Part 11

At this time Joseph suffered for want of the clothes he had lost in the retreat from Canada, and had, in fact, worn the only shirt he had for six weeks, and was so incommoded with vermin that he was compelled to take off his shirt, wash it without soap, wring it out, and put it on wet. He was also scourged with an irritating cutaneous disease, which induced him to retire some distance from camp, fire a log-heap, and roast himself, after anointing with a mixture of grease and brimstone. The camp was destitute of indispensable conveniences, and the hospital in which lay the sick had not a dish of any kind in which could be administered a sup of gruel, broth, or a drink of water. Resort was had to wooden troughs, or dishes, cut out with a hatchet or penknife. The colonel, in passing through the hospital, said, "I wish there was a man to be found here who can turn wooden dishes." Joseph, who understood the art, replied, "Furnish me the tools and I will do it." The tools were furnished, and Joseph soon turned from the aspen poplar an ample supply of wooden cups and trenchers. He was also often employed in making bread, and in fact was a sort of universal genius and could do almost anything. At the instance of General Washington he was also employed at times to aid in negotiating treaties of friendship with the Indians. But after being transferred several times from one military point to another, and suffering more or less from hardships, his health became so impaired that the principal surgeon gave him a discharge, and he returned to his home in Massachusetts. He soon afterward so far recovered that he re-enlisted and served as an orderly sergeant in defence of the seaport towns till the 1st of January, 1778, when his time expired, and he returned to his father's house once more, having been in the service a little more than three years. He received, on retiring from the army, about two hundred dollars in paper currency, which was so depreciated that he could not purchase with the whole of it a decent coat. He then (for the next six months) engaged in the business of weaving on shares, and during that time wove sixteen hundred yards of plain cloth. This enabled him to clothe himself decently, and to spend the ensuing winter in improving his education. At this time, as he said, he "had no Christian hope," but continued to labor and study during the year 1779, when a religious revival occurred, and he acquired a Christian hope, with a determination to fit himself for the ministry. Encouraged by his friend, Rev. Mr. Day, he prosecuted the requisite preliminary studies, and at the same time taught a family school in order to meet his expenses. He entered college in 1781, and graduated in 1785. He then studied theology, and was licensed to preach in 1786. He soon received a call and was ordained as pastor of the church at Blandford, Mass. He had previously married Miss Lois Noble, who was a young lady of refinement and exemplary piety. In October, 1800, he resigned his pastorship at Blandford and received a regular dismissal.

The Connecticut Missionary Society, whose central office was at Hartford, had formed a high estimate of the character and piety of Rev. Joseph Badger, and at once tendered him the appointment to go, under the auspices of the society, as a missionary to the Western Reserve. This was the kind of Christian labor in which he preferred to engage. He therefore accepted the appointment; and leaving his family at home until he could explore somewhat his new field of service, he took his departure on horseback, Nov. 15, 1800, bound for the Western Reserve. He took what was then called the southern route, crossed the Alleghany mountains in the midst of a snow-storm, and after a weary journey, arrived at Pittsburgh on the 14th of December. Here he rested for a day or two, and then resumed his "journey through the wilderness," and after a weary ride of nearly a hundred miles, reached Youngstown, one of the earliest settlements in the Reserve, on Saturday night at a late hour, and was kindly received. The next day he preached at Youngstown his first sermon in the Reserve. The town at that time consisted of some half-dozen log cabins. His audience included nearly every soul in town, though but a handful, who had assembled in one of the larger cabins, and who seemed pleased to receive from his lips "the good tidings of great joy." Gratified with his reception at Youngstown, and resolving to lose no time in expediting his missionary labors, he rode the next day to Vienna, where but one family had settled; thence to Hartford, where but three families had settled, and thence to Vernon, where he found but five families. In making these successive visits he did good work. While at Vernon he was informed that Mr. Palmer, the head of the family settled at Vienna, had been taken suddenly sick and was not expected to live. There was no doctor residing in all that region of country. Rev. Mr. Badger hastened at once to the relief of the sick man, and nursed him for eight days, when he so far recovered that his providential nurse could safely leave him. In this way Rev. Mr. Badger visited, in the course of the year 1801, every settlement and nearly every family throughout the Western Reserve. In doing this he often rode from five to twenty-five or thirty miles a day, carrying with him in saddlebags a scanty supply of clothing and eatables, and often traversing pathless woodlands amid storms and tempests, swimming unbridged rivers, and suffering from cold and hunger, and at the same time here and there visiting lone families, giving them and their children religious instruction and wholesome advice, and preaching at points wherever a few could be gathered together, sometimes in a log cabin or in a barn, and sometimes in the open field or in a woodland, beneath the shadows of the trees. At about this time he preached the first sermon ever heard in Cleveland. In response to all this benevolent work he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was almost universally received with a heartfelt appreciation of his services, and with a liberal hospitality. Though most of the early settlers were poor, they cheerfully "broke bread with him," and gave him the larger share of such luxuries as they happened to have at command. Even the Indians, who were quite numerous, treated him kindly and with respect. He took especial pains to enlighten and instruct them, and soon acquired such a knowledge of their language as enabled him to communicate readily with them.

