Chapter IV: Part 4

Having observed that there was a good deal of labor to be performed here in waiting upon so many people, I asked Mrs. Murphy whether there were women hired. She told me, “There’s a couple of women that’s hired; but the members does a heap, too.”

On another occasion, I made a remark to a friendly sister about the brethren’s waiting upon the table, as they did. She answered that it was according to the Testament to help each other; the women cooked, and the men waited upon the table. She did not seem able to give the text. It may be, “Bear ye one another’s burdens.” I was amused that it should be so kindly applied to the brethren’s helping the sisters.

Before meeting began in the afternoon, a lovely aged brother, with silvery hair and beard, and wearing a woollen coat nearly white, showed me how the seats were made, so that, by turning down the backs of some, tables could be formed for the Love-Feast. He told me that the Dunkers number about one hundred thousand,—that they have increased much in the West, but not in the Eastern States. To which I rejoined, smiling, “You Dutch folks do not like poor land, like much of that at the East.”

“This is not good land,” he said, “we have improved it;” for I had left the rich limestone soil and had come to the gravelly land in the northern part of the county.

When meeting began, as brethren came in, I saw some of these bearded men kissing each other. These holy kisses, as will be seen hereafter, are frequent among the Dunkers, and, as the men shave only the upper lip, it seems strange to us who are unaccustomed to the sight and the sound. The oft-repeated kissing was to me, perhaps, the least agreeable part of the ceremonial.

The afternoon meeting became very crowded, and, as is usual among our “Dutch” people, a number of babies were in attendance. During the sessions their voices sometimes rose high, but the noise did not seem to affect those who were preaching or praying. They felt it perhaps like the wailing and sighing of the wind, which they regard not, and would rather bear the inconvenience of the children than to have the mothers stay away from meeting. This afternoon, during prayer, a little fellow behind me kept saying, “Want to go to pappy;” but if his father was among the brethren, he was on the other side of the house.

My new acquaintance, L., was the only preacher here who spoke in English. All the other exercises, except a little singing, were in German or in our Pennsylvania dialect. This afternoon L. said, among many remarks more sectarian, or less broad, “Faith is swallowed up in sight; hope, in possession; but charity, or love, is eternal. It came from God, for God is love.” The allusion here is to Paul’s celebrated panegyric on charity; but how much more charming it is in the German version, “Faith, hope, love; but the greatest of these is love. Love suffereth long and is kind, is not puffed up,” etc.

About the middle of the afternoon I perceived a speaker giving some directions, and I asked the women near me what he had said. One answered and said something about “_Wahl halten für prediger_,” by which I perceived that the election for a preacher was now to take place. Both brethren and sisters were to vote; not to select from a certain set of candidates, however; but at random, among the congregation,—or _family_, as it is sometimes called, “for all ye are brethren.”

In the room above-stairs were the bishop or elder and an assistant, to receive the votes. This bishop we might call the father of this family, which has four preachers and as many meeting-houses. The bishop is always that preacher who is oldest in the ministry. Meeting is held by turns in the different houses, occurring only once in six weeks in the large new house which we then occupied. These particulars, which I gathered in conversation, are, I believe, substantially correct.

During the interval of the election I sat and read, or looked out from my window at the young people, the gayly-dressed girls mostly grouped together. Some of these were, probably, relatives of the members, while others may have come for the ride and the fun, to see and to be seen,—meetings of this kind being great occasions in the country-side.

The young men stood around on the outside of these groups of girls, some holding their whips and twirling them, with the butts resting upon the ground. Of course the young girls were not conscious of the presence of the beaux.

On the back of the house, or rather the front,—for, as I have said, the main doors open upon the wood instead of upon the roadside,—were more young girls, and plain sisters and brethren.

I asked a nice-looking woman about the election, but she could not tell me, although she wore the plain cap. “Most of the women do around here,” she said, and added that Dunker women in meeting had offered to kiss her. “You know they greet each other with a kiss.”

After the brethren, the sisters were called up to vote. I laughed, in talking with some of the members, at the women’s being allowed to vote, in contrast to the usual custom. Mrs. Murphy reckoned it would be different if the women should undertake to vote for Governor or President.

I said to some of the sisters, “Who do you think will be chosen?” But they pleasantly informed me that to talk upon this point was against their rules,—it was a matter for internal reflection.

After meeting was over next day, as the bishop was talking with a sister, I ventured to ask him whether a majority was necessary to elect a preacher, or only a plurality. He seemed quite willing to talk, displaying no clerical pride, and answered, “A majority,” adding, “Do you speak German?” I feared that I could not readily understand him on such a subject, and put the case to him thus in English: “Suppose one man has twenty votes, another fifteen, and another ten?” Then the bishop said that the one having twenty would be elected; whence it seems that a plurality only is required. On this occasion the vote was doubtless much divided, for I afterward heard that the bishop had said to the congregation that it seemed there were a good many there that were thought fit for preachers.

As sunset approached, some of the members began to form tables from the benches for the Love-Feast, which made me wonder when supper was to be ready. I soon found, however, that my ignorance of the language had prevented my observing that while the “family” voted the rest of the congregation were to sup. I was told, however, that if I would go down I could still get something to eat. These meals were free to every one that came. All were received, in the hope that they would obtain some spiritual good.

