“Artur er wile, Adum kum walkin’ up de gardin and Eve she runs out ter meet ’im. Wen he kum near she hol’ up er appul in her han’ and tell him it iz gud ter eat. Oh, blin’ and silly womun! First deceived herself, she turn roun’ and deceives Adum. Dat’s de way; we gits wrong, an’ den we pulls udder folks down wid us. We rarly goes down by oursefs.
“But whar wuz de rong? Whar, indeed? It wuz in Eve’s believin’ de debbul and not believin’ Gord. It wuz doin’ wat de debbul sed an’ not doin’ wat Gord sed. An’ yer kum here and ax me whar sin kum frum! Yer see now, doan’ sher? It kum out uv de pit uv hell whar it wuz hatched ’mong de ainjuls dat wuz flung out uv heav’n ’caus dey disurbeyd Gord. It kum from dat land whar de name uv our Gord is hated. It wuz brought by dat ole sarpint, de fathur uv lies, and he brung it dat he mite fool de woman, an’ in dat way sot up on de urth de wurks uv de debbul. Sin iz de black chile uv de pit, it is. It kum frum de ole sarpint at fust, but it’s here now, rite in po’ Jasper’s hart and in your hart; wharevur dar iz a man or a woman in dis dark wurl’ in tears dar iz sin,—sin dat insults Gord, tars down His law, and brings woes ter evrybody.
“An’ you, stung by de sarpint, wid Gord’s rath on yer and yer feet in de paf uv deth, axin’ whar sin kum frum? Yer bettur fly de rath uv de judgmint day.
“But dis iz ernuff. I jes’ tuk time ter tell whar sin kum frum. But my tong carnt refuse ter stop ter tel yer dat de blud uv de Lam’ slain frum de foundashun uv de wurl’ is grettur dan sin and mitier dan hell. It kin wash erway our sins, mek us whitur dan de drivin snow, dress us in redemshun robes, bring us wid shouts and allerluejurs bak ter dat fellership wid our Fathur, dat kin nevur be brokin long ez ’ternity rolls.”
This outbreak of fiery eloquence was not the event of the afternoon, but simply an incident. It came towards the end of the service, and its delivery took not much more time than is required to read this record of it. His language was perhaps never more broken; but what he said flamed with terrific light. While there were touches of humour in his description of the scene in the Garden, his message gathered a seriousness and solemnity which became simply overpowering. No words can describe the crushing and alarming effect which his weird story of the entrance of sin into the world had upon his audience. Men sobbed and fell to the floor in abject shame, and frightened cries for mercy rang wild through the church. Possibly never a sweeter gospel note sounded than that closing reference which he made to the cleansing power of the blood shed from the foundation of the world.
There were many white persons present, and they went away filled with a sense of the greatness and power of the Gospel.
Jasper came to the verge of his greatness after he had passed the half century line. Freedom had come and to him brought nothing except the opportunity to carve out his own fortune. His ministry had been migratory, restricted and chiefly of ungathered fruit. He found himself in Richmond without money and without a home. By daily toil he was picking up his bread. He was dead set on doing something in the way he wanted to do it. He was of the constructive sort, and never had done well when building on another man’s foundation.
His ambition was to build a church. Down on the James River, where the big furnaces were run, there was a little island, and on the island a little house, and scattered along the canal and river were many of the newly liberated and uncared for people of his race.
THE SIXTH MOUNT ZION CHURCH
He began to hold religious services on the island,—said by some to have been held in a private house, and by others in a deserted stable, which was fitted up to accommodate the increasing crowds. Things went well with him. The joy of building flamed his soul, and beneath the tide of the river he baptized many converts. Happy days they were! The people were wild with enthusiasm, and the shouts of his congregation mingled with the noise of the James River Falls. It was to Jasper as the gate of heaven, and he walked as the King’s ambassador among his admiring flock.
But it could not be that way long. There was not room enough to contain the people, and yet the church was poverty itself, and what could they do? Happily they found a deserted building beyond the canal and accessible to the growing company of his lovers in the city. There things went with a snap and a roar. From every quarter the people came to hear this African Boanerges. The crowds and songs and riotous shouts of his young church filled the neighbourhood. Constant processions, with Jasper at the head, visited the river or canal, to give baptism to the multiplying converts.
Meanwhile, however, the northern part of the city was fast becoming the Africa of Richmond. Into its meaner outskirts at first the tide began to roll, but in a little while the white people began to retreat, street after street, until a vast area was given up to the coloured people. Jasper’s people, also, as they prospered, began to settle in this new Africa, and Jasper found once more that he was simply dwelling in tents, when the time was coming for the building of the temple.
Jasper was on the outlook for a new location. Finally he hit upon an old brick church building, at the corner of Duval and St. John Streets. The Presbyterians, who had started this mission years before, had despaired of success under the changed conditions and they offered the house for sale, the price being $2,025. The sense of growth and progress fairly maddened this unique and fascinating preacher with enthusiasm. He had found a home for his people at last, and yet, in point of fact, he had not. The house was a magnificent gain on their old quarters, and yet every Sunday afternoon found most of his crowd on the outside. Quite soon his people had to enlarge and remodel the house, and this they did at a cost of $6,000. By that time the membership was well on towards 2,000. There they dwelt for a number of years until the church became the centre of the religious life in that part of the town. “John Jasper,” as he was universally called, had easily become the most attractive and popular minister of his race in the city. By this time he was over sixty years of age, and it would have taken much to have quenched the yet unwasted buoyancy and vitality of his ministry. Necessity demanded another building, and in the later prime of his kingly manhood, and very largely by his personal forcefulness and intrepid leadership, he led a movement for a house of worship that would be respectable in almost any part of Richmond. What was more to his purpose, it was very capacious, wisely adapted to the wants of his people and a fitting monument to his constructive resource and enthusiasm. It is said that he, out of his own slender resources, gave $3,000 to the building fund, and this was probably in addition to great sums of money given him by white people who went to hear him preach and who delighted to honour and cheer the old man. I suppose that thousands of dollars were given him from no motive save that of kindness towards him, and the donours would just as soon have given the money directly to him and for his own use. They helped to build the church simply to please the old man whose eloquence and honesty had won their hearts. His love for his church amounted to devotion. He had seen it grow from the most insignificant beginning, had watched the tottering steps of its childhood, and with pride natural and affectionate had gloried in its prosperity.
But be it said to the old man’s honour that he was too great to be conceited. He had no sense of boastfulness or self-glorification about the church. He had the frankness to tell the truth about things when it was necessary, but he had too much manly modesty to claim distinction for the part he had borne in the building up of the church. Indeed, he was strangely silent about his relations with the church, and his dominant feeling was one of affectionate solicitude for the future of the church rather than of self-satisfaction on account of its history.
