THE TRAIL OF 80 YEARS.

Winder, Georgia, 7/26/34.

I came here on the 17 of July. Mrs. Hattie Ely, mother of my present wife, had died suddenly, that A.M., 9 hours before I arrived. My wife had been with her since April.

Mrs. Ely was a good woman. She was a student in college at Perry Georgia, before the Civil War, whose president wrote the famous book, "Theodosia Ernest." Mrs. Ely was 86 years of age, and the last member of the family to own Negro slaves. She inherited 23 of them from her father’s estate, who died when she was a child. Her gardian hired those slaves for wages, till they were freed by the Civil War.

Now going back and starting up the trail of memory again; I find that I had come to that place in a pastor’s life, where the novelty of it has worn off. Now when this comes to preachers, as a rule, they seek other fields for labor. Not so with me; I owned a farm, had a wife and a number of children to support. The Holy spirit seemed to incline me to stay, where I was known. All these years my home has been in easy reach of my old home church. During some years a part of my time was spent in the prime of life, and since I had no pastorate, I became eager to preach Christ. Those Idle Sundays were long and dumb, and hard to bear. I used a part of such time in mission work, at my own expense. I had little apparent success, but now, I’m glad that I made an effort. It may be that God held me up to save my body from overwork, or it may have been my own fault, because of sorry sermons. No preacher should be sorry, or idle, in middle life. It opens up so many ways for the Devil to attack him, with jealousy of other pastors, to find fault with the church, quit preaching, and backslide to the world. I find that I was help to overcome the Devil on these and other lines; of which to use unholy methods to induce some church to call me as pastor. I believed, that promotion, to last, came from God; hence I took what God gave me.

After this, I was pastor of four country churches. The fact that stamps my memory with this, is the great cyclone that struck that part of Florida.  [Cross-Reference:   see "Wrecked by a Cyclone"].   After time for the sun to be up, it was dark, for daytime, with low rolling clouds. No wind to alarm us. Our breakfast was later than usual. Around our long table sat my wife and I, our children, Lowell, Arlie, Pearl, Broadno, Ruby, Calla, and Russie. We had spoken to God at breakfast. Then the cyclone was upon us, like a thousand demons. I saw our large barn go over on its side leaving the roof intact. I had stacked overhead a large pile of fodder. I said: "Let’s run and get under that fodder." I can now see Kate, my wife, as she leans back against the wind, with our baby, Russie, press to her breast, her wet hair streaming about her head. While we braced against the wind, the larger children scurried like young pattridges to cover under that fodder. That journey was made without a word, scream, cry, or tear. No time for such; we were fleeing for our lives, and made it. How thankful we were. We knew our losses were great, but we had ourselves and children, without a scratch or loss of blood. The fodder kept the rain off. The wind was so terrific, that water would flow up under the board of a steep roof and stream down on the inside. The fury determined to sweep everything out of its way. If one stream of air demons failed, stronger ones would rush after them, shrieking out. "Never mind, a stronger crowd of us fellows will get you, in a moment." So here they would come in hundreds and thousands, and millions. But the roof stood. The eaves were on the ground. If they could have gotten under, away it would have gone, boards, fodder, and, perhaps, Wares.

It began to be calm and we thought that our lives were safe, but those demons riding the wind came back, more angry, shaking that barn top, and pouring the water in on that fodder, which shed it off of us. I know its imagination, but that cyclone seemed to say: "In my center, you thought I was gone. Now I’ll show you what my reverse side can do." So, here it came, screaming: "I am distruction and death."

The gable end of the barn was gone, and when I looked toward Mason, billows of smoke were being swept by the cyclone. The new Masonic Hall with store below, had fallen and ignition of matches had put it in flames. As the house went over, the iron safe was thrown through a nearby window, and wind blew the flames from it.

Now I will come back to us under that pile of fodder. "Did any of the children scream or cry? No. Did Kate act wild, or scared, from that big a cause?" "What did you do, under that fodder?" "Kept still and prayed, like Jonah did, under the sea, and I was saved, with wife and children."

