their long sleep in carnal security. There were three reasons why I liked for these ministers to come to my father's house. First, I was quite sure they would not talk to me about my soul's salvation; second, I was very sure I would hear many tales of daring adventure; third, I knew my mother would put forth special effort to prepare appetizing dishes to appeal to the ministerial palate.

My father, in those days, frequently kept a bottle of "Old Kentucky Rye" in the cupboard, and its contents were offered to both children and guests. This custom of the home had something to do in kindling to great intensity my appetite for strong drink, and at the age of twenty years I was frequenting saloons and seeking companionship among the vile, soul-destroying influence of saloon life. Like a meteor in the night I was fast going down, and nothing less powerful than the mighty attraction of heavenly gravitation could reverse my hellward course and draw me to the heights of noble Christian manhood. Thank God, the Holy Spirit interposed, the blood of Christ was supplied, and my young life was transformed from a disgraceful career of drunken profligacy to one of eminent usefulness in the cause of the Lord Jesus Christ

CHAPTER II: Conversion

It was the night of December 14, 1872. Many days and nights have come and gone and long since been forgotten, but this night is one that lingers in my memory as one of the greatest nights of all my past experience; because of the eternal issues that I settled on my knees in that little upper room over my father's store. At this time I was living at Knightstown, Ind., and was clerking in a dry-goods store for my father.

For quite awhile it had been my custom to spend the evenings out with the town boys, enjoying with them the pleasures of sin, but on the night of December 14, for what cause God only knows, I remained at the store and retired at an early hour. After retiring I quickly fell asleep, only to be soon awakened by the heavy pressure of God's hand upon my breast. I found myself awakened for the transaction of the most important business project of my life, and the Holy Spirit, God's agent in the deal, put a religious

Conversion. 23

question in my mind that made me so intensely conscious of my lost state that I felt that I must do something toward the salvation of my soul, and do it quickly. Hoping to receive salvation without any one else knowing it, I began praying in a quiet way, but the sound of my voice plunged me into a paroxysm of excitement. I sprang out of bed screaming "Murder ! Murder ! Murder ! I'm dying! I'm dying! Fm dying !" My uncle, who was sleeping with me, thinking I was having a fearful dream, sprang from the bed and took hold of me, but I informed him that I was not asleep, but I was dying, and could see Hell and every sin I ever committed pass before me like a dark, fearful panorama.

I wanted salvation, but was almost sure I would die ere I obtained it. I wanted the doctor, and I wanted the preacher, and I could not determine which I wanted first. I was afraid to send for the doctor first for fear I would die without the preacher, and I was afraid to send for the preacher for fear I would die without the doctor. At last I thought of a doctor who was a local preacher, and sent for him and got the two in one. When my uncle left me alone, as he hurried for the doctor, I became almost wild with fear; I imagined I saw Hell-fire beneath me, all the

24 Thirty-thre:^ Ysars a Live Wire:.

sins of my life before me, and the devil after me right at my heels. My breast felt as though it would burst. My heart throbbed and beat like a drum, the sweat stood on my forehead in great drops and my hands were as cold as ice. I wandered into a back room where the carpets were kept ; it was dark. Many of the rolls were lying on the floor, as it had been a busy day and they were left lying. I stumbled over some of these rolls and I imagined myself falling into Hell.

When my uncle and the doctor arrived, they found me in a corner of the room with my head against the wall, the tears streaming from my eyes, my body wet with perspiration and my breast heaving. As soon as the doctor saw me he soon had my case diagnosed; the symptoms were so marked that it did not take him long to locate the trouble, and he apprised me of the fact that my suffering was caused from a very malignant form of sin-sickness, and prescribed prayer and confession for my sins and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. He had no trouble in getting me to follow the prescription and take my medicine. There was nothing that savored of hope that was too hard for me to do. I was glad to confess all, to make restitution, to say "yes" to any field of labor. I spent about six hours on my knees, and

Conversion. 25

they were hours of as great anxiety as I ever spent on this earth, and they are fresh in my memory to-day, and when I get to Heaven I will look down and sing that old song:

" There is a spot to me more dear

Than native vale or mountain ; A spot for which affection's tear

Springs grateful from its fountain. 'Tis not where kindred souls abound,

Tho ' that is almost Heaven, But where I first my Savior found,

And felt my sins forgiven.

'"Hard was my toil to reach the shore,

Long tossed upon the ocean; Above me was the thunder's roar,

Beneath, the waves' commotion.

Darkly the pall of night was thrown

Around me, faint with terror; In that dark hour how did my groan

Ascend for years of error.

'Sinking and panting as for breath,

I knew not help was near me, I cried, 'Oh, save me, Lord, from death,

Immortal Jesus, hear me/ Then quick as* though I felt Him mine,

My Savior stood before me, I saw His brightness round me shine,

And shouted 'Glory! Glory!'

"Oh, sacred hour! Oh, hallowed spot!

Where love divine first found me: Wherever falls my distant lot,

My heart shall linger round thee. And when from earth I rise, to soar

Up to my home in Heaven, Down will I cast my eyes once more,

Where I was first forgiven."