There was a strain of severity in Jasper. He had some of the temper of the reformer. He was quick,—often too quick—in condemning those who criticised him. The fact is, he was so unfeignedly honest that he could not be patient towards those whose sincerity or honesty he doubted. For those who plotted against the church or gave trouble in other ways he had little charity. Those that would not work in harness, and help to move things along, he was quite willing to show to the church door. For his part, he could not love those very warmly who did not love the “Sixth Mount Zion.”
This may be the right place to say a word or two as to Jasper’s enemies. He was a man of war, and it may be that his prejudices sometimes got in the saddle. But not very often. Possibly, his most striking characteristic was his bottom sense of justice. He told the truth by instinct, and it never occurred to him to take an undue advantage. If, however, a man wronged him, he was simply terrible in bringing the fellow to book. There was a case, in which it is better not to mention names, in which an insidious and grievous accusation was brought against this sturdy old friend of the faith. The charge sought to fasten falsehood upon Jasper. That was enough for him,—it amounted to a declaration of war, and at once he entered upon the conflict. Never did he cease the strife until the charge was unsaid. Nothing, in short, could terrify him.
It must not be inferred that those who assailed him with questions and arguments were put into the category of personal enemies. Controversy was exactly to his taste. All he asked of the other man was to state his proposition, and he was ready for the contest. Not that he went into it pell-mell. By no means; he took time for preparation, and when he spoke it was hard to answer him. This, of course, applies when the questions were theological and Scriptural, and not scientific. His knowledge of the Scriptures was remarkable, and his spiritual insight into the doctrines of the Bible was extraordinary. When he preached, he supported every point with Scriptural quotations, invariably giving the chapter and verse, and often adding, “Ef yer don’ find it jes’ ezackly ez I tells yer, yer kin meet me on de street nex’ week an’ say ter me: ‘John Jasper, you ar er lier,’ an’ I won’ say er wurd.”
What gave to Jasper an exalted and impressive presence was his insistent claim that he was a God-sent man. This he asserted in almost every sermon, and with such evident conviction that he forced other people to believe it. Even those who differed with him were constrained to own his sincerity and Godliness. It was impossible to be with him much without being impressed that he was anointed of God for his work. It was in this that his people gloried. Their faith in him was preëminent,—far above every question—and he was also full of inspiration. You may talk with his disciples now, wherever you meet them, and they are quick to tell you that “Brer Jasper was certinly aninted uv God,” and even the more intelligent of the people ascribed his greatness to the fact that he was under the power of the Holy Ghost. Many wicked people heard him preach, and some of them still went their wicked way, but they felt that the power of God was with Jasper, and they were always ready to say so. In many points, John Jasper was strikingly like John the Baptist,—a just man and holy, and the people revered him in a way I never met with in any other man.
In the circle of Jasper’s gifts his imagination was preëminent. It was the mammoth lamp in the tower of his being. A matchless painter was he. He could flash out a scene, colouring every feature, defining every incident and unveiling every detail. Time played no part in the performance,—it was done before you knew it. Language itself was of second moment. His vocabulary was poverty itself, his grammar a riot of errors, his pronunciation a dialectic wreck, his gestures wild and unmeaning, his grunts and heavings terrible to hear. At times he hardly talked but simply emitted; his pictures were simply himself in flame. His entire frame seemed to glow with living light, and almost wordlessly he wrought his miracles. But do not misunderstand. Some insisted on saying that education would have stripped John of his genius by subduing the riot of his power and chastening the fierceness of his imagination. I think not, for John in a good sense was educated. He was a reverential and laborious student for half-a-century. He worked on his sermons with a marked assiduity and acquired the skill and mastership of faithful struggle. Even his imagination had to work, and its products were the fruit of toil. There was no mark of the abnormal or disproportionate in his sky, but all the stars were big and bright. He was well ballasted in his mental make-up, and in his most radiant pictures there was an ethical regard for facts, and an instinctive respect for the truth. Moreover, his ministrations fairly covered the theological field, were strongly doctrinal, and he grappled with honest vigour the deepest principles of the Gospel. He was also intensely practical, scourging sin, lashing neglect, and with lofty authority demanding high and faithful living.
Think not of Jasper merely as a pictorial preacher. There were wrought into his pictures great principles and rich lessons. But now and then he would present a sermon which was largely a series of pictures from beginning to end. His imagination would be on duty all the time and yet never flag. I cannot forget his sermon on Joseph and his Brethren. It was a stirring presentation of the varied scenes in that memorable piece of history. He opened on the favouritism of Jacob, and was exceedingly strong in condemning partiality, as unhappily expressed in the coat of many colours. That brief part was a sermon itself for parents. From that he passed quickly to the envy of his brothers, jealousy was a demon creeping in among them, inflicting poisonous stings, and spreading his malignant power, until murder rankled in every heart. Then came Joseph, innocent and ignorant of offending, to fall a victim to their conspiracy, with the casting of him into the pit, the selling of him to the travelling tradesmen, the showing to Jacob of the blood-stained coat, with scene after scene until the happy meeting at last between Jacob and his long lost son.
One almost lived a lifetime under the spell of that sermon. It was eloquent, pathetic, terrific in its denunciations, rich in homely piety, and with strains of sweetness that was as balm to sorrowing souls. The effects were as varied as human thoughts and sentiments. The audience went through all moods. Now they were bent down as if crushed with burdens; now they were laughing in tumults at the surprises and charms of heavenly truth; anon they were sobbing as if all hearts were broken, and in a moment hundreds were on their feet shaking hands, shouting, and giving forth snatches of jubilant song. This all seems extravagant, without sobriety entirely, but those that were there, perhaps without an exception, felt that it was the veritable house of God and the gate of heaven.
At other times, Jasper’s sermons were sober and deliberate, sometimes even dull; but rarely did the end come without a burst of eloquence or an attractive, entertaining picture. But, remember, that his pictures were never foreign to his theme. They were not lugged in to fill up. They had in them the might of destiny and fitted their places, and fitted them well. Often they came unheralded, but they were evidently born for their part. On one occasion his sermon was on Enoch. It started out at a plodding gait and seemed for a time doomed to dullness, for Jasper could be dull sometimes. At one time he brought a smile to the faces of the audience, in speaking of Enoch’s age, by the remark: “Dem ole folks back dar cud beat de presunt ginerashun livin’ all ter pieces.”
As he approached the end of his sermon, his face lighted up and took on a new grace and passion, and he went out with Enoch on his last walk. That walk bore him away to the border of things visible; earthly scenes were lost to view; light from the higher hills gilded the plains. Enoch caught sight of the face of God, heard the music and the shouting of a great host, and saw the Lamb of God seated on the throne. The scene was too fair to lose, and Enoch’s walk quickened into a run which landed him in his father’s house. It was a quick, short story, told in soft and mellow tones, and lifted the audience up so far that the people shouted and sang as if they were themselves entering the gates of heaven.