In the basement I found a number of men sitting at the end of one of the tables, waiting for food, and I also sat down near them. I was invited, however, by a sister to step into the kitchen, where I stood and partook of hot coffee, bread and butter, etc. As we went along through the dining-room, I thought that the sister cast a reproachful glance at a disorderly man seated at the table with his whip, and who was perhaps intoxicated. I wondered that she should have taken me from the table to stand in the kitchen, till I remembered that that was _a men’s table_.

In the kitchen, brethren were busily occupied cutting large loaves of bread into quarters for the coming Love-Feast; and when I returned to the room above, active preparations were still going on, which consumed much time. The improvised tables were neatly covered with white cloths, and hanging lamps shed down light upon the scene. Piles of tin pans were placed upon the table, knives, forks, and spoons, and sometimes a bowl. The tables, with their seats, occupied nearly the whole floor of the church, leaving but little room for spectators. I was myself crowded into a corner, where the stairs came up from the basement and went up to the loft; but, though at times I was much pressed for room, I had an excellent place to observe, for I stood at the end of the main table. Here stood, too, a bright and social sister from a neighboring congregation, who did not partake of the feast, and was able and willing to explain the ceremonial to me, in English,—Mrs. R., as I will call her.

Near by at the table, among the older sisters, sat a pair who attracted a great deal of my attention—a young mother and her babe—herself so quiet, and such a quiet babe! They might have been photographed. Once or twice the little six-weeks’ child gave a feeble young wail, and I saw the youthful mother modestly give it that nourishment which nature provides.

The brethren came up carrying tubs of meat, which smelt savory, for I had fasted from flesh since the morning. Then came great vessels of soup,—one of them a very large tin wash-boiler. The soup was taken out into the tin pans before mentioned, and the plates of meat were set upon the top, as if to keep both hot. And, now that “at long last” the Love-Feast tables were spread, the fasting family was ready to begin, not the supper, but the feet-washing! This was the more remarkable, because the Testament, their rule of action, relates that “supper being ended,” Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.

The bishop arose in his place at the table, and, lamp in one hand and book in the other, read in German the account of the feet-washing in John’s gospel.

Four men who stood in front of him, watching his words, started when he said “legte seine Kleider ab” (“laid aside his garments”), and, in imitation of Jesus, took off their coats; and, as the Scripture says, “He took a towel and girded himself,” they, or two of them, put on long white aprons tied around the waist. Two washed feet and two wiped, and then he who was thus ministered unto was kissed by one or both of the ministering brethren. I was a little surprised that two should perform that office, which Jesus is said to have performed alone: but Mrs. R. told me that, as the church was one body, it was considered that it made no difference to have two persons.

The four who had ministered took their seats, and were served in their turn, four others taking their places, and so on. Upon the sisters’ side of the house, on a front bench, the sisters were, in a similar manner, performing the same ordinance.

While the religious services of the evening were going on within, from without there came the sound of voices and laughter,—from where the young people _of the world_ were enjoying themselves in the clear, cool moonlight. I doubt not that, by this time, the girls had recognized the presence of the young men.

Once there was a shriek or a yell, and Mrs. R. said, “Oh, the drunken rowdies! there’s always some of them here!”

Having heard of the non-resistant or _wehrlos_ tenets of the Dunkers, I wondered what they would do should the disturbance without become very great and unpleasant. Mrs. Murphy thought that the other people would interfere in such a case,—that is, that those not members would interest themselves to maintain order. But on this point I afterward received information from a brother, as I shall mention. The services were so long that I told Mrs. R. I thought that the soup would be cold. “Oh, no!” she said, “that won’t get cold so soon.” So I ventured to put my finger against a pan near me, and it was yet warm. She asked me, during feet-washing, whether I did not think that I should feel happy to be there, partaking of that exercise.

I answered, in a non-committal manner, that if I had been brought up to such things, as she had been, I might feel so, but that all my friends and acquaintances were of a different mind. She rejoined, “But we must follow Christ, and serve God, in spite of the world.” Even after the feet were all washed, the fasting family could not yet eat, on account of the protracted exhortations.

At length they broke their fast. From two to four persons, each with a spoon, ate together from one pan of soup, very quietly, fifty feeding like one, so to speak; the absence of sound proceeding in part perhaps from the absence of earthen plates. Then they cut from the meat and from the quarter-loaves, and partook of the butter, this being all the food. There was no salt nor any other condiment. The occasional bowl was for water. I suppose that most persons would think that there had been enough kissing of the kind; but about this time a young bishop, an assistant, stood up at the centre of the main table, and after some remarks shook hands with the sister upon his left and kissed the brother upon his right, and from brother to brother, and from sister to sister, the kiss went around the congregation.

The bishop, and this assistant, went around upon ours, the women’s side, superintending this ceremony, as if to see that none failed in this expression of unity, and that it was conducted in an orderly manner. The last sister, who has no one to kiss, goes forward and kisses the first one, with whom the bishop had shaken hands, thus completing the chain of unity. This was doubtless done before the Communion, and showed that brotherly love existed among these brethren, fitting them to partake of the sacrament. I was also told that the latter half of the afternoon meeting had been for self-examination on the same subject.

