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

worst for stealing, fighting, and lying. My soul, come not into their secret places! I met with great
difficulties in coming to this country. I lost my horse in the wilderness, fifty miles from any
settlement, and had to walk in and hire a horse to go and find mine. The Kickapoo Indians had stolen
him, and Mr. Reed's, who was with me, but we got them with cost and trouble. When I got to
Kaskaskia I preached there, but they made me pay two dollars for the room, and twenty shillings for
two days' board. I ran out of money, and had to sell my books. At last the people began to help me;
but I thank God I can make out, though I have suffered with cold. Last winter my clothes were thin
and worn out, and I had no money to buy more. But I trust I am in the way to heaven, and I know my
heart is engaged in the work of God. As I do not expect to come to Conference, I may not see you
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again in this life, but I hope to meet you in a better world." In the first year he returned sixty-seven
Church members from its sparse population.
Methodism had already attempted to erect its standard as far North as Michigan. In 1808 a local
preacher by the name of Freeman found his way far into the country, and preached at Detroit, where
he left at least one awakened soul who welcomed his successors. In 1804 Nathan Bangs passed over
from Canada and sounded the alarm in Detroit, though without apparent success; the place, woefully
depraved with a conglomerate population of Indians, French, and immigrants, was subsequently
invaded again, from Canada, by William Case, and soon after an Irish local preacher, William
Mitchell, organized the first Methodist society in the city, the first in the state. Methodism was never
again totally dislodged from Michigan, though its progress was slow, and no Protestant Church of
any denomination was erected within its bounds till 1818. [36]
Asbury made five expeditions to the West in these eight years, though his health was more
enfeebled, during most of this period, than in any other portion of his public life. It broke down on
his first trip in 1797, and he was compelled to return before completing his tour; but he had scaled
the Alleghenies from North Carolina. By the twenty-fourth of March he was in the thickest
difficulties of the mountains. "Hard necessity," he says, "made us move forward. The western branch
of Toe River, that comes down from the Yellow Mountain, was rapidly filling, and was rocky,
rolling, and roaring like the sea, yet we were compelled to cross it several times. When we came to
ascend the mountain we had a skirmish of rain, thunder, and lightning; it was distant; it was mercy.
I found hard work to ride where Thomas White had driven his wagon, for which he deserves a place
in my journal, and a premium from the state. When we had ascended the summit of the mountain
we found it so rich and miry, that it was with great difficulty we could ride along; but I was wrapped
up in heavy, wet garments, and unable to walk through weakness of body, so we had it, pitch, slide,
and drive to the bottom. We then came upon the drains and branches of Great Toe River. From
Fisher's we had to ride through what I called the 'shades of death,' four miles to Miller's. Here we had
to cope with Toe River, and near the house came into deep water. My horse drove to the opposite
bank above the landing, and locked one of his feet in a root, or something like it, but freed himself.
At last we made the house. The people received us kindly, and gave us such things as they had. We
could only partially dry our garments. We heard heavy tidings of a deep rocky ford yet to be passed
in our way across Toe River."
On the next day his anticipations were verified. "Three brave young Dutchmen" escorted him.
They had to break their way through woods and ravines to escape dangerous fords, and on the
following day he writes, "I was met by our brethren, Kobler, Burke, and Page. I rested on Monday