One of his more elaborate descriptions, far too rich to be reproduced, celebrated the ascension of Elijah. There was the oppressive unworldliness of the old prophet, his efforts to shake off Elisha, and Elisha’s wise persistence in clamouring for a blessing from his spiritual father. But it was when the old prophet began to ascend that Jasper, standing off like one apart from the scene, described it so thrillingly that everything was as plain as open day. To the people, the prophet was actually and visibly going away. They saw him quit the earth, saw him rise above the mountain tops, sweeping grandly over the vast fields of space, and finally saw him as he passed the moon and stars. Then something happened. In the fraction of a second Jasper was transmuted into Elijah and was actually in the chariot and singing with extraordinary power the old chorus: “Going up to heaven in a chariot of fire.” The scene was overmastering! For a time I thought that Jasper was the real Elijah, and my distinct feeling was that the song which he sang could be heard around the world. Of course, it was not so; but there was something in the experience of the moment that has abided with me ever since.
At a funeral one Sunday I saw Jasper attempt a dialogue with death, himself speaking for both. The line of thought brought him face to face with death and the grave. The scene was solemnized by a dead body in a coffin. He put his hands over his mouth and stooped down and addressed death. Oh, death—death, speak to me. Where is thy sting? And then with the effect of a clairvoyant he made reply: “Once my sting was keen and bitter, but now it is gone. Christ Jesus has plucked it out, and I have no more power to hurt His children. I am only the gatekeeper to open the gateway to let His children pass.” In closing this chapter an incident will largely justify my seemingly extraordinary statements as to the platform power of this unschooled negro preacher in Virginia.
In company with a friend I went very often Sunday afternoons to hear Jasper and the fact was bruited about quite extensively, and somewhat to the chagrin of some of my church-members. Two of them, a professor in Richmond College and a lawyer well-known in the city, took me to task about it. They told me in somewhat decided tones that my action was advertising a man to his injury, and other things of a similar sort. I cared but little for their criticism, but told them that if they would go to hear him when he was at his best, and if afterwards they felt about him as they then felt, I would consider their complaints. They went the next Sunday. The house was overflowing, and Jasper walked the mountain tops that day. His theme was “The raising of Lazarus” and by steps majestic he took us along until he began to describe the act of raising Lazarus from the dead. It happened that the good professor was accompanied by his son, a sprightly lad of about ten, who was sitting between his father and myself. Suddenly the boy, evidently agitated, turned to me and begged that we go home at once. I sought to soothe him, but all in vain, for as he proceeded the boy urgently renewed his request to go home. His father observed his disquietude and putting an arm around him restored him to calmness. After the service ended and we had reached the street, I said to him: “Look here, boy, what put you into such a fidget to quit the church before the end of the service?” “Oh, doctor, I thought he had a dead man under the pulpit and was going to take him out,” he said. My lawyer brother heard the sermon and with profound feeling said, “Hear that, and let me say to you that in a lifetime I have heard nothing like it, and you ought to hear that man whenever you can.”
I heard no later criticisms from any man concerning my conduct in evincing such cordial interest in this eloquent son of Fluvanna.
It was only necessary to persuade Jasper’s critics to hear him, to remove all question as to his genuine character and effective spiritual ministry.
The domestic history of this rare and gifted man was not without its tragical incidents. One of the worst features of slavery, as an institution in the South, was the inevitable legislation which it necessitated, and under which many grievous wrongs were perpetrated. The right of the slave owner to the person of the slave carried with it the authority to separate man and wife at the dictate of self-interest, and that was often done, though it ought to be said that thousands of kind-hearted men and women did their utmost to mitigate the wrongs which such legislation legalized. In the sale of the negroes regard was often had for the marriage relation, and it was arranged so that the man and wife might not be torn asunder. But it was not always this way. Too often the sanctity of marriage and the laws of God concerning it were sacrificed to the greed of the slaveholder.
If the tradition of Mr. Jasper’s first marriage is to be accepted as history, then he was the victim of the cruel laws under which the institution of slavery was governed. In the changes which came to him in the breaking up of the family to which he belonged his lot was cast for a while in the city of Williamsburg. The story is that he became enamoured of a maiden bearing the name of Elvy Weaden, and he was successful in his suit. It chanced, however, that on the very day set for his marriage, he was required to go to Richmond to live. The marriage was duly solemnized and he was compelled to leave his bride abruptly, but was buoyed with the hope that fairer days would come when their lot would be cast together. The fleeting days quenched the hope and chilled the ardour of the bride, and in course of time the impatient woman notified Jasper that unless he would come to see her and they could live together, she would account herself free to seek another husband. He was not a man to brook mistreatment, and he made short work of the matter. He wrote her that he saw no hope of returning to Williamsburg, and that she must go ahead and work out her own fate. Naturally enough, the difficulties under which the married life had to be maintained served to weaken seriously the marital tie and to imperil the virtue of the slaves. But this remark ought not to be made without recalling the fact that there were thousands and tens of thousands of happy and well-governed families among the slaves of the South.
Jasper felt seriously the blight of this untimely marriage and he seems to have remained unmarried until after he united with the church and became a preacher. In time, his thoughts turned again to marriage. He was then a member of the First African Baptist Church of Richmond. He took the letter which his wife had written him some time before and presented it to the church and asked what was his duty under the circumstances. It was a complex and vexing question, but his brethren, after soberly weighing the matter, passed a resolution expressing the conviction that it would be entirely proper for him to marry again. Accordingly, about five years after his conversion, he married a woman bearing the unusual name of Candus Jordan. According to all reports, this marriage was far more fruitful in children than in the matter of connubial peace and bliss for the high-strung and ambitious Jasper. It seems that the case must have had some revolting features, as in due time Jasper secured a divorce and was fully justified by his brethren and friends in taking this action. Evidently this separation from his wife, which was purely voluntary, in no way weakened him in the confidence and good-will of the people.
Years after his divorce, Jasper married Mrs. Mary Anne Cole. There were no children by this marriage, but his wife had a daughter by her former marriage who took the name of Jasper, and was adopted in fact and in heart as the daughter of this now eminent and beloved minister. This wife died in 1874, and Jasper married once more. His widow survived him and still lives, a worthy and honoured woman whose highest earthly joy is the recollection of having been the wife of Elder John Jasper, and also the solace and cheer of his old age. This is a checkered story of a matrimonial career, but justice loudly demands the statement that through it all John Jasper walked the lofty path of virtue and honour. It was impossible, however, for a man like Jasper to escape the arrows of the archer. Jealousy, envy, and slander were often busy with his name, and if foul charges could have befouled him none could have been fouler than he. But his daily life was a clean and unanswerable story. Reproaches would not stick to him, and the deadliest darts fell harmless at his feet. His noble seriousness, his absorption in the study of the Bible, his enthusiasm in the ministry, and, most of all, his quiet walk with God, saved him from the grosser temptations of life.