About this time of the evening Mrs. R. told me that if I would go down I could get some of the soup, as there was plenty left. I was willing to partake, not having had a regular supper, and I got a bowl of good mutton-broth, containing rice or barley, etc.

After the Love-Feast, these “Old Brethren,” as they are sometimes called, held the Communion. The bread and wine were placed upon the general or main table—being set before the bishops—and were covered with a white cloth.

Before the celebration of the ordinance there was read in German the passage of Scripture upon which it is founded; and also, as it seemed to me, the narrative of the crucifixion. The hymn now sung was an English one, and the only one in our language that was sung by the whole congregation during the two days’ meeting. It was,

“Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?”

Meantime, the assistant bishop divided the bread, or cakes, which were unleavened and sweetened. He directed the members, while eating the bread, to reflect upon the sufferings of the Saviour. His manner was devout and impressive. As he and Bishop D⸺ passed around among the women, distributing the bread, the former repeated several times, in a sonorous voice, these or similar words: “Das Brod das wir brechen ist die Gemeinschaft des Leibes Christi.” (“The bread that we break is the communion of the body of Christ.”)

The wine, which smelt strong, was the juice of the grape, and was made in the neighborhood. An aged bishop from another congregation made some observations, and while speaking marked the length of something upon his finger. Mrs. R. said that he was showing the size of the thorns in the crown. She added, “They are there yet.” I looked at her in much surprise, wondering whether she believed in the preservation of the actual thorns; whereupon she added, “They grow there still. Did you never read it in Bausman’s book on the Holy Land?—Bausman, the Reformed preacher.” The simplicity of the surroundings upon this occasion were, it seemed to me, in keeping with those of the original supper, at which sat the “carpenter’s son” and the fishermen.

When meeting was over, as I did not see my escort to the public-house, and as I had been told that I could stay here, I followed those who went above-stairs, and received a bolster made of a grain-bag filled with hay or straw. I shared it with Mrs. Murphy. Our bed was composed of straw laid upon the floor, and covered, or nearly so, with pieces of domestic carpet. We had a coverlet to lay over us. I talked with some of the other women who lay beside us, and could not get to sleep immediately; but at last I slept so sweetly that it was not agreeable to be disturbed at four o’clock, when, by my reckoning, the sisters began to rise. When some of these had gone down, I should perhaps have slept again, had it not been for a continued talking upon the men’s side of the partition, quite audible, as the partition only ran up to a distance of some feet, not nearly so high as the lofty ridge of the building. The voices appeared to be those of a young man and one or two boys, talking in the dialect. A woman near me laughed.

“What is it?” said I.

“It’s too mean to tell,” she answered.

I surmise that the Dunker brethren had gone down and left these youths. Although a baby was crying, I lay still until two girls in Dunker caps—one ten years old, the other twelve—came with a candle, looking at us, smiling, and making remarks, perhaps thinking that it was time for us to be up.

I asked the eldest what o’clock it was.

She did not know.

“What made you get up, then?”

“I got up when the others did.”

Then some one explained that there were a good many dishes left unwashed the evening before.

I was surprised to see such young persons members of the meeting, for I supposed that the Dunkers, like the Mennonites, are opposed to infant baptism. The former explained to me, however, that they thought such persons as these old enough to distinguish right from wrong. I was told, too, of one girl, still younger, who had insisted on _wearing the cap_. The Mennonites baptize persons as young as fifteen. Both sects seem to hold peculiar views upon original sin.

A Dunker preacher once said to me,—

“We believe that, after Adam, all were born in sin; but, after Christ, all were born without sin.”

And a Mennist neighbor says,—

“Children have no sin; the kingdom of heaven is of little children.”

I continued to lie still, looking at the rafters and roof, and speculating as to their being so clean, and clear of cobwebs, and whether they had been laboriously swept; and then, gathering my wardrobe together with some little trouble, I was at last ready to go down. As I went to a window, I saw Orion and Sirius, and the coming day.

Going down to wash at the pump, in the morning gloaming, while the landscape still lay in shade, I found two or three lads at the pump, and one of them pumped for me. I was so ignorant of pump-washing as to wonder why he pumped so small a stream, and to suspect that he was _making fun_; but thus it seems it is proper to do, to avoid wetting the sleeves.

Here I met a pretty young sister, from Cumberland County,—fat and fair,—whose acquaintance I had made the day before. Her cap was of lace, and not so plain as the rest. There was with her at the pump one of the world’s people, a young girl in a blue dress.

“Is that your sister?” I asked.

“It’s the daughter of the woman I live with,” she replied. “I have no sister. I am hired with her mother.”

To my inexperienced eye it was not easy to tell the rich Dunkers from the poor, when all wore so plain a dress. I was afterward much surprised on discovering that this pretty sister did not understand German. Another from Cumberland County told me that I ought to come to their meeting, which was nearly all English.

After washing, I went up into the meeting-house, where the lamps were still burning. A few sisters were sitting here, and two little maidens were making a baby laugh and scream by walking her back and forth along the empty benches. About sunrise the bishop had arrived, and a number of brethren ranged themselves upon the benches and began to sing. Before long, we, who had stayed overnight, had our breakfast, having cold meat at this and the succeeding meal. I think it was at breakfast that my pleasant friend with the silvery hair mentioned that there was still a store of bread and pies.