In September of 1801, he journeyed on horseback to Detroit, with a view to extend the field of his missionary labors. On reaching the banks of the Huron River, late in the evening, he stopped at an Indian hut, desiring to remain for the night. He was kindly received by the inmates,--an aged Indian chief and his squaw. The squaw cut fodder from the cornfield and fed his horse, and soon presented him with a supper of boiled string-beans, buttered with bear's oil, in a wooden bowl that was cut and carved out from the knot of a tree with a hatchet and knife. Hungry as he really was, he relished the feast. She then spread for him on the floor a bed of bearskins and clean blankets, on which he enjoyed a refreshing night's sleep. In the morning she gave him for breakfast a corn-bread cake, baked in the embers. It contained inside a sprinkling of black beans, and resembled plum-cake. While he was eating, he expressed his admiration of the bread. The squaw replied, "Eat; it is good. It is such bread as God gives the Indians." He then resumed his journey to Detroit, where he remained a few days. While there, and while on his way to and from there, he held religious interviews with all he met who were willing to converse in relation to their spiritual welfare, whether white men or Indians, but found no one, as he said, in all that region, whom he could regard as a Christian, "except a black man, who appeared pious." On his return he visited Hudson, where he found a few professors of religion. Here he organized a church, consisting of ten males and six females. This was the first church organized in the Western Reserve. The next morning, October 25, he took his departure from the Reserve, and returned by way of Buffalo to his family in New England, preaching, as he went, at such settlements as offered a favorable opportunity. He arrived at home Jan. 1, 1802, after an absence of thirteen months and fifteen days. He found his dear family all well, and like David of old, blessed the Lord, who had "redeemed his life from destruction and crowned him with loving-kindness and tender mercies."

Soon after his arrival, he visited Hartford and reported to the missionary society what he had done, and the character of his work, and agreed to return with his family to the same field of missionary labor, and for such compensation as the society chose to allow him, which was but seven dollars per week. This was at that time considered a sufficient sum to meet the current expenses of himself and family. He exchanged his former homestead at Blandford for land in the Western Reserve. On the 23d of February, 1802, he started on his journey to the Western Reserve in a wagon drawn by four horses and loaded with a few household goods, his wife and six children, and himself driving the team. He took the route leading through the State of New York to Buffalo, and thence followed the southerly shore of Lake Erie to Austinburg, in the Reserve, where he and his family were received with a hearty welcome to the home and hospitalities of his friend, Colonel Eliphalet Austin. He accomplished the journey, a distance of six hundred miles, in sixty days. This was travelling at a pretty rapid rate, as was then thought. He remarked, when he had reached the hospitable home of his friend Austin, that he and his family seemed destined to share God's promise to his ancient Israel: "And they shall dwell safely in the wilderness, and sleep in the woods."

He now purchased a small lot of land in Austinburg, and soon, with the aid of a few kind settlers, erected a log cabin in which to shelter his family. He found it difficult to procure sufficient provisions, but soon succeeded in obtaining a sack of coarse flour in the vicinity; and hearing of a barrel of pork for sale at Painesville, he sent a man with a team thirty miles through the woods to purchase it, and paid twenty silver dollars for it, and found on opening it that it contained the "whole hog,"--feet, head, snout and ears,--and weighed but one hundred and seventy pounds. This, with the milk from two cows that were pastured in the woods and sometimes missed for a day or two, was all the provision he could make for his family when it became necessary for him to leave them and enter upon his missionary labors in other parts of the Reserve. He visited Mentor, Chagrin, and other settlements. At Euclid he found a family by the name of Burke, who had resided in a lone situation in the woods for over three years, in so destitute a condition that the wife had been obliged to spin cattle's hair and weave it into blankets to cover her children's bed and save them from suffering in cold weather. At Newburg he visited five families, the only residents in the place, but discovered to his regret "no apparent piety among any of them. They all seemed to glory in their infidelity." He continued visiting families and preaching throughout the southeastern part of the Reserve, and establishing churches. He called on his return at "Perkins' Station" in Trumbull County, where an election was pending and a goodly number of voters present. He was invited to dine with them. All took their seats and began to help themselves, when he interrupted them and remarked: "Gentlemen, if you will attend with Christian decency, and hear me invoke the blessing of God, I will sit down with you; otherwise I cannot." Knives and forks were instantly laid down and a blessing invoked. The dinner was then discussed with a keen relish by the assemblage, who seemed to appreciate the fact that "blessings sometimes come in disguise." He then continued on his way home. Soon after this a revival commenced in most of the infant settlements, and his missionary labors were largely increased.