Perhaps the finest incident in all the story of his life was the perfect faith of the people in Jasper. This was true everywhere that he was known, but it was most powerfully true among those who stood nearest to him and knew him best. Jasper, to them, was the incarnation of goodness. They felt his goodness, revelled in it, and lived on it. Their best earthly inspirations sprang out of the fair and incorruptible character of their pastor. If his enemies sought to undermine and defame him, they rallied around him and fought his battles. Little cared he for the ill things said about him personally. Conscious of his rectitude, and, embosomed in the love of his great church, he walked serenely and triumphantly in the way of the Lord. He believed in the sanctity of his home, and he hallowed it by the purity, honesty, and charity of his brethren.
Anxious to get some living testimony in regard to the personal character of Jasper, I determined to get in contact with a few persons who stood very close to him, and that, for many years. In what follows is found the testimony of a truly excellent woman, to whom I was directed, with the assurance that what she said might be taken as thoroughly trustworthy. She gave her name as Virginia Adams, and, judging from her appearance and manner, one would probably write her down as not far from threescore and ten. She was for many years a member of his church. The following story from her lips is not connected, but it is simply the unmethodical testimony of a sensible woman, bearing about it the marks of sincerity, intelligence, and reverential affection.
“Brer’ Jasper was as straightfor’d a man es you cud see, and yer cud rely ’pon ev’ry word he told yer. He made it so plain dat watuver he tol’ yer in his sermon yer cud read it right thar in yer heart, jes’ like he had planted and stamped it in yer. I can’t read myse’f, but I kno’ well when anybody mek any mistake ’bout de passages which Brer Jasper used to preach ’bout. I’ve got ’em jes’ de same es if I had ’em printed on my mem’ry. His mi’ty sermon on Elijer is in me jes’ es he preached it. I kin see Elijer es Elisha is runnin’ arter him,—kin see de cheryot es it kum down, see Brer Jasper es he wuz pintin’ ter de cheryot es it riz in its grand flight up de skies,—see Elijer es he flung his mantul out es he went up, and I tell yer when Brer Jasper began ter sing ’bout goin’ up ter heaven in a cheryot uv fire I cud see everything jes’ es bright es day, and de people riz such a shout dat I thought all de wurl’ wuz shoutin’. Yes, Brer Jasper wuz de kindes’ man I reckon on de urth. Yer cudn’t finish tellin’ him ’bout folks dat wuz in trouble and want, befo’ he’d be gittin’ out his money. He didn’t look lik he keer much ’bout money,—he warn’t no money-seeker, and yit he look lik he allus hev money, and he wuz allus de fust ter give. Jes’ tell him wat wuz needed, and he begun fer to scratch in his pocket.
“Brer Jasper kep’ things lively. People wuz talkin’ all de time ’bout his sermons, and yer cud hear their argiments while yer wuz gwine ’long de streets. Often his members an’ udder folks too wud git tangled up ’bout his doctrines and dey wud git up texs an’ subjiks an’ git him ter preach ’bout ’em. Ef any uv his brutherin had trubbul wid passiges uv de scripshur and went ter him ’bout ’em, you’d sure hear frum him nex Sunday. He luv ter splain things fer his brutherin.
“It wuz Bruther Woodson, de sexton uv de church, and anudder man dat got Brer Jasper in ter dat gret ’citemint ’bout de sun. Dey got inter a spute es to wheddur de sun went ’roun’ de wurl’ ur not, and dey took it ter our pastor, and really I thought I nevur wud hear de end of dat thing. Folks got arter Brer Jasper in de papurs and everywhar; but I tell yer dey nevur skeered him. He wuz es brave es a lion, an’ I don’ kno’ how often he preached dat sermon. It look lik all de people in de wurl’ want to kum.
“No, Brer Jasper wuz no money-grabbur. When de church wuz weak and cudn’t raze much money, he nevur sot no salary. Yer cudn’t git him ter do it. He tell ’em not ter trubble ’emselves, but jes’ giv him wat dey chuze ter put in de baskit and he nevur made no kumplaint. Wen de church got richer dey crowd ’im hard ter kno’ how much he wantid, and he at las’ tell ’em dat he wud take $62.50 a month, and dat he didn’t want no more dan dat. Wen de gret crowds got ter kummin’ and de white folks too, and de money po’ed in so fas’ de brutherin farly quarl’d wid him ter git his sal’ry raz’d, but he say No! I git nuff now, and I want no more. I’m not here to gouge my people out of es much money es I kin. He say he got nuff money to pay his taxes and buy wat he needed, and if dey got more dan dey wantid let ’em take it and help de Lord’s pore. Sometimes we used ter ’poun’’ de ole man, kerryin’ ’im all kinds uv good things ter eat. He didn’t lik it at all, but tuk de things and sont ’em ’roun’ ter de pore people.
“Brer Jasper wuz nun uv yer parshul preachers. His church wuz his family, and he had no favrites. He did not bow down ter de high nor hol’ ’imsef ’bove de low. Enny uv his people cud kum ter him ’bout all dere struggles and sorrers. He hated erroneyus doctrines. His faith in de Bibul wuz powerful, and he luved it ’bove everything. He had awful dreds ’bout wat mite kum ter de church wen he wuz gone. He sometimes said in a mity solem way, ‘Wen I am daid and gone, yer will look out ter whar my ashes lay and wish I wuz back here ter ’part ter yer de pure wurd uv Gord agin. I got a fear dat dose dat kum arter me will try ter pull down wat I built up. I pray Gord, my children will stand by de ship uv Zion wen I’s gone.’
“Brer Jasper got troubles ’bout de way young childun wuz got inter de church. He say ‘all yer got ter do is to pitty-pat em (making the motion in the pulpit with his hands) on dere haids and dey are in de kingdom. Sum uv yer duz the convertin’ of dese little uns instid er leavin’ it ter God ter do de work.’ He believed in regenerashum of folks. He preach’d ter de very last on being born agin, and he didn’t want nobody ter kum inter his church wat ain’t felt de power uv de sperrit in dere souls.
“But Brer Jasper wuz a mity luver uv de childun. He had a great way of stoppin’ and talkin’ ter dem on de street. He wuz a beautiful story-teller, and de childrun often flocked ter his house ter hear ’im tell nice stories and all kine uv good tales. He kept pennies in his pockets and often dropped ’em along for de chilrun—he had great ways,—til de chilrun ud think he wuz de greatest man dat ever put foot on de yearth.