The great event of the morning meeting was the “making the preacher.” At my usual seat, at a distant window, I was so busily occupied with my notes that I did not perceive what was going on at the preachers’ table, until I saw a man and woman standing before the table with their backs to the rest of the congregation. I made my way to my former corner of observation, and found that there was another brother standing with them (the sister in the middle), and these were receiving the greetings of the family. The brethren came up, one by one, kissed one of the men, shook hands with the sister, and kissed the other man. This last was the newly-chosen preacher, the former brother, named Z., being a preacher who, by the consent of the members (also given yesterday), was now advanced one degree in the ministry, and was henceforth to have power to marry and to baptize. The sister was his wife. She is expected to support her husband in the ministry, and to be ready to receive those women who, after baptism, come up from the water. This office and that of voting seem to be the only important ones held by women in this society. Herein they differ greatly from another plain sect,—Friends or Quakers, among whom women minister, transact business, etc.[44]

After the brethren were done, the sisters came up, shook hands with Z., kissed his wife, and shook hands with the new preacher, whose wife, I believe, was not present.

The bishop invited the sisters to come forward: “Koomet alle! alle die will. Koomet alle!”

While this salutation was in progress, L., who spoke in English, made some explanatory remarks. He told us that he had read or heard of two men travelling together, of whom one was a doctor of divinity. The latter asked the younger man what he was now doing. He replied that he was studying divinity. He had formerly been studying law, but on looking around he saw no opening in the law, so he was now studying divinity, which course or which change met the approval of the reverend doctor.

“Now,” said L., “_we_ do not approve of men-made preachers;” a striking remark in a congregation where a preacher had just been elected by a plurality. But he went on to explain that he trusted that there was no brother or sister who had voted for him who had just been chosen for this arm of the church who had not prayed God earnestly that they might make such a choice as would be profitable in the church. He went on to explain that the newly-chosen preacher was now receiving from the congregation an expression of unity.

There were various other exercises this morning,—preaching, praying, and singing,—before the final adjournment. At the close we had dinner. I made an estimate of the number who partook of this meal as about five hundred and fifty. One of the men guessed a thousand; but we are prone to exaggerate numbers where our feelings are interested.

Before we parted, I had some conversation with certain brethren, principally upon the non-resistant doctrines of the society. In my own neighborhood, not a great while before, a Dunker had been robbed under peculiar circumstances. Several men had entered his house at night, and, binding him and other members of the family, had forced him to tell where his United States and other bonds were placed, and had carried off property worth four thousand dollars. The brother had gone in pursuit of them, visiting the mayor of our town, and the police in neighboring cities (without recovering his property). I asked these brethren at different times whether his course was in agreement with their rules. They answered that it was not.

On the present occasion I repeated the question as to what they would have done on the previous evening if the disturbance had risen to a great height. One of the brethren, in reply, quoted from the Acts of the Apostles, where it is narrated that forty Jews entered into a conspiracy to kill Paul. But Paul sent his nephew to the chief captain to inform him of the conspiracy. The captain then put Paul under the charge of soldiers, to be brought safe unto Felix the governor.

From this passage the Dunkers feel at liberty to appeal to the police for their protection; but only once: if protection be not then afforded them, they must do without it.

I further mentioned to these brethren a case which had been told to me some time before by a Dunker preacher, of a certain brother who had been sued in the settlement of an estate, and had received a writ from the sheriff. This writ was considered by the Dunkers as a call from the powers that be, to whom they are ordered to be subservient, and the brother therefore went with some brethren to the office of a lawyer, who furnished him with subpœnas to summon witnesses in his defence. But the Dunkers argued among themselves that for him to take these legal papers from his pocket would be to draw the sword. He therefore sent word to his friends, informally, to come to the office of a magistrate; and, the evidence being in his favor, he was released. “This,” said my informant, “is the only lawsuit that I have known in our society since I joined the meeting,” which was, I believe, a period of about seven years.

In repeating this narrative to the brethren at the Love-Feast, I learned that they are now at liberty to engage in defensive lawsuits. They have, as I understood one to say, no creed and no discipline, although I believe that a certain confession of faith is required. The New Testament, or, as they say, the Testament, they claim to be their creed and their discipline. There is also much independence in the congregations. But in some cases they have resort to a general council, and here it has been decided that a Dunker may defend himself in a lawsuit, but only once. Should an appeal be taken to another court, the Dunker can go no further. This reminds me of Paul’s question to the Corinthians, “Why do you not rather suffer loss than go to law?”[45] Does it not seem hard to practise such non-resistance, to remain upright and open-minded, and at the same time to acquire much wealth?

The Dunkers do not like to be called by this name; their chosen title is Brethren.

* * * * *

The Love-Feast, above described, was held by the “Old Brethren,” who originated in Germany about the year 1708.

It has been said that they originated among the Pietists; but a very great resemblance will be found among them to our German Baptists of the Mennonite or Anabaptist stock.

I afterward visited other Dunkers, belonging to a division called the “River Brethren.” They originated near the Susquehanna River, but they have now spread as far as Ohio, if not farther.

