Toward the end of the 19th
century, a group of early pioneers formed the “Old Settlers’ Association.” They would meet on a regular basis,
reminiscing about days gone by. Quite
often one of the members would prepare a story to be read at a meeting
recalling a particular event or person of interest.
On September 11, 1895, J. E. Blackford
presented a piece entitled “Kossuth’s First Minister.” I expected the tale to be about the
well-known Congregational pastor, Rev. Chauncey Taylor, or perhaps the
Presbyterian minister Rev. McComb, both of whom served the small settlement of
Call’s Grove in its early days. However,
Mr. Blackford’s story introduced me to a name I had never heard of before. I think
you will find his story as interesting—and amusing—as I did.
KOSSUTH’S FIRST
MINISTER
_____
On
the evening of Oct. 10, 1855, I reached Algona—the Algona that was to be, for
the town was not yet laid out. As the
guest of A. A. Call we stopped with the family of Levi Maxwell where he
boarded. Of all the good people among
the pioneers of Kossuth county there was no family more kind and hospitable
than that of Levi Maxwell. His cabin was
already full of boarders and how and where we all slept that night has been a
mystery to me ever since. It was an odd
thing too that we slept our first night on the spot where we have since lived
for forty years.
I
had lived in Indiana where that part of it was a wilderness, settling there
before the Indians were removed from the county. The early settlement of Indiana was made and
the country developed in spite of the drawbacks and discouragements caused by
the rough element found in most early settlements. Drunkenness, fighting, gambling, horse racing
and counterfeiting were common. Among
the good people were some of the very roughest characters then found in the
west. When I came to Iowa I was
prepared, or at least expected to go through the experiences of my boyhood
days, and to find and deal with the rough element usually found in new
settlements. Those of you who came here
with the same fears know how agreeably we were disappointed. But I did not then know it and you may judge
of my surprise when I was told on the evening of the second day that we were to
have preaching that night, and was more surprised to learn that this was the
second visit the preacher had made to the settlement. I want to recall a few things that I remember
of this preacher.
His
name was Marks. I do not know if he was
the Marks that figured in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, but he did figure in the Maxwell
cabin. Presently he made his appearance. He was long past middle life and dressed in
the most ordinary clothing, no starch about him. He lived at Polk City more than a hundred
miles down the river. He drove a span of
ponies to a light wagon, and in the wagon, he had a sack of corn, and a very
long rope. There were no bridges in
those days and the rope was to tie to the wagon to draw it over, after the
preacher had swam himself and the horses across. The corn was to feed the ponies, so that the
settlers should not have them to feed.
Such a man was Marks our first preacher.
His first utterances proved him to be certainly the most ignorant man
who ever undertook to preach. I thought
I had known one in Indiana who was the peer of any man living in that line, but
he could not compare with Rev. Marks. His
scripture lesson was read after this style:
In t-h-o-s-e (spelling it out) those, days c-a-m-e came, John the
B-a-p-t-i-s-t Baptist p-r-e-a-c-h-i-n-g preaching, in the wil, wil,
w-i-l-d-e-r-n-e-s-s wilderness, say, saying repent ye, for the k-i-n-g-d-o-m
kingdom of h-e-a-v-e-n heaven is at hand.
The reading of the hymn was after the same manner and the singing still
more interesting. He asked someone to
start a tune, and I have never quite forgiven the good singers present that
they did not do it. He said: “Well I don’t know as I can do it, but I’ll
try,” and try he did and failed, and tried again and failed again. He then whistled a bar or two, and then sang
a line or two of some very familiar hymn, finally dropping down on the hymn
selected. Then followed the prayer. It was the most unique one ever uttered
anywhere. He had a fashion of praying
directly for what he thought we ought to have.