“Brer Jasper wuz sosherbul wid everybody, and nobody cud beat him as a talker. He knew lots ’bout Richmond, and de ole times, and he had de grandest stories and jokes dat he luved ter tell and dat de folks went wild ter hear. He wuz great on jokes and cracked ’em in sech a funny way dat folks most killed de ’sefs laughin’. But yer mus’ kno’ dat he wuz mity keerful ’bout how he talked. Yer neer hear no bad words frum his mouth. His stories he could tell ennywhar, and wuz jes’ as nice ter de ladies as ter der men. He didn’t b’leve in no Sercities. Dey tried ter git ’im in de Masons, and I don’t kno’ wat all, but he ain’t tech none uv’em. He sez dar ain’t but one Grand Past Master and dat is King Jesus.
“Dey orf’n wanted ’im at de big public suppers war dey et an’ drank an’ made speeches, but he wouldn’t go near; and den our high people had der big suppers in dere houses and wanted de ’onur uv entertainin’ Brer Jasper, but he didn’t hanker arter dose kind uv things. He wanted his meals simple and reglur and uv de plain sort, and as fer dese high ferlootin’ feasts dey didn’t suit his taste.
“It look lik Brer Jasper couldn’t stop preachin’. It wuz his food and drink, an’ enny time he’d git way beyond his strength. I’ve seen ’im wen it looked lik de las’ bref hed gone out’en his body, and sometimes some uv de brutherin say he did not look like a natchul man. He seemed more in hevun dan on urth. I most reckun some uv de brutherin thought he wuz gone up in ter heavun like Lijer. Dey go in de pulpit and tek hol’ uv ’im and say Brer Jasper yer dun preached nuff. Don’t wear yerself down. Tek yer seat and res’ yersef. He knew dey did it fer luv, and he took it kind, but he didn’t always stop at once.
“Brer Jasper had a walk mity remarkbul. Wen he went in de streets he wuz so stately and grave lik dat he walk diffrunt from all de people. Folks wud run out uv all de stores, or out on der porches, or turn back ter look wen Jasper kum ’long. Oh, it made us proud ter look at him. No other preacher could walk like him. Yer felt de ground got holy war he went ’long. Sum uv ’em say it wuz ekul ter a revival ter see John Jasper moving lik a king ’long de street. Often he seemed ter be wrappd up in his thoughts and hardly to know whar he wuz. De people feared ’im so much,—wid sech a luvin’ kind uv fear, dat dey hardly dared to speak ter him.
“Brer Jasper wuz mity fond uv walkin’ in de pulpit. It wuz a great large place, and he frisked round most lik he wuz a boy. Wen he filled up wid de rousement of the Gospel on him, it was just glor’us to see him as he whirled about the stand; the faces of his folks shone wid de brightness of de sun, and they ofen made the house ring with laughter and with their shouts.
“One thing he did dat always made his congregasons rock wid joy, an’ dat wuz ter sing wile he wuz preachin’. He wuz mos’ ninety years old, but he never lost his power ter sing, an’ wen he struck er tune de note uv it shot in de people lik arrurs from anguls quivur. Yer cudn’t hol’ still wen Jasper sung. Soon as he started, de people would ’gin to swing an’ jine in tel de music filled de house. He cud sing a heap uv songs, but he had a few great songs. Yer orter to hear him sing by hiself his favrite piece.” Here it is:
EV’BUDY GOT TER RISE TER MEET KING JESUS IN DE MORNIN’
“Dar wuz a song dat Jasper made hisself. Some called it a ballard, and udders said it wuz a poem; but wat evur twuz, it wuz glory ter hear him sing it. It went dis way:—
“And den, too, he had his shoutin’ song. He never sung it ’cept wen de heavenly fires wuz burnin’ all over his soul. He kept tune wid his walkin’ and wid de clappin’ uv his hands. Dis song never got in ’cept at de close uv sermons dat had heaven in ’em, and somehow he jumped from de sermon all at once in ter de song an’ it would hev fairly kilt yer wid joy ter hear it. Here is de way he put it:—
“Dis wuz the start uv it, but dere wuz heaps more.
“It wuz an awful time ter us wen we begun ter see dat our ole pastor wuz near ter de end uv his race. We had been a-dreddin’ it by degrees and it broke on us more and more. I think de dere man tried ter git us reddy fer it. He kep sayin’ to us: ‘My chilrun, my work on de earth is dun. I doan ask death no more odds dan a horse-fly.’ But den he’d preach so powerful dat we’d hope dat he’d hol’ out a good deal longer. He said ter me one day: ‘Compartivly speakin’, my time in dis wurl’ is skin deep,’ and I look at my hand and think how thin de skin is, and I feel dat sho’ nuff he mus’ soon be goin’.
“One night at de church he turned hissef loos. He said dat as fer ’imself it mattered nuthin’. He had paid all his debts, dat he did not keer whar or when he dropped; but he wanted everybody ter know dat he wud be wid Jesus. Dat wuz one uv de things dat he luved ter say. Den he told de church dat dar wuz nuthin’ lef’ uv him,—dat he wanted ’em to git tergedder and pay off der church debt and live tergedder lik little chil’run. He wuz mity gret dat night, an’ it looked lik de powers uv de wurl’ ter kum wuz dar.
“De people went out silent lik an’ dey said dat de gud ole pastor preached his own funeral dat night. He allus thought uv hissef es de servant uv King Jesus. Dat wuz a slavery dat he liked and nevur wished to git free from it. Towards de las’ he wuz all de time sayin’: ‘I am now at de river’s brink and waitin’ fer furder orders. It’s de same ter me ter go or stay, jes’ es Gord commands.’
“Some folks said dat he wuz conceited. Dey did not know him. He wuz too full uv de fear uv Gord to think he wuz sum great body, an’ he know’d his own sins an’ troubles too well ter boast. He must hev known dat Gord made him more uv a man dan de gen’ral run. He had ter kno’ dat, ’caus’ it wuz proved ter him every day, an’ in a heap uv ways. Besides dat, he hilt hisself up high. He had good respec’ for hisself and felt dat a man lik he wuz had got ter behave hisself ’cordin’ ter wat he wuz. But dat wuz very different from bein’ one uv dese giddy little fops dat is always trancin’ aroun’ showin’ hisself off, and braggin’ ’bout everything. I often wondered how Jasper could be so umble lik, wen so many cacklin’ fools wuz bodderin’ ’im.
“Brer Jasper could git up big things wen he tried. Wen dey got in a tight place ’bout de church an’ had to have money, he got up a skurshun ter Washington. He sent out de members ter sell tickets, an’ dey sold so many dat dey had ter have two trains ter carry ’em, and jes’ think, sir, he cleared $1,500 fer his church by dat skurshun, and he got up anudder to Staunton dat wuz mos’ as good as de udder one. Ah, he wuz a leader, I tell you he wuz. We never could have had our fine church if it had not bin fer him.
“It’s mity easy fer folks ter forget things. Some folks are teerin’ ’roun’ as if the church b’longed ter ’em now, and dey are ready ter tell you dat Jasper made mistakes and all dat, but sum uv us knows well dat Jasper built dat church. You need nevur spect ter hear any more sech preachin’ in dat pulpit as dat grand ole man uv God used ter give us.