That these are of the old Baptist stock there is no doubt, as Jacob Engle, their founder, was of a Mennonite family,—a family which boasts that one of their ancestors was a prisoner in Switzerland, on account of her faith. (See note, in “Swiss Exiles,” page 101.)

In coming to this country, about one hundred years ago, tradition tells us that the Engle family joined with thirty others, who were upon the same vessel, to remain bound together in life and in death. The young infants of these families all died upon the voyage, except Jacob Engle, whereupon an old nurse said, “God has preserved him for an especial purpose.” He became a preacher, and this his friends regarded as a fulfilment of the prophecy.

Jacob Engle, or “Yokely Engle,” as he was sometimes called, considered that there was not sufficient warmth and zeal among the Mennonites at that time. He became very zealous; experiencing, as he believed, a change of heart.

Before he became a preacher, some joined him in holding prayer-meetings. It was found that some wished to be baptized by immersion, and the rite was thus performed (whereas the Mennonites baptize by pouring).

A common observer would see very little difference between these Brethren and the Old Dunkers. The River Brethren allow all present to partake of the love-feast, or paschal supper. Some of them have said that the paschal supper is an expression of the love of God to all mankind, and love toward all men constrains them to invite all to partake thereof. But from the Lord’s Supper they exclude all strangers.

Their meetings are usually held in private houses, or in summer in barns.

Some of their preachers have been heard, upon rising to speak, to declare that they intend to say only what the Spirit teaches them.

One of their most striking peculiarities is their opposition to the use of lightning-rods. A preacher said to me, when talking upon this subject, “If God wishes to preserve the building, he can preserve it without the lightning-rod. If he does not wish to preserve it, I am willing to submit to the result.” It has been thought that an acquaintance with the laws of electricity would remove the objection which they feel.

The Brinser Brethren were formed from the River Brethren some years ago. They are popularly thus called, from an able preacher named Matthias Brinser. They erect meeting-houses, in preference, as I understand, to meeting in private houses. Their church has not opposed electrical conductors, though some members feel conscientious in the matter.

The question of erecting meeting-houses seems to have caused considerable trouble among the River Brethren. A gentleman of our county remarked to me that the custom of meeting in private houses is traditional among our people, and dates from times of persecution.

* * * * *

Since the foregoing was published, there has appeared in the _Century_ magazine, December, 1881, an article by Dr. Seidensticker on the Ephrata Baptists. In this article the author states that the Dunkers number in the United States (for they have also missions in Europe) about two hundred thousand souls, with nearly two thousand ministers, none of whom receives a salary. They have three collegiate institutions,—one in Pennsylvania, one in Ohio, and one in Illinois.

He states that those who fail in business among the Dunkers are aided to make a new effort, and such assistance may be lent three times [twice?]. After the third failure, they take it to be the will of God that the unfortunate brother shall not succeed. Dr. Seidensticker says, too, that in the holy kiss of the Dunkers, the first kiss among the women is applied by the minister to the first sister’s hand, which differs from the statement that I have made of the Love-Feast.

EPHRATA.

This quiet village in Lancaster County has been for over a century distinguished as the seat of a Protestant monastic institution, established by the Seventh-Day German Baptists about the year 1738.

Conrad Beissel, the founder of the cloister, was born in Germany, at Oberbach, in the Palatinate, in the year 1691. He was by trade a baker, but, after coming to this country, he worked at weaving with Peter Becker, the Dunker preacher, at Germantown. He is said to have been a Presbyterian, which I interpret to mean a member of the German Reformed Church. According to the inscription upon his tombstone, his “spiritual life” began in 1716, or eight years before he was baptized among the Dunkers.

This may be explained by an article written by the Rev. Christian Endress, who seems to have studied the Ephrata community, in connection with their published writings, more than some others who have endeavored to describe this peculiar people.[46]

Mr. Endress says, “The Tunkers trace their origin from the Pietists near Schwarzenau, in Germany.”[47]

While they yet belonged among the Pietists, there was a society formed at Schwarzenau composed of eight persons, whose spiritual leader was Alexander Mack, a miller of Schriesheim.

The members of this little society are said to have been rebaptized (by immersion), because they considered their infant baptism as unavailing, and to have first assumed the name of _Taeuffer_, or Baptists.[48]

The Dunkers first appeared in America in 1719, when about twenty families landed in Philadelphia, and dispersed to Germantown, Conestoga, and elsewhere.

Beissel was baptized among them in 1724, in Pequea Creek, a tributary of the Susquehanna. He lived for a while at Mühlbach, or Mill Greek, in Lancaster County. Some time after this baptism, or in 1728, he published a tract upon the Seventh Day as the true Sabbath. This tract caused a disturbance among the brethren at Mill Creek, and Beissel and some with him withdrew from the other Dunkers, and Beissel rebaptized those of his own society.[49]

Not long after, says Endress, Beissel, who had appointed several elders over his people, withdrew from them, and retired to live a solitary life in a cottage that had been built for a similar purpose, and occupied by a brother called Elimelech. This cottage stood near the place where the convent was afterward built. Here we infer that he lived for several years.