No beating around the bush. He
went straight to the mark. A few
examples. Judge Call was building and
talking Algona. The preacher said: “Lord God, please to put something in Judge
Call’s head besides building a steam saw mill, and a town.” He also prayed earnestly that the Lord would
bless the old bachelors, adding: “For
Lord thou knowest their cabins are desolate enough without wife or
children.” He also put up a fervent
petition for the young man with the wife and two little boys, who had come out
from the big settlements. That meant me,
and he only alluded to me in that way because he did not know my name. I felt to join heartily in his supplication,
for if ever a man needed help and guidance, it was the man who had just came
out of the big settlements. Mrs. Maxwell
was known as a religious woman. He
earnestly plead with the Lord to bless Mrs. Maxwell, adding: “For Lord thou knowest she is the only
Christian in all this country.” And he
made himself the Lord’s agent too, for the next morning she found a dollar
under his plate. The sermon that
followed was in line with the prayer, a jumble of good thoughts and good
advice, given in bad grammar and murdered English. After a few weeks Marks made another visit
and again preached. It was a repetition
of the same circus. In his sermon he
spoke of a body exhumed that had turned to stone. He said:
“And when the grave was opened the woman was found verbatim.” The broad smiles on the faces about him made
him think he might be mistaken, and he was quick to acknowledge it. He said:
“I see you laugh, I hain’t got much larnin. I wonder if I didn’t get the wrong word? Yes I know I did. I meant that the woman was peter, peter, peterified. Well maybe it is not quite right yet.”
Marks
had a brother in York state who was really a famous preacher of the Free-will
Baptist church. Mr. Snock, a boarder who
knew the brother said so to the preacher, and Marks exclaimed, “And did you
know my brother Joseph. Ah well he was a
smarter man than I am.” And Snock who
was a matter of fact sort of fellow answered, “That’s a fact.” That night he went home with me. He was a good deal depressed. He said, “I made a mistake tonight. I saw them laugh.” And just like a child he asked me: “What word did I want to say?” I told him that petrified was the word, but
that he had it pretty near right, and that I thought verbatim expressed his
idea very well. He said: “I am so glad you tell me. I’ll never forget that again.” He wanted me to advise him what to study but
I was a little modest in recommending Webster’s spelling book, and so I told
him that I should think he himself would know in what branches he was most
deficient. “Well,” he said, “I don’t
know. Some folks tell me that I ought to
study geography.“ He said: “I have preached 38 years and I don’t know as
I ever converted a single soul. I don’t
know as I ever said anything that anybody remembered an hour.” I tried to cheer up the good man, and told
him he could not know what a good influence he was exerting, and that many
years before I had heard him preach when I was a boy, and that I remembered a
part of his sermon very well. He
expressed the greatest pleasure and said if I had remembered perhaps someone
else had too, and he should keep on preaching.
I was glad that he did not ask me what part of his sermon I remembered
so well. I will tell you the gist of it: “He was a young man. Went up the Connecticut river one
Sunday. Rested in a butternut
grove. Stole some of the
butternuts. On his way down the river
his conscience smote him and he felt that he ought to take the butternuts back,
but it was up stream, the current swift, and a hot day. So he went on down the river, but he determined
he would not eat the butternuts, and did not, but sold them and bought a bible,
and thank God he has it yet.”
At
Judge Call’s he insisted against the Judge’s strong remonstrance, in chopping
wood to pay his way and when he left he shook hands and gave us a cordial
invitation to his home at Polk City. He
said: “Your oxen will be hungry, and I
may not be there, but you will find hay and sheds for your oxen, and something in
the house for yourselves, and it may save you a dollar or two, and it will come
good too, for though you may have gold to sling about now, the time will come
when you will need all you can get.” He
said: “Come in welcome. We’re pretty
well off, but I tell you since we come to Iowa it has been root hog or
die. But I thank God,” and here he cast
his eyes reverently toward heaven, “we’ve got the acorns by rooting.”
Such
was Marks our first preacher, who left his home to travel over a wilderness and
ford swollen streams and bottomless sloughs to preach to us heathens, bringing
his own feed and anxious to work for his board lest he should be a burden to
the people he longed to serve. No pay or
hope of reward except the hope of doing good.
Many ministers have followed him, educated men, eloquent men, men who
were faithful to their trust, but among them all no one has ever impressed me
more favorably as an unselfish, devoted minister of Christ, and none whose
memory I revere more than I do that of Reverend Marks, our first preacher.
Thank
you, Mr. Blackford, for giving us a glimpse of life here in its earliest days.
Until
next time,
Kossuth
County History Buff
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