“You know Brer Jasper got convicted uv his sins fer de first time on de 4th of July in Capitol Squar’, Richmond. He use ter tell us ’bout it many a time. While de folks wuz swarmin’ ’roun’ and laffin’ and hurrahin’, an arrer uv convicshun went in ter his proud heart an’ brought ’im low. He never forgot dat place, and when he got ter be an ole man he wuz kinder drawn ter Capitol Squar. He luv ter go down dar. He like de cool shade uv de trees and ’joyed de res’, dozin’ sometimes wen he wuz tired. De people, and speshully de chilrun, used ter git ’roun’ him an’ ask him questions an’ make him talk. He lik things lik dat. Some uv de Jews used ter kum ter hear Brer Jasper preach. They called him Father Abraham and showed gret gud feelin’ fur ’im. Some uv ’em used ter meet him in de Cap’tol Squar’ an’ dey would have great ole talks tergudder, an’ he didn’t mind tellin’ ’em de truth an’ he told ’em dat dey wuz de chilrun uv Abraham, but dat dey had gone all to pieces.
“Dey tell me he never went ter skule ’cep’ six months, an’ I hear dat he jes’ studied wid a man dat taught him in a New York Speller book; but when he spoke at de Y. M. C. A. and many uv de white gemmen went ter hear ’im, they say he certainly used ellergunt language. I know he could handle great words when he wanted to, an’ he could talk in de old way, an’ he often loved to do dat.”
“Did yer ebur git yer mine on wat Iz’er say in chapter fo’ an’ vurs wun? Listen ter hiz wurds: ‘An’ sebun wimmin shall tek hol’ uv wun man in dat day, sayin’ we will eat our own bread an’ wear our own ’parrel; only let us be called by Thy name; tek Thou erway our reproach.’ De Profit iz furloserfizin’ ’bout de mattur uv wimmin,—speshully wen dar is sebun in de lan’, wen wars dun thin out de men and de wimmins feels de stings an’ bites uv reproach. I tell yer, yer bettur not fling yer gibes an’ sneers at er ’omun. She wuzn’t made ter stan’ it, an’ wats mo’, she ain’t gwine ter stan’ it. Shure ez yer iz settin’ on dat bench she will fly erway an’ hide hersef, or she will fly at yer, an’ den, ole fellur, yer had bettur be pullin’ out fer de tall timbur fast. Gord dun settled it dat wun ’omun iz nuff fer a man, an’ two iz er war on yer hans,—bles yer, it is.
“But dar kums times wen it goze hard wid wimmin. Dey iz lef out uv de lottry uv heavun,—dey draws blanks an’ dey gits ter be a laughin’ stock uv de ungodly. Not dat dey iz crazy ter marry an’ not dat dey iz uv dat flautin’, slatturn lot dat’s allus gallantin’ eroun’ ertryin’ ter git a man ter ’sport um. Dese wuz squar, alrite wimmin. Wurk wud not skeer um. Dey wuz willin’ ter mek dere bread an’ cloes, ter pay dere own way, purvidid dey cud be Mrs. Sumbody, an’ in dat way ’skape de dev’lish jeers an’ slites uv base men. Fur my part, I feels quite sorry fur dat class uv ladiz, an’ I kinder feels my blud gittin’ up wen I finds folks castin’ reproachiz on dere fair names.
“But my mastur in de skies! Dis pikshur here uv de Profit iz too much fer me. It mek me feel lik tekin’ ter de woods, in quick ordur. Lord, wat wud I do ef I wuz pursued by er army uv seben wimmin axin me ter ’low each wun uv um ter be call’d Mrs. Jasper? It may be dat each wun wuz fer hersef ter de limit, an’ hoped ter shet out de udder six an’ hev de man ter hersef;—an’ ef she wuz ter hev ’im ertall she ort ter hav all uv im. Dar iz not nuff ter d’vide; I tel yer, dar ain’t, an’ wen yer git er haf intrest in er man yer iz po’ indeed, an’ ef only wun sevunth iz yourn, yer had es wel start on ter de po’house ’fo yer git yer dinner.
“A gud ’omun can’t byar ter be oberluked. It ain’t her nature, an’ it iz a site fer de anguls ter see wat sort uv men sum wimmin wil tek sooner dan be lef’ out inti’ly.
“But wat gits me arter all iz a man. I see ’im in de quiet uv de day,—de Sabbuth day. He teks a strole fer de koolin’ uv hiz mine, erwearin’ uv hiz nice cloes, an’ feelin’ lik a new man in de City Kounsil; de fust thing he know’d a lady glide up ter ’im an’ put her han’ lite on hiz arm. He jump ’roun’ an’ she say, mity flush’d up, ‘’skuse me!’
“He see at wunst she er lady, but he wuz kinder lo’ in hiz sperrit, an’ yit he wish in hiz hart dat she had gon ter de udder en uv de rode, but he want ter hear her out.
“She tel ’im de site uv a man wuz medsin fer bad eyes, dat nurly all uv ’em wuz cut down in de war an’ dat in konsquens it wuz er lonesum time fer wimmin; dey hev nobody now ringin’ de do’ bells in de eebnin; no boys sendin’ ’em flowers an’ ’fekshuns; no sweetarts tekin’ ’em walkin’ on Sunday arternoons, an’ weddins gwine out er fashun. An’ dis ain’t de wust uv it. It mek us shamed. De wives,—dey purrades roun’ an’ brags ’bout dere ’ole mans’ an’ cuts der eye at us skornful; an’ de husban’s iz mity nigh es bad, erpokin’ fun at us an’ axin erbout de chillun.
“She say yer needn’ think we’re crazy ter marry; tain’t dat, an’ tain’t dat we want yer ter ’sport us,—no, no! We hev money an’ kin funnish our own vittuls an’ cloes, an’ we kin wuk; but it iz dat reproach dey kas’ on us, de wear an’ tear uv bein’ laff’d at dat cuts us so deep. Ef I cud be Mrs. Sumbody,—had sum proof dat I had de name uv sum un,—sumthin’ ter rub off de reproach. Dat’s it,—dis ding-dongin’ uv de fokes at me.
“De man wuz pale es linnin, an’ wuz hopin’ ter ansur, but fo’ de wud floo frum his lips ernudder ’omun hooked ’im on de ter side. Mursy uv de Lord! two uv ’em had ’im an’ it luk lik dey wuz gwine ter rip ’im in tew an’ each tek a haf. De las’ wun tel her tale jes’ lik de fust wun an’ wuss. She brung in tears es part uv her argurmint, an’ de ter wun got fretted an’ used wuds dat wud hev konkurred ’im ef jes’ den two mo’,—two mo’, mine yer, mekin’ fo’ in all, hed not kum up an’ gits er grip on de gemmun, an’ hiz eyes luk lik dey’d pop out his hed;—wun on each side an’ two ter hiz face, an’ it seems he gwine ter faint.
