History of the M.E. Church, Vol. IV - Media Sabda Org

they must separate, after embracing each other, with mutual benedictions they parted. It was in the
latter part of November, and a dark, cold, rainy day. Arriving at night at the house of a friendly man,
where he stayed till morning, imparting the comforts of religion to its inmates, Nolley resumed his
journey. Across his path there lay a large swamp and deep creeks, and not a single white man was
to be found between him and the place of his destination. Alone he traveled on till evening, when
he found himself at an Indian village. "Having to cross a creek before night, and apprehending from
the rains that it would be swollen, he employed an Indian to go with him. When he arrived on its
banks he found it, as he anticipated, a full and angry flood, rushing tumultuously along. There was
no alternative but to cross, or remain with the savages, so he chose the former; and, leaving his
valise, saddlebags; and a parcel of books with the Indian, he urged his horse into the stream. No
sooner did his charger strike the current than he was beaten down the flood. The animal battled
courageously with the stream, but before the other shore was reached, horse and rider were far
below the landing-place of the ford, and, the banks being high, it was impossible for the horse to
gain a foothold, or make the ascent of the other shore. In the struggle to do so the rider was thrown,
and, grasping the limb of a tree which extended over the stream, he reached the shore. The horse
swam back to the side of the stream whence he had started. The missionary directed the Indian to
keep his horse till morning, and he would walk to the nearest house, which was distant about two
miles. He traveled through the woods about one mile, wet, cold, and weary. Unable to proceed any
further, and conscious perhaps that his work was done, and that he had at last fulfilled the errand
of his Master, he fell upon his knees, and commended his soul to God. There, in that wild wood of
the far West, alone with his God and the ministering spirits that encamp around the saints, Richard
Nolley, the young missionary, closed his eyes on earth to open them in heaven. When he was found
he was lying extended upon the wet leaves, his left hand upon his breast, and the other lying by his
side. His eyes were closed, and the, gentle spirit left a smile upon his pallid cheek ere it passed
away to that bright and beautiful world, where the wicked cease to trouble, and the weary are at
rest." [6]
The day of his death was Friday, his fast day. He was probably weaker than usual, and his feeble
health and fatiguing travels, together with the unusual coldness of the weather, were more than he
could bear. His knees were muddy, and there were prints of them in the ground, showing that he had
been praying in this last scene of his mortal life. He had evidently resigned himself calmly to his fate,
selecting a place to die on, beneath a clump of pines, composing his limbs, and closing his eyes. A
traveler found him the next day. He was borne to the nearest house, and on Sunday was buried "in
Catahoula Parish, near the road leading from Alexandria to Harrisonburg, and about twenty miles
from the latter place. In 1856 three members of the Conference sought out the long-neglected and
almost forgotten spot, marked it, and, kneeling down, consecrated themselves afresh to the same
ministry of faith and patience and love. These forty years the recollection of Nolley has quickened
the zeal of his brethren. From that mound of earth, in the fenceless old field, a voice has spoken, 'Be
faithful.' In the minds of the people the effect was profound." [7]
He was but thirty years old, tall, slender, emaciated by labors and fastings; hair dark, radiant eyes,
and a countenance full of determination and saintliness; was never married; "was always busy, rising
at four o'clock at all times and places;" was a man of no extraordinary intellectual powers, but of
extraordinary courage, self-denial, and labor, and yet achieved more perhaps by his death than by his
life, for his name is consecrated in the heart of the Church as that of a martyr, and he is still spoken