When we came out and looked around, what a sight we saw! made in less than one hour. The forest of trees was on the ground. None but young trees and saplings, which could bend to the cyclone, were left. My log corn crib, full of newly gathered corn to the top was standing, held down by the corn, but the cover, was gone.

The shelter over the furnace to make sirup, build on post, sunk in the ground, was standing, but it had been thrown back, and forth, and around till dirt around the posts was away several inches. I had two stables with upper story, under one roof, with a mule and horse in them. It was blown away from where it stood, and no stock in sight. The kitchen and dining room was standing, but our dwelling house was in a fix. The rock chimney was down and that end of the house was resting on the hearth, but the other end was sunk in the ground several inches. This made the house about three feet lower at that end. We had left our breakfast uneatten. What a sight that table was. Trash and dirt and soot covered the table and dirty water in every dish. In the other house the clock had in some way, gotten down to the floor, in the middle of the room, on its face, as though it had tried to follow us, and was weeping because it could not. The wind must have eased it down, for no parts were broken.

Brutus, my china gentleman, given me, before I could remember, was also on the floor, but he suffered some minor losses, such as losing the tail of his puppy, and one ornament. The beds were wet, covered with trash. The top of a pine had reached our front porch, and crushed it down, but the roofs of house and kitchen were not damaged. Soon our horse and mule came up without a scratch, the sight of which did us good. The cyclone must have lifted one side of the stables so that they could run out. I had about 3 miles of pine rail fences around my fields. I found about 50 rails that had not been moved. On the east side of the fields trees were blown across the fence on the other side. Rails were blown out among fallen trees. It was September, and cotton was open. I had a fine field of sea island cotton ready to pick. The cyclone did it, making white the ground with trash and logs on top. I gave a neighbor one-half of the remains. I had a big field of pindars. Everybody’s hogs ates everybody’s crops in the fields. I drove a lot of one neighbor’s, back into his field. My cattle walked into his field. He shot them and one young steer died. I said nothing to him about it, for men were hardly normal. He and his family had fled to his tobacco barn when the storm began. Soon he saw that it would not stand, and as they ran, the falling barn knocked off the heel of his wife’s shoe, as it crashed down behind them. She missed death by a second of time. Years after, they moved into another county where I served as pastor for five years. While they were not Baptist, I was often in their home, and they were a help to me, as pastor. How glad I was then, that I had passed the loss of that beef in silence.

Another man, who would curse, glad or mad, his house blew down on him, but a table held up the timbers from crushing him to death. It was said that he was so frightened that he never let cursing devils use him any more.

But to get back to ourselves. When we had picked up the clock and Brutus, hear came old brother Julian, the Lutheran pastor, wild eyed and asking: "Are any of you hurt or dead?" From looks of things, that was a pertinent question. His parsonage stood, but his church house fell, which really was no loss, for his Lutheran bretheren in other states soon replaced it with a better one. After he left, I started out over trees around my farm. Near Mason where that lodge and store were still burning. I had four acres of large sugar cane, all flat to the ground and fence down. There I met a friend, whose house had stood, but his gin house had fallen and farm torn up. His brother, whom the table had saved was with him, and others. I walked up close to him, and looked him in the eye. Directly, tears began to run down his face and he said: "I’m ruined." The sight made me laugh right out loud, and I said: "Man, you are not ruined till you are dead. Go home and go to work." This was my first laugh after the storm, and it was badly needed to break the tension of the last few hours.

No dishes were broken, but all needed washing. That night we slept on beds with our feet to the south, for east and west would have rolled us off. I said to Kate that this was our first time to sleep up hill.

Before the sugar cane was blown down, it was long, straight, and sweet to chew. I didn’t mind a stalk or two stolen but when plow lines were used to tote off loads, it got my goat. So, I put some specac in some fine stalks. I noticed less cane being stolen, but heard nothing. Finally, a fellow said: "Me and a man was ‘possum hunting one night, and thought that we’d try your cane. So, we got some, went down in the woods, and sat on a log and went to chewing. Directly, he said that he was sorta sick. Soon I notices that it has me too." Another time I had two fine young watermellons that I thought would have stolen from me. So I put some specac in the stems when they were fully ripe. They left, and I followed the tracks of the two thieves and found the remnants of the mellons. Several years later, a mother found fault, but not with her son for stealing the mellons. So, I decided it best to quit the specac business.