“‘Yer ladiz,’ he says, ‘may be rite in yer ’thuzasm, but yer iz too menny. Up ter dis time I hev bin shy uv wun, but ef I cud be erlowed ter choose jes’ wun I mite try it.’
“Den de fo’ wimmins begun ter git shaky wen a nur wun sailed in,—dat’s five, den ernudder; dat’s six, and den wun mo’—SEBUN!
“Luk, will yer! Sevun got wun man. It izn’t sed wedder de wimmin wuz fer a partnurship wid de man es de kapertul, or wedder each uv ’em hoped ter beat out de udder six; but wun thing we know an’ dat iz dat de po’ man iz in de low grounds uv sorrur. Ter my min’, de pikshur iz mity seerus, ebun do it mek us smile. Fur my po’ part, I iz glad we lives in fairer times. In our day mens iz awful plen’ful wid us, tho’ I kin not say dat de qualty iz fust class in ve’y menny. But I thanks de Lord dat mos’ enny nice leddy kin git merrid in dese times ef dey choose, an’ dat wid out gwine out sparkin’ fur de man. I notis dat ef she stay ter home, ten her buznis, min’ her mudder, an’ not sweep de streets too off’n wid her skirts, in de long run her modes’ sperrit will win de day. I ubsurv ernudder thing; de unmerrid lady, de ole maid es sum calls her,—need not hang her haid. Jes’ let her be quiet an’ surv de Lord; jes’ not fret ’bout wat fools says,—dey duz er heep uv talkin’, but it iz lik de cracklin’ uv de burnin’ sticks under de pot, a big fuss an’ a littul heat. Fer my part, I honners de ’oman dat b’haves hersef, briduls her tongue, duz her wuk, an’ sings es she goes erlong. Her contentid sperrit beats a lazy husbun’ ebry time, an’ mity off’n it brings er gud husbun’ erlong.
“Es fer dese fokes dat flurts an’ skouts at ole maids dey ain’ fitten ter live, an’ ort ter be in de bottum uv Jeems Rivur, ’cept’n’ dey’d spile de watur. No gemmun nur no lady wud do it.
“Now dis iz my wud ’bout de wimmin, an’ I hope yer lik it, but if yer doant, jes’ ’member dat Jasper sed it, an’ will stan’ by it, til de cows in de lo’er feil’ kums home.”
Jasper’s mother was near the century line when she died, and he attained unto the extraordinary age of eighty-nine. Truly there must have been rare endurance in the texture of the stock. Jasper’s thoughts did not turn to religion until he was twenty-seven and yet by reason of his longevity he was a preacher for sixty years. During twenty-five years of that time he was a slave, and he had about thirty-five years of personal civil freedom, during which he won the distinctions that will make him a figure slow to pass out of history.
Jasper can have no successor. Freedom did not change him. It came too late for him to be seriously affected by its transforming hand. It never dazzled him by its festive charms nor crooked him with prejudice against the white people. There was far more for him in the traditions, sentiments, and habits of his bondage-days than in the new things which emancipation offered. He never took up with gaudy displays which marked his race in the morning of their freedom. This was especially true as to his ministry. He clung without apology to the old ways. In preaching, he spurned the new pulpit manners, the new style of dress, and all new-fangled tricks, which so fascinated his race. He intoned his sermons,—at least, in their more tender passages—sang the old revival songs of the plantations and factories, and felt it a part of his religion to smash, with giant hand, the innovations which the new order was bringing in. Of all the men whom I have known this weird, indescribable man cared the least for opposition;—unless he believed it touched his personal honour or was likely to injure the cause of religion. Indeed, he liked it. He was a born fighter and a stranger to fear. There was a charm in his resentments: they were of a high order, and inevitably commanded manly sympathy. He instinctively identified himself with the Lord and felt that when he fought he was fighting the Lord’s battles. Satire and sarcasm were like Toledo blades in his hands. He often softened his attacks upon his enemies by such ludicrous hits and provoking jests that you felt that, after all, his hostility lacked the roots of hatred. He was far more prone to despise than to hate his enemies.
There is a curious fact in connection with Jasper’s language. Evidently in his early days his speech was atrociously ungrammatical. His dialect, while possessing an element of fascination, was almost unspellable. During his long ministerial life his reading and contact with educated people rooted out many of his linguistic excrescences. There were times when he spoke with approximate accuracy, and even with elegance; and yet he delighted, if indeed he was conscious of it, in returning to his dialect and in pouring it forth unblushingly in its worst shape, and yet always with telling effect. But the wonder of his speaking was his practical independence of language. When he became thoroughly impassioned and his face lit with the orator’s glory, he seemed to mount above the bondage of words: his feet, his eyes, indeed every feature of his outer being became to him a new language. If he used words, you did not notice it You were simply entranced and borne along on the mountain-tide of his passion. You saw nothing but him. You heard him; you felt him, and the glow of his soul was language enough to bring to you his message. It ought to be added that no man ever used the pause more eloquently or effectively than Jasper, and his smile was logic; it was rhetoric; it was blissful conviction.
Those who thought that Jasper was a mere raver did not know. Logic was his tower of strength. He never heard of a syllogism, but he had a way of marshalling his facts and texts which set forth his view as clear as the beaming sun. The Bible was to him the source of all authority, while his belief in the justice and truth of God was something unworldly. He understood well enough his frailties, his fallibility, and the tendency of the human soul towards unfairness and deceit. I heard him say once with irresistible effect: “Brutherin, Gord never lies; He can’t lie. Men lie. I lie sometimes, I am very sorry to say it. I oughtn’t to lie, and it hurts me when I do. I am tryin’ ter git ober it, and I think I will by Gord’s grace, but de Lord nevur lies.” His tone in saying this was so humble and candid that I am sure the people loved him and believed in him more for what he said. A hypocrite could never have said it. Jasper could never be put into words. As he could speak without words so it is true that words could never contain him,—never tell his matchless story, never make those who did not hear him and see him fully understand the man that he was.
A notable and pathetic episode in Jasper’s history was the fact that during the bitter days of the Confederacy when Richmond was crowded with hospitals,—hospitals themselves crowded with the suffering,—Jasper used to go in and preach to them. It was no idle entertainment provided by a grotesque player. He always had a message for the sorrowful. There is no extended record of his labours in the hospitals, but the simple fact is that he, a negro labourer with rude speech, was welcomed by these sufferers and heard with undying interest; no wonder they liked him. His songs were so mellow, so tender, so reminiscent of the southern plantation and of the homes from which these men came. His sermons had the ring of the old gospel preaching so common in the South. He had caught his manner of preaching from the white preachers and they too had been his only theological teachers. We can easily understand how his genius, seasoned with religious reverence, made him a winsome figure to the men who languished through the weary days on the cots. It cannot be said too often that Jasper was the white man’s preacher. Wherever he went, the Anglo-Saxon waived all racial prejudices and drank the truth in as it poured in crystal streams from his lips.