To live the life of cenobites or hermits, says Rupp, was in some measure peculiar to many of the Pietists who had fled from Germany to seek an asylum in Pennsylvania. “On the banks of the Wissahickon, near Philadelphia, several hermits had their cells, some of them men of fine talents and profound erudition.”

Of some of these hermits, and of the monastic community afterward settled at Ephrata, it is probable that a ruling idea was the speedy coming of Christ to judge the world. It is stated that after the formation of Beissel’s “camp” midnight meetings were held, for some time, to await the coming of judgment. Those who remember the Millerite, or Second Advent, excitement of the year 1843, can appreciate the effect that this idea would have upon the minds of the Dunkers, and how it could stimulate them to suffer many inconveniences for the brief season that they expected to tarry in the world.[50]

While Beissel was dwelling in his solitary cot, about the year 1730, two married women joined the society, of whom the Ephrata Chronicle tells us that they left their husbands and placed themselves under the lead of the director (or _vorsteher_, the title applied to Beissel in the Chronicle). He received them, although it was against the canon of the new society. One of these was Maria Christiana, wife of Christopher Sower, him who afterward established the celebrated German printing-office at Germantown. She escaped in the year 1730, and was baptized the same fall. In the beginning she dwelt alone in the desert, “and showed by her example that a manly spirit can dwell in a female creature.”[51]

While Beissel was still in his hermitage, discord and strife arose among the brethren of his society, news of which reached him by some means, for in the year 1733 he cited them to appear at his cottage.

They met, and some of the single brethren agreed to build a second cottage near that occupied by their leader. Besides this, a house was also built for females, and in May, 1733, two single women retired into it.[52]

In 1734, a third house for male brethren was built and occupied by the brothers Onesimus and Jotham, whose family name was Eckerlin.[53]

Soon after, says Endress, they all united in the building of a bake-house and a storehouse for the poor. And now the whole was called the camp (_das Lager_).

The early history of the society is quaintly narrated by Morgan Edwards, the Baptist historian. They had, he says, their existence as a society in 1724, when Conrad Beissel and six others were baptized in Pequea River by Rev. Peter Baker. The same day these seven incorporated into a church, and chose Conrad Beissel to be their minister. After this they continued some time at Mill Creek, and then, removing about three miles northward, pitched on the land of Rudolph Neagley, in Earl Township. Here they continued about seven years; and hither resorted many to see them, some of whom joined the society. Here they began their economy, the men living by themselves on the fore-mentioned lands, and the women also by themselves on the adjoining lands of John Moyly.

Here Conrad Beissel appointed two elders and a matron to preside over his church in the wilderness, binding them by a solemn promise (and at the same time giving to each a Testament) to govern according to the rules of that book. Then he withdrew, and made as though they should see him no more. This was done in the year 1732 or 1733. He travelled northward, till he came to the spot where Ephrata or Tunkerstown now stands, and with his hoe planted Indian corn and roots for his subsistence. But he had not been long in the place before the society found him out, and repaired to his little cot, the brethren settling with him on the west bank of Cocalico, and the sisters on the east, all in sight of one another, with the river running between them. The next year they set about building their village, beginning with a place of worship.

Endress tells us that about the time of the formation of the camp there was a revival in Falconer Swamp, in consequence of which many families took up land round about the camp, and moved upon it. Another revival on the banks of the Schuylkill drove many more into the neighborhood; by it the sister establishment gained accessions; but only two, Drusilla and Basilla, remained steadfast. “A further revival in Tolpehoccon,” 1735, brought many to the society. Hereupon they built a meeting-house, with rooms attached to it for the purpose of holding [preparing?] love-feasts, and called it Kedar. About the same time, a revival in Germantown sent additional brothers and sisters to the camp.[54]

It was in 1735, during the revival at Tulpehocken, that Peter Miller was baptized[55] or rebaptized. Miller, in one of his letters (see Hazard’s Register, vol. xvi.), speaks of several persons who, as it appears, were baptized with him; namely, the schoolmaster, three _elderlings_ (one of them Conrad Weyser), five families, and some single persons. This, he says, raised such a fermentation in that church (by which I suppose he means the Reformed Church, which they left), that a persecution might have followed had the magistrates consented with the generality.

Peter Miller, whom we are now quoting, was one of the most remarkable men that joined the Ephrata Baptists. He was born in the Palatinate, and is said to have been educated at Heidelberg. He came to this country when about twenty years old. He is mentioned, it seems, in an interesting letter of the Rev. Jedediah Andrews, under date of Philadelphia, 1730, which letter may be found in Hazard’s Register. He says that there are “in this province a vast number of Palatines. Those that have come of late years are mostly Presbyterian, or, as they call themselves, Reformed, the Palatines being about three-fifths of that sort of people.”