In some of the settlements the revival was attended with miraculous power. In many instances the converts were stricken down in convulsions, groaned in apparent agonies, and tore their hair; and in other instances they fell in a trance, saw visions, awoke, and leaped for joy, shouting long and loud, "Glory to God!" All this surprised the itinerant missionary and presented him with a problem which he could not solve; yet being a disciple of the "Calvinistic school," and charitably inclined, he attributed the "spasmodic demonstrations" to the mysterious workings of the Holy Spirit. The people far and near partook of the excitement and flocked to hear him. On one occasion he preached to an audience of five hundred. Though some scoffed, many professed to have experienced religion. The general impression was in those days that conversion consisted in experiencing some sudden and mysterious shock,--a puritanic idea that is now held to be absurd; yet this wild excitement doubtless produced some good fruit, if not a "rich harvest." Be this as it may, Rev. Mr. Badger persevered in extending his labors, and between June 18 and July 1 of the year 1802, rode two hundred miles, preached eight sermons, and administered two sacraments. In riding through the dense woodlands, especially after nightfall, he was often followed by hungry wolves and bears, manifesting a desire to cultivate a toothsome acquaintance with him. On one occasion, when riding through a dark and pathless forest late at night, along the banks of Grand River, and drenched with rain, he discovered by the sound of distinct footsteps that some large animal was following him. He stopped his horse, turned on the saddle, and with loud vociferations and clapping of hands attempted to frighten the animal away, but instead of the noise having the desired effect, the bear, as it proved to be, sprang towards him with hair standing on end and with eyes flashing fire. At this critical juncture, as Rev. Mr. Badger states in his diary: "I had no weapon of defence. I thought best to leave the ground, turned to the left, and walked my horse partly by the bear, when the brute stepped directly on behind me and within a few paces. By this time it had become so dark that I could see nothing, not even my hand holding the bridle, and the bear was still snapping his teeth and approaching nearer. I had in my hand a large heavy horse-shoe, took aim by his nose, and threw the shoe, but effected no alarm of the enemy. To ride away was impossible in a pathless wood, thick with brush and fallen timber. I concluded to resort to a tree if I could find one. I reined my horse first to the right and then to the left, at which instant some sloping limbs brushed my hat. On feeling them, I found them to be long pliable beech limbs. I reined my horse again and came with his shoulder close to the tree. I tied the bridle to the limbs, raised myself on the saddle, and by aid of the small limbs began to climb. I soon got hold of a limb large enough to bear me; and at this instant the evil beast came to the tree with violent snuffing and snapping. I fixed my stand on the limb, took out a sharp knife, the only weapon I had, and prepared for battle. But I soon heard the bear snuffing near the horse's nose as he was crunching the boughs and leaves within his reach. I then ascended about forty feet, as near the top of the tree as I thought was safe, found a convenient place to sit on a limb, and then tied myself with a large bandanna to the tree, so as not to fall if I fell into a drowse. The bear continued smelling at the horse until he had passed around him to the opposite side of the tree; and all was still but the champing of the horse. By the roaring of the wind it appeared that a heavy gust was approaching. It soon began to rain powerfully, with wind and heavy peals of thunder. At this time the horse shook himself, which startled the bear to a quick rush for a few rods, when he stopped and violently snapped his teeth, and there remained until a few minutes before daylight, when he went off. My horse standing as he did at the foot of the tree, without moving a foot from the place where I left him, and in no way frightened by the approach and management of the bear, seemed to be peculiarly providential. This was the only time I was disturbed in camping out many times. As soon as I could see to take my course, I mounted my horse and arrived at my house, about six miles from my lodging-place in the tree, with a pretty good appetite for breakfast. Having in my saddlebags two volumes of the 'Ohio State Laws,' it was remarked by some of my friends that the old bear did not like so near a 'union of Church and State.'"

