NEW TIMES, NEW MANNERS; THE SLIDING SCALE OF TIME; THE LARGE
CONGREGATIONS OF KNOTT'S ISLAND; THEIR GIFTS; PUBLIC PRAYER
In viewing Knott's Island now, (1907) but little can be seen to
remind one of the long, long, ago. The relics of old time, if any,
are but few--the world hurries, and time has about finished its
work along the olden times. The lye stand, the log of log-wood,
the carding and spinning and the weaving, are no more. In garret
or out-house one may still find an old spinning-wheel and here and
there a loom; these are mere curiosities for the young; it would
take an old grandmama to give them the proper turn and motion; and
these grandmamas are gone. There may be some ancient mama still
left on the Island, as elsewhere, and if she still has her old
companion piece with her she may yet spin a little yarn for socks
and stockings; for to these old ones old-time work is still
alluring and facinating. There may still be one who would not
scruple to weave a web from cotton warp and woolen woof, just to
please the old man, or to thwart a rag carpet from that old, old
loom; but all this I doubt.
Go to church now, not only on Knott's Island but in all portions
of this county and you will find no one bedecked in the old
homespun; instead, you will find the young women and their mamas
arrayed in latest fashions, in the latest style fabrics--a bevy of
butterflies; while the boys strut around in their best.
Mail and press facilities, aided by efficient art and skill,
bring for a song the latest styles and patterns from New York, or
Paris even; and so artistically are these fabrics made, who can
tell the ten cent cotton gauze from the dollar a yard, except on
close inspection.
The sliding scale of time has truly worked wonders in the past
seventy five years; and few but the very old can fully realize the
great changes within that time. To a boy or a girl then a dollar
was a big thing and a few of them were a fortune; but now--old
man, be quick, get within the fence-lock and let that little,
tight-ankled, and well clad urchin pass, astraddle his $30.00
bicycle. Lads and lassies attend Sunday-school now, sing their
songs, vie with each other in making speeches, and then make love
in their attended homeward march.
Well, this is far better than killing birds and robbing their
nests.
The old heads, who don't feel disposed to keep up with modern
ways, look on with wonder at the head-long rush of the present
young race and cry "halt you are approaching a precipice;" but
these old ones are left unheeded still farther behind--wondering
what can the matter be.
Knott's Island, of course, small as it is, and cut up into lots
and small farms to accommodate its 600 inhabitants, cannot furnish
a wealthy class of people. These people earn their living by the
sweat of their brow; but a more hospitable and charitable people,
according to their possessions, cannot be found in the old North
State. It is astonishing how such a mass of people can get a fair
living in such a small territory and its surrounding waters and
marshes; nevertheless they do, and three or four merchants are
kept busy in supplying these people with the good things of Earth.
What the men lack in making a year's score, the women supply with
chickens and eggs.
This is a place where an honest way-farer without a cent in his
pocket will find food and a friendly lodging; it always was so,
and it is so yet.
Go to this place look at the large congregations that at the
ringing of the bell or the tooting of a horn gather at church or
picnics in their proper seasons; they are there: Where do they
come from: Yes you may be sure they are there, and if a hundred
dollars is wanted for church purposes, Sunday schools, or a lodge,
I cannot put my eye on a place three times its wealth and
population that can be induced to respond so quickly.
At these gatherings, the poor and more wealthy are all alike as
to dress.
These people are in many respects peculiarly gifted in carrying
on Sunday Schools and church worship. This Island has had the good
fortune, for seventy-five years or more, to be furnished a very
intelligent class of preachers, as intelligent as Virginia could
afford, to take charge of the membership and instruct them in
church work; the Island has been quick to learn of them, and in
such work it inflow very efficient.
PUBLIC PRAYER LEADERS OF OLD
Within my memory this Island had raised more public praying
people than any country place, I am sure, within fifty miles. Here
are some of the old-time exhorters and prayer leaders who, these
many years, have passed away: Timothy Bowden, Caleb Ansell, Dennis
Simmons, John B. Jones and son E. W., N. W. Dudley, Waterman
Waterfield; and many others in revivals when the spirit moved
them. Later on came others, but few of them still live: another
Timothy Bowden, Devana Waterfield, and maybe some other
Waterfield, John Waterfield, Andrew Ansell, Thomas White, and a
Miller or two, I believe, Wilson Cooper, Tully Capps, another
Caleb Ansell and son Caleb, and I am sure those are not all the
list, but they are all that occur to me now. There may be a half
score or more who lead in this line but as to them I don't know
of.
Go to church most anywhere in our County, let the preacher call
on a brother to lead in prayer, and four times out of five you
will hear the same prayer you heard this brother pray a year or so
ago. They don't pray to suit the occasion. There are very
monotonous and tiresome public prayers in most country places, and
Knotts Island may not be entirely free; but I do think the most of
these old-timers did not repeat the same prayer every time they
were called on to lead, except good old brother Dennis Simmons, he
did.
I always thought that Caleb Ansell, of old, could put one of the
best prayers, one that best covered the situation, that I have
ever heard; and, with the proper amount of pathos, that moved the
congregation to sympathy and emotion. The above named John
Waterfield was this old man's grandson, and prayed very much like
the old man. The last time that I recollect attending a revival
meeting on the Island (it was a night meeting) there were some
mourners at the "mercy seat." Looking on, as in past days, it
struck me that the meeting was somewhat in a lagging state for
Knott's Island.
Their brother John Waterfield had been absent a day or so in E.
City to obtain the usual certificate for Life Saving Service, and
just arrived at this night-meeting. The preacher in charge saw and
felt the drag, and at this moment he found the arrival of his
brother John, and he helloed out, "Brother John, brother John
Waterfield, come right here and pray for these mourners; come
along."
His brother John went at the call, for on the Island there is no
backing out at a big meeting.
I had heard him pray before, and his prayer throughout resembled
his grandfathers so much as to impel me to listen attentively.
It reminded me of prayers prayed for mourners on that Island
seventy years ago. The preacher had, mind you, invited his brother
John to pray for these mourners, and that is just what he did. He
didn't pray for the heathen; he didn't pray for the whole world;
he didn't pray for the whole population of the United; he didn't
pray for the whole state; neither did he pray for Princess Anne
circuit; he didn't go around his elbow to get to his thumb, but a
more earnest and soul-stirring petition for the conversion of the
mourners assembled there, was seldom heard elsewhere than on
Knott's Island.
In five minutes, every phrase of that meeting was changed;
mourners were converted, the church was moved and singing
rapturously.
Later
News has just been brought me that John Waterfield is dead; he
was found in his boat dead, this Fall 1907. He was buried in the
church lot, the spot he had selected while he lived. This lot is
not a burying ground, but the church submitted, and there he
sleeps in the soil that was so sacred to him. Wilson Cooper died
also a year after 1908.
Back to the top.
|