While I was gasping and choking for breath, I thought I had thrown up my heart, and I opened my eyes and looked at the floor to see if it could be possible. I fully expected to fall to the floor, a dead man, and drop directly into Hell and be utterly lost forever. I was unconsciously clinging to life and was not aware of it, and nothing but physical exhaustion could solve tb~ difficulty; and when I reached the point of human weakness my head dropped upon my heaving breast, my voice ceased to give utterance to the cries of my soul. I reached the place of complete surrender, the struggling ceased, and I said; "Live or die, I am the Lord's/' then looked up, and, by simple faith, I claimed the promise, and the light of Heaven flashed instantly in upon my soul, the burden rolled away, new life sprang up within, angels struck their golden harps and broke forth with rejoicing. The heavenly melodies burst upon my soul, and I was as light and

Conversion. 27

free and happy as a bird in springtime. I sprang to my feet fairly submerged in the billows of glory that swept over my new-born soul.

The next morning, when I reached the store, I found my uncle telling the clerks the circumstances of the past night, and although he was a well-known but unconverted member of the Methodist Church, he did not take well to such a radical experience of salvation. He had gotten into a very close place during the past night, in having to perform the laborious task of praying for a poor lost soul, and when a cold professor is not accustomed to such herculean tasks, it makes it quite uncomfortable for old carnality.

I passed down the aisle to the front of the store where a lady was entering to purchase some goods. She also was a Methodist, and so deaf that she could not hear it thunder if it would strike the house. I was so happy I could scarcely hold myself to the floor. It seemed to me that gravitation was reversed, it was pulling me up instead of down. While measuring some dress goods the lady was purchasing, I was busy telling her my experience and talking very loud, when suddenly a wave of glory swept over me like a hot wind in Kansas, and with an old-fashioned shout I threw the yardstick and goods to one side and took down the aisle clapping my hands and shouting for dear life. This was more than my Methodist uncle could endure. He soon had a buggy at the front door with a driver in it to escort me to the farm where my father lived, and if I" wanted to shout I could stay out there and shout in the woods with the birds. Nothing could have suited me better. I wanted room and liberty, and from the way I was feeling, that store was entirely too small to contain all God had put in my soul. Away I went, shouting every step of the way.

Immediately I went to work for Christ in the Methodist Episcopal Church. I organized a Sunday-school, began to teach music, a thing I had never done before in my life, there was no music in me, but God put a new song in my mouth, and I began to try to sing at once. I was soon appointed class-leader of the church, and in this capacity I served the church for a number of years, and God was with me. I lived what they called a very consistent justified life and was faithful in attendance upon all the means of grace. I often lost control of my temper and gave way to the spirit of impatience, and therefore brought darkness upon my soul; but I always persisted in storming the throne of grace

Conversion. 29

until God forgave me and sent the fresh anointings upon my soul and thus dispelled the gloom.

I might say that before my conversion I tried to reform myself by joining the "Good Templars," but it was a failure. My appetite was too strong and my will was too weak.

At another time, during a big revival in the Methodist Church in 1869, I went forward with others, and for two nights I worked as hard as any one to get saved. At last some one asked me if I believed. I told them I did. Then they said, "Get up, you are saved." I was sincere, so I accepted their teaching and stood up, but I felt no particular change, as my head h"ng down and I felt ashamed; but I took their word for it, supposing it to be all right. But, oh, what a mistake ! and that same mistake is being made with, thousands to-day. The country is full of what we called backsliders that never had anything to backslide from, and this deception has made their last state worse than the first.

I was taken into the Church and baptized, but it did me no good. I was worse than ever, and for three years I lived a very wicked life. But thank God! on the 14th day of December, 1872, God Almighty got hold of me, and this time He was the teacher, and He showed me a thing or two, and like Jacob of old, He nearly used me up, but I got something as lasting as the stars, and which will stand when the world is on fire. No human being has ever told me to get up since that load of sin rolled away, and the fire of God struck my soul. You might as well have tried to stop old Vesuvius with corncobs as to have tried to hold me down then; there was something internal in me that was bringing me up, and my head was not hung, and I was not bashful about it. Glory to God ! That has been over forty years ago and the fire still burns hot. Hallelujah!

CHAPTER III. Sanctification

For eight years I battled along against that subtle enemy of the human heart, known as inbred sin. During these years I heard not a word on the possibility of deliverance from this inward foe. One day my pastor, Rev. James Leonard, attended a Holiness camp-meeting at Hartford City, Ind., conducted by the National Holiness Association, and in this meeting he professed to have obtained the blessing of entire sanctification. When he returned he was not the same preacher, and his sermons were not the same. He had something new, and there was fire in it, and you could feel it burn. His theme was holiness as a second definite cleansing work of God's grace, and it made me feel very uncomfortable to sit there and listen to him. He soon had me v on the fence, and he had me guessing, but still I was interested. I knew I needed something, and he seemed to have the thing my poor, hungry heart was craving. At last I became very deeply convicted for it, and told my wife that I was going to have that experience or die seeking it. Immediately I began to seek the blessing, and often in my prayers I would become so fervent and intense that I would receive great spiritual enduements, and at times I often wondered if I had truly been sanctified wholly; but when I came to dealing with things about the farm, I would become impatient and lose my temper, and this was a clear evidence to me that I did not have it. I spent much time in prayer seeking this blessing. In the woods, in the field, at the barn, at family prayer, in church, at Sunday-school, in the class meeting and in prayer-meetings I could pray down fire and wonderful blessings upon my soul, but nothing that would remove inbred sin.