Rev. Mr. Badger continued his missionary work with zeal and with highly encouraging prospects. He organized many churches and schools, and distributed many Bibles and school-books, and often assisted the settlers in erecting their log cabins and in securing their harvests. In 1804, the missionary society reduced his compensation to six dollars a week, being the same they allowed their missionaries nearer home. This he did not relish, but accepted the reduced pittance, remarking that he would go on with his work and trust to Him who "feeds the ravens." At this time he was obliged to pay at the rate of sixteen dollars a barrel for salt pork, though the other provisions were comparatively cheap and plenty. Early in the spring of 1809, his house was burned, and nothing saved but two beds and a few articles of clothing. He at once built a small cabin, with the generous aid of his neighbors, and moved his family into it, without bedstead, table, knife, fork, or spoon. In June of the same year he returned to Hartford, Connecticut, and made a final settlement with the Connecticut Missionary Society, and received an honorable discharge from further services as a missionary under its auspices. He then proposed to engage in missionary work among the Indians west of the Cuyahoga, known as the Wyandots; and having within a short time received cash donations from the Massachusetts Missionary Society to the amount of over a thousand dollars, he returned to the Reserve and commenced his missionary labors among the Indians at Upper Sandusky, which he regarded as a central point, and from which he extended his labors in the region round about so as to include all the Indian villages in the vicinity of the lake, from the west side of the Cuyahoga River to the city of Detroit. This mission was called the "Wyandot Mission." His labors in this missionary field consisted mainly in visiting the Indians in their lodges, instructing them and their children in the elementary principles of Christianity and in the observance of peaceful relations. He also gave them practical lessons in agriculture and other arts of civilized life, and tried to reform their intemperate habits by condemning the use of whiskey. He was a stanch advocate of "temperance in all things," denounced slavish habits and also slavery long before the latter became the subject of political agitation. In 1812, he took a deep and active interest in the war, and accepted the position of chaplain in the command of General Harrison. He also exercised a wide influence over the Indians in preventing them from making alliances with the enemy. At the close of the war he resumed his missionary labors. In August, 1818, his good wife died, and left to him the care of their children. His grief seemed inconsolable, but he soon so far overcame it as to marry in April, 1819, Miss Abigail Ely for a second wife. In the following June he took his bridal trip with her to his old home in New England, and after a brief but delightful visit, returned and devoted himself to preaching in the eastern part of the Reserve, where he soon settled as pastor of the church at Austinburg,--a church which he had organized, and which had become so large in the number of its communicants that it was generally known as the "mother church" of the Reserve. He subsequently officiated as pastor of the church at Ashtabula for some years, then at Kingsville, and lastly at Gustavus, Trumbull County, where he settled in 1825, and officiated not only as pastor of the parish, but as postmaster, having been appointed to the latter office by the postmaster-general. In 1835, he resigned his position as pastor at Gustavus, and preached a farewell sermon, taking the following words for his text: "Finally, brethren, farewell. Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you." The sermon was a masterly one, and the audience was affected to tears. It was long remembered, and was never forgotten by those who heard it. He had now become so enfeebled by age as to disqualify him for further service as pastor of a church. From Gustavus he went to reside with his married daughter in the township of Plain, Wood County, Ohio, where for eight or nine years, he devoted more or less time, as he was able, to missionary work in the vicinity. In 1844, he changed his residence and went to the neighboring town of Perrysburg, where he lived with his married granddaughter, and where he died in 1846, at the advanced age of eighty-nine years. In six months afterward his wife died. But two of his six children survived him.

In personal appearance Rev. Joseph Badger was tall, slim, erect, had blue eyes, brown hair, and a pleasing expression of face. In temperament and action he was quick and somewhat impulsive, yet he was considerate and slow of utterance, rarely, if ever, uttering an imprudent word. In his social intercourse he was sedate or facetious as the occasion seemed to require. He enjoyed hearing and telling amusing anecdotes. In his style of preaching he was apostolic, plain, simple, and logical. In creed he was an orthodox Presbyterian. He had but one grand aim in life, and that was to do what he could to advance the moral and spiritual welfare of mankind. In a word, Rev. Joseph Badger, though dead, still lives and will ever live in memory as the early western missionary whose lifelong labors were prompted by the spirit of a true Christian philanthropy.

"His youth was innocent, his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, Faded his late declining years away. Cheerful he gave his being up, and went To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent."

MISSION MONUMENT.

[Dedicated at Williamstown, Mass., July 28, 1867.]

In the accomplishment of great moral purposes, a Divine Providence employs human instrumentalities. Of this we have ample evidence, not only in the history of nations, but in the career of individuals.

A little more than eighteen centuries ago, a few obscure fishermen, while casting their nets into the Sea of Galilee, were called to abandon their nets, and become "fishers of men."

A little more than sixty years ago, a few obscure young men, while pursuing their classical studies in Williams College, were called to go into benighted lands beyond the sea, and proclaim the divine doctrine of "peace on earth and good-will to men."

These students, though unknown to fame, were young men of thought and of high moral aspirations. Influenced by a devotional spirit, they felt that God had a great work for them to do, and that it was therefore important for them to comprehend their true relations, both to God and to man.