Quite a pretty story is told of Jasper at the beginnings of his ministry. It seems that he went down into the eastern part of his town one Sunday to preach and some boisterous ruffians interfered, declaring that a negro had no right to go into the pulpit and that they would not allow Jasper to preach. A sailor who chanced to be present and knew Jasper faced these disorderly men and declared to them that Jasper was the smartest man in Virginia and that if he could take him to the country from whence he had come he would be treated with honour and distinction. There was also a small white boy standing by, and touched by the sincerity and power of Jasper, he pluckily jumped into the scene and exclaimed, “Yes, let him go on; what he says is all right. I have read it all in the Bible, and why shouldn’t he speak?” The incipient mob was dispersed, and his audience was fringed with a multitude of white people who were attracted to the scene.
It is not intended by these things said, concerning Jasper’s favour with the white people, to indicate that Jasper, in the least degree, was not with his own race. Far from that. He loved his own people and was thoroughly identified with them; but he was larger than his race. He loved all men. He had grown up with that pleasing pride that the coloured people who lived in prominent families had about white people. Then, too, he had always been a man who had won favour wherever he went, and the white race had always had a respect and affection for him. Jasper was never ungrateful.
There were sometimes hard passages in the road which Jasper travelled. At the end of the war he was left high and dry, like driftwood on the shore. He had no church; no place to preach; no occupation. His relations with the white race were shattered, and things were grim enough; but ill-fortune could not break him. A large part of Richmond was in ashes, and in some places at least the work of rebuilding commenced at once,—or rather a clearing off of the debris with a view to rebuilding. Jasper walked out and engaged himself to clean bricks. During the Egyptian bondage the Hebrews made bricks and thought they had a hard lot; but Jasper spent the first days of his freedom in the brick business,—a transient expedient for keeping soul and body together until he could get on his feet again. Little thought the eager men who were trying to lay the foundations for their future fortunes that in the tall serious negro who sat whacking hour after hour at the bricks was one of God’s intellectual noblemen. Born in bondage, lowly in his liberty and yet great in the gifts with which God had endowed him, it was Jasper’s nature to be almost as cheerful when squatted on a pile of bricks and tugging at their cleaning as if he had a seat in a palace and was feeding on royal dainties. He carried the contented spirit, and that too while he aspired after the highest. He did not uselessly kick against the inevitable, but he always strove for the best that was in his reach.
One of the most serious jars of Jasper’s life was his conflict with some of his brethren in connection with his notable and regrettable sermon on the motion of the sun. Intelligent people do not need to be told that Jasper knew nothing of natural science, and that his venture into the field of astronomy was a blunder. It was a matter that did not in the least involve his piety or his salvation, nor even his ministerial efficiency. His whole bearing in the matter was so evidently sincere, and his respect for the Bible, as he understood it, was so unmeasured that it set him off rather to an advantage than to a disadvantage. It is told in another place how he was drawn into the preaching of that sermon which gave him an odd, and yet a genuine, celebrity. It was no love for sensation and no attempt to show his learning, but simply an attempt to vindicate the Bible as he understood it. When the sermon was first delivered it created a wide-spread sensation. Some of the coloured ministers of Richmond were shocked out of their equanimity, and they felt that something must be done. It was a case of hysterics. In a fit of freakish courage some of them made an attack on Jasper. A letter was written to a Richmond paper and signed by several prominent negro Baptists, one of them being the pastor of a strong church. In this letter Jasper’s sermons were bitterly denounced, and they were spoken of as “a base fabrication,” out of time and place, and doing more harm than good. It was said further that those sermons had drawn such crowds that it had resulted in the injury of a number of persons, and that a better way for the author of these sermons would be for him to preach Jesus Christ and Him crucified.
Some time after this the Ebenezer Baptist Church called a conference to consider the situation and to see if matters could not be adjusted. Jasper was an ardent believer in the independence of the individual Baptist church, and he was summoned to appear before that conference. He refused to go, saying that he did not recognize the authority of the church to interfere with him. Thereupon they sent a committee to him inviting him to come and make any statement that he wished to make concerning the question at issue.
He went. The point in the published letter concerning Jasper that was most offensive to him was the statement as to “base fabrication.” That hit him between the joints of the harness. His soul was stirred with a furious resentment, and when he got before that council and fell afoul of the three men who had charged him with “a base fabrication” it was a day not to be forgotten. When he had got through it would be hard to say how many baskets would have been required to hold the fragments. The man who had really written the letter suddenly discovered that it had no reference on the earth to Brother Jasper. It was intended to answer something that had been said in a paper in New York. Attempts were made to refresh his memory. Quite a respectable minister reminded this letter writer that they had talked together concerning this letter, and that the attention of the writer was called to the “base fabrication” part of it, but the memory of the brother could not be revived. No stimulant could reach the case. Other folks might charge Brother Jasper with base fabrication, but not this man. It was a lamentable and discreditable conclusion. He was crippled in both feet and respected by none. This ended the matter. Jasper strode away from the council with the marks of victory about him; and while bad feeling could not die at once, yet the attacks on Jasper went entirely out of fashion. Let it be added that there were multitudes who shared the prejudice against this old warrior, but little cared he. On he went his fine way, growing in nobleness, and loving the God in whom he believed.
Jasper’s pleasures were of the meditative sort. For a long time his church gave him an ample vacation in the summer. He retired to the country and courted its quiet. His only sport was fishing along the streams, and that suited his task. If the fish didn’t bite, his thoughts always did. Like the fish they ran in schools, but unlike the fish they ran in all weathers and in all seasons. But Jasper never achieved marked success in the art of recreation. Go where he might, his fame was there to confront and to entangle him. Demands for him to preach always came in hot and thick, and there was hardly a Sunday when Jasper was in the country that he was not surrounded by a crowd and preaching with ever-glowing fervour and delight. Indeed, Jasper was sought after to dedicate churches, deliver lectures and to preach special sermons in every part of Virginia, and often beyond it. It was said that he preached in almost every county and city in Virginia. He was the one ever sought Virginia preacher, and in that respect he stood unmatched by any man of his race.
As a rule, Jasper did not preach very long sermons. His Sunday afternoon sermons very rarely exceeded fifty minutes in length, but on extraordinary occasions he took no note of time. Jasper was not a sermon-maker. He did not write them, and homiletics was a thing of which he had never heard. He was fond of pictorial preaching and often selected historical topics, such as “Joseph and His Brethren” or “Daniel in the Lion’s Den,” or “The Raising of Lazarus.” He had quite a large stock of special sermons,—sermons which had grown by special use, and which embodied the choicest creations of his mind. These he preached over and over again and in his own pulpit, and without apology to anybody. But after