One night I made a big mistake. I awoke at two o’clock, before day. A bright moon was overhead. I could not sleep with all fences down, so, I got up and rebuilt a fence. The grass was high and drenched with dew, which poisoned my legs.

Fortunately, a long dry spell of weather followed the storm. My cane crop straightened up, and I made 22 barrels of syrup that fall. I made a furnace, which held two 60 gallon kettles. One day, I made into syrup 480 gallons of cane juice. I sold this syrup the next summer for goods, at 30 cts. per gallon. That cane crop bridged us over the loss from the storm.

I was pastor of four churches. They were all blown down in the storm. I rode over and around trees on my big gray mule, and got to Sardis as Deacon J.I.Bese was leaving, in his two-horse wagon load of his folds. We stood near the fallen house and amid the fallen trees and read the charge to the church at Sardis, and held worship. Next day, by permission, church met in the school house, which was a course, plain, building of only one room, a short distance, Northwest, where now a highway runs over the rail-road. The church used this house until it built a new one, which was located near little spring, north of the Anti-Missionary Baptist Church. Their house was made of long heavy logs, and stood the storm. I think I served Sardis Church for nothing, while the house was being built, as that was my habit. So, I did with cypress Lake, Raiford, and Brooker Churches. The last two churches, received $50 each from our state mission board and the Board paid me $50 a year on salary, at each church, which I put in the houses.

Two deacons, J.I.Dubose and H.C.Peeples, caused Sardis Church to be built. Brother Peeples was the executive force that caused that house to rise from a wreck, by a cyclone, to the glory of God. We tried to get Rev. S.S.Proctor to preach the dedication sermon, but he was busy elsewhere, so we stood up that cold wintry day, with no heat, except a log heap of fire in the yard. With overcoat on, and teeth chattering from cold, I did my best, which fell far short for the occasion.

Now we will go back to Columbia county and look at my farm. Common labor was 50¢ a day and board, or 75¢ and feed yourself. I hired a friend to jack up my house and make some repairs. When I asked him how much he charged per day for his labor, he said: "$2.00." This was my first hold up after the storm. I dug rock and had my chimney rebuilt. A negro man did the work, with a large black boy to help him. He had to go through some timbers, along a common road. The man got through with his supper first, and went to the timber, and waited for the boy. He saw him coming, at dusk, about 40 yards from the road, when the boy was opposite, he began to walk on his hands and feet, parallel with the road, not making any noise. The boy had never seen an animal with short fore legs and long hind legs. The thing was going his way, and might be out after some boy meat. So one hand grabbed his hat, his two legs shot him forward, across a wide branch with one touch of a foot, on up the hill, around the bend, his legs pumped him, and through the door of a lighted house, and on the floor he fell, exhausted. The man tried to catch him, but no chance, fear, can out speed fun in any race. I wish to make a note of one of my neighbors at Mason. He was much older than I. He was a man of parts and varied experience. He was reared in North Georgia, and dug gold around Dahlonega Ga. Not satisfied with results of his work, and eager to get a start in life, he agreed with his young wife to leave her there, while he joined in with the gold rush by way of Panama, to California, in 1849. After a few years he returned to his bride with $1500. He paid a big price for that much gold, but he tried and got it out of his system. He moved to Florida before the Civil War, and over-saw a big plantation near Lake City. I think he caused Bethlehem Baptist to be organized, and I know he was its pillar as long as he lived in those parts. He could automatically be a pillar in any church. He was a member. Such men are rare in this world. Some defect will mar them as first class material for God to use. He was old and I was young, and how he wanted me to succeed as a preacher! One reason was, I think, one of his sons, had tried, and failed. Unlike his parents, he was indolent. The race of successful preachers and pastors are too swift for such men to keep up. They drop out.

This old friend of mine, our farms joined. In connection with his farm, he ran a successful store. I ran a farm and churches; he ran a farm and mercantile business. He made a living and money; I made a living and converts. Finally he died, and continued his eternal life.