Mr. Andrews says, in substance, “There is lately come over a Palatine candidate for the ministry, who applied to us at the Synod for ordination. He is an extraordinary person for sense and learning. His name is John Peter Miller,[56] and he speaks Latin as readily as we do our vernacular tongue.”[57]

Peter Miller, in one of his letters, speaks of his baptism (or rebaptism) in the year 1735. He says at that time the solitary brethren and sisters lived dispersed “in the wilderness of Canestogues, each for himself, as hermits, and I following that same way did set up my hermitage in Dulpehakin [Tulpehocken], at the foot of a mountain, on a limpid spring; the house is still extant [1790], with an old orchard. There did I lay the foundation of solitary life.[58]

“However,” he continues, “I had not lived there half a year, when a great change happened; for a camp was laid out for all solitary persons, at the very spot where now Ephrata stands, and where at that same time the president [Beissel] lived with some hermits. And now, when all hermits were called in, I also quitted my solitude, and changed the same for a monastic life; which was judged to be more inservient to sanctification than the life of a hermit, where many under a pretence of holiness did nothing but nourish their own selfishness.... We were now, by necessity, compelled to learn obedience.... At that time, works of charity hath been our chief occupation.[59]

“Canestogues was then a great wilderness, and began to be settled by poor Germans, which desired our assistance in building houses for them; which not only kept us employed several summers in hard carpenter’s work, but also increased our poverty so much that we wanted even things necessary for life.”

He also says, “When we settled here, our number was forty brethren, and about so many sisters, all in the vigor and prime of their ages, never before wearied of social life, but were compelled, ... with reluctance of our nature, to select this life.”[60]

It was, it seems, about the same time that Miller was baptized that the midnight meetings were held at the camp, “for the purpose of awaiting the coming of judgment.”

Not long after the building of the meeting-house called Kedar (says Endress), a widower, Sigmund Lambert, having joined the camp, built out of his own means an addition to the meeting-house and a dwelling for Beissel. Another gave all his property to the society, and now Kedar was transformed into a sister-convent, and a new meeting-house was erected.

Soon after 1738 a large house for the brethren was built, called Zion, and the whole camp was named Ephrata.[61] The solitary life was changed into the conventual one; Zion was called a kloster, or convent, and put under monastic rules. Onesimus (Eckerlin) was appointed prior, and Conrad Beissel named father. (His general title appears to be _vorsteher_, superintendent or principal.)

It was probably about this time, or earlier, that the constable entered the camp, according to Miller, and demanded the single man’s tax. Some paid, but some refused. Miller says that some claimed personal immunity on the ground that they were not inferior to the monks and hermits in the Eastern country, who supplied the prisons in Alexandria with bread, and who were declared free of taxes by Theodosius the Great and other emperors. But these Ephrata brethren were not to be thus exempted. Six lay in prison at Lancaster ten days, when they were released on bail of a “venerable old justice of peace.” When the brethren appeared before the board of assessment, the gentlemen who were their judges saw six men who in the prime of their ages had been reduced to skeletons by penitential works. The gentlemen granted them their freedom on condition that they should be taxed as one family for their real estate, “which is still in force (1790), although these things happened fifty years ago.” (See Miller’s letters in Hazard’s Register.)

A monastic dress was adopted by the brethren and sisters, resembling that of the Capuchins.[62]

The Chronicle, published in 1786, speaks of the sisters as having carefully maintained the dress of the order for nearly fifty years. About the same date we read of Miller in his cowl.

It appears from the Chronicle that the other members of the society at one time adopted a similar dress, but that the celibates (_die Einsamen_) appeared at worship in white dresses, and the other members (_die Hausstände_) in gray ones. The secular members, however, “saddled themselves again” and conformed to the world in clothing and in other things.

In an article upon Ephrata in Hazard’s Register, vol. v., 1830, will be found the statement that, thirty or forty years before, the Dunkers were occasionally noticed in Philadelphia (when they came down with produce), with long beards and Capuchin habiliments; but this statement does not seem to agree in date with that of the Chronicle, if these were secular brethren.

Among the austerities practised at Ephrata formerly, was sleeping upon a bench with a block of wood for a pillow.[63]

The late Dr. William Fahnestock tells us that these and other austerities were not intended for penance, but were undertaken from economy. Their circumstances were very restricted, and their undertaking was great. They studied the strictest simplicity and economy. For the Communion they used wooden flagons, goblets, and trays. The plates from which they ate were thin octagonal pieces of poplar board, their forks and candlesticks were of wood, and every article that could be made of that substance was used by the whole community.

Rupp says that the chimneys, which remain in use to this day (1844), are of wood; and the attention of the present writer was called in 1872 to wooden door-hinges.

Rupp says also that they all observed great abstemiousness in their diet; they were vegetarians, and submitted to many privations and to a rigid discipline exerted over them by a somewhat austere spiritual father. Peter Miller himself says that he stood under Beissel’s direction for thirty years, and that it was as severe as any related in the Romish Church (but this sounds exaggerated).

In the brother- and sister-houses, it has been stated that six dormitories surrounded a common room in which the members of each subdivision pursued their respective employments. “Each dormitory was hardly large enough to contain a cot, a closet, and an hour-glass.”[64]

Of the industries established at Ephrata, one of Peter Miller’s letters gives us a good idea. He complains, as before mentioned, of Eckerlin’s obliging them to interfere so far in worldly things, and that money was put out at interest. He adds that they erected a grist-mill, with three pairs of stones; a saw-mill, paper-mill, oil-mill, and fulling-mill; had besides three wagons with proper teams, a printing-office, and sundry other trades.

He adds, “Our president [by whom he means Beissel] never meddled with temporal things.”