Deacon K. D. Edge, his equal, I have never met.

The years came and went, and with them the effect of the big cyclone. 50 miles wide, was being removed, and forgotten. A short time after it had passed late one cloudy evening, I heard one coming, but it quickly passed, high up in the air, with a great noise. I have never had one since, pass over my head.

In 1898, I was a messenger to our state Baptist Convention, which met in Deland Florida. It was after the big freeze, which dethroned many an orange king, a few years before, John B. Stetson was alive then and walled in and covered over his orange grove with pine lumber.

W. N. Chandoin was president and L. D. Geiger, clerk. John B. Gorbes was president of Stetson University. Out of my strenuous life and more than my salary from some church, for a year’s work, I had paid $25.00 on the endowment of Stetson University, and felt glad about our Baptist University.

Mr. Deland, who made the town and started the college, was broken by the big freeze; and the Lord had prepared Mr. Stetson, to fill up the breach. A Mr. Parsons was pastor of the Baptist Church in Deland. Rev. J. C. Porter was editor and owner of the Florida Baptist Witness. He was a good Evangelist--- the Baptist live wire for Florida. We were together some, and how I hated to see that foul disease pull him into the grave in middle life. But Porter did more in his few years than I have done, through all of my 80 years. State Board Missions in Florida was young in years, weak in strength and little money. The convention was the big hand to draw in the money, to send out missionaries. Tichner, of our Home Mission Board, was there, but the central figure and moving cause to boost missions, was W. N. Chandoin. He was a great unifier. When waves of friction and dissent would come surging over our sea, for usefulness, for God, Chandoin would stand up and let them break over him. The best night of that convention was given to Missions.

We have a better place now, but the plan then was to get our big lump sum at the State Conventions, for missions. It was a great time to put on high pressure, so when the collection for missions got in full swing, by cash or subscriptions, Jim Turner, of Leviville Fla. who was rich in cattle and land, jumped to his feet and threw out the challenge; that he would cover every dollar, with another, given by anyone, for missions. When eleven hundred dollars was reached, enthusiasm broke loose anew, and doubtless some poor pastors started themselves for home but I didn’t. Other wealthy Baptists, like Jim Turner, helped God’s poor Saints to finance the Kingdom in those days. I made my first and last convention speech at that one. I caught myself on my feet, and made a speech, to get out of it. To make a speech in a convention was like pressing back two hot walls and to tell everyone to keep cool. The hot walls were Baptists, eager to do the tongue work of the convention. To obviate this, the convention appointed speakers one year ahead to take up most of the time. This was better, but somehow, we missed the natural combustion that warmed us and the ludricus, to make us laugh. Sometimes a young preacher, big on his field, would try to show his size, as he had it, before the convention. It was tragic to see the shrinkage as they tried to stretch to what they thought was their natural size. If they had religion, you could see the beautiful cloak of humility covering their spirits, after they sat down, but if they had no spirit of God, their faces would flush, and they would blame the convention for not knowing their worth. They would go their way, and the world would keep its own. At another convention back of this one about 10 years ago; L. D. Grieger, speaking of Florida pastors, said that they came from everywhere but Florida. Grieger was a native and felt lonesome. Now its different, where other states have some of our native preachers. After this, I went to a convention in Lakeland. I was sent to a certain street number, to find my home during the convention. When I found it, I was on a side street, and the woman of the house was up to her elbows in a wash tub. She would scrub, as I asked: "Is this your street number?" She washed and sloshed, and said, "Yes." "I am here to the State Convention, and was sent here." She scrubed the clothes and said: "I know nothing about it." My rule was to never argue with a woman, so I went back to the committee and reported what had happened.

That good old pioneer Baptist Preacher, Caddin, overheard me and invited me to be his guest. Caddin was a great uneducated sermonizer who had the delivery of a college man. J. R. Graves, the great Baptist debater, and editor, was his ideal preacher. Caddin would cross swords with any man in our convention, whom he thought was wrong on Bible doctrine and church policy. To Caddin no advanced thought was newer than the fact that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. When Caddin passed over, I felt the loss.

Copyright © 2006 Brett W. Smith. All rights reserved.