Mr. Rupp (who cites the Life of Rittenhouse) says that the women were employed in spinning, knitting, sewing, making paper lanterns and other toys. A room was set apart for ornamental writing, called “Das Schreibzimmer,” and “several sisters,” it has been said, devoted their whole attention to this labor, as well as to transcribing the writings of the founder of the society; thus multiplying copies before they had a press. But the press appears to have been early established, and it was the second German one in our State. It has been stated that Miller was at one time the printer.[65]

Among the books published at Ephrata were some of Beissel’s, who had adopted the name of Peaceful (_Friedsam_). One of their publications was a collection of hymns, and was entitled “The Song of the Solitary and Abandoned Turtle Dove, namely, the Christian Church, ... by a Peaceful Pilgrim travelling towards Quiet Eternity.” Ephrata, from the press of the Fraternity, 1747. 500 pages, quarto.[66]

Beissel also wrote a dissertation on man’s fall, of which Miller says (1790), “When, in the late war, a marquis from Milan, in Italy, lodged a night in our convent, I presented to him the said dissertation, and desired him to publish it at home, and dedicate it to his Holiness.”

In 1748, a stupendous book was published by the society at Ephrata. It is the Martyr’s Mirror, in folio, of which copies may be seen at the libraries of the Pennsylvania Historical Society, and of the German Society, in Philadelphia.

The Chronicon Ephratense, or Ephrata Chronicle, so often alluded to in this article, was also from their press, but was published thirty-eight years later. It contains the life of Beissel, under the title of the venerable “Father in Christ, Peaceful Godright (_Friedsam Gottrecht_), late founder and _vorsteher_ of the Spiritual Order of the Solitary (_Einsamen_) in Ephrata, collected by Brothers Lamech and Agrippa.” I have heard of several copies being still extant,—one in Lancaster County, one in Montgomery, and one in the library of the Historical Society at Philadelphia. The last I have been allowed to consult.

In speaking of the occupations practised at Ephrata, it may be permitted to include music. Beissel is said to have been an excellent musician and composer. “There was another transcribing-room,” says Fahnestock, “appropriated to copying music. Hundreds of volumes, each containing five or six hundred pieces, were transferred from book to book, with as much accuracy, and almost as much neatness, as if done with the graver.” In composing music, Beissel is said to have taken his style from nature. “The singing is the Æolian harp harmonized.... Their music is set in four, six, and eight parts.”

Morgan Edwards[67] (as cited in Day’s Historical Collections) says, “Their singing is charming,—partly owing to the pleasantness of their voices, the variety of parts they carry on together, and the devout manner of performance.” This style of singing is said by Rupp (1844) to be entirely lost at Ephrata, but to be preserved in a measure at Snow Hill, in Franklin County. Fahnestock, who was himself a Seventh-Day Baptist (or _Siebtaeger_), gives a very enthusiastic account of the singing at Snow Hill. It may be found in Day’s Historical Collections, article “Franklin County.”[68]

In addition to the various industries which claimed the attention of the community, there must not be forgotten the care of their landed estate. It has been said that they bought about two hundred and fifty acres of land.[69]

A very large tract was once offered to them by one of the Penns, but they refused it. I was told at Ephrata that they were “afraid they would get too vain.”

Count Zinzendorf, the celebrated Moravian bishop, came to Pennsylvania in 1741. At one time he visited Ephrata, and was entertained in the convent, where his friendly behavior was very agreeable to the brothers. (We may suppose that Miller, and Eckerlin, who was not yet deposed, were men fit to entertain him.) He also expressed a wish to see Beissel. This was made known to the latter, who answered, after a little reflection, that Zinzendorf was no wonder to him, but if he himself were a wonder to Zinzendorf, he must come to him (or as it seems, to Beissel’s own house). Zinzendorf was now in doubt what to do, but he turned away and left without seeing the father (_vorsteher_). The Chronicle adds that thus did two great lights of the church meet as on the threshold, and yet neither ever saw the other in his life.

The Moravians also erected brother- and sister-houses, but they were not monastic institutions.[70]

Dissension arose at one time between some of the brethren of the Ephrata Society and Count Zinzendorf, at a conference held by the latter at Oley, now in Berks County. Zinzendorf seems to have desired to unite some of the sects with which Pennsylvania was so abundantly supplied. But the solitary brethren (of Ephrata) were so suspicious of the thing that they would no longer unite with it. They had prepared a writing upon marriage, how far it is from God, and that it was only a praiseworthy ordinance of nature. This they presented, whereupon there arose a violent conflict in words.

The ordinarius (Zinzendorf) said that he was by no means pleased with this paper; his marriage had not such a beginning; his marriage stood higher than the solitary life in Ephrata. The Ephrata delegates strove to make all right again, and spoke of families in their society who had many children.[71]

But Zinzendorf left his seat as chairman, ... and at last the conference came to an end, all present being displeased.[72]

About this date (or about 1740) took place the formation of the Sabbath-school, by Ludwig Hoecker, called Brother Obed.[73] He was a teacher in the secular school at Ephrata,—a school which seems to have enjoyed considerable reputation. The Sabbath-school (held on Saturday afternoon) is said to have been kept up over thirty years. This was begun long before the present Sunday-school system was introduced by Robert Raikes. (American Cyclopædia, article _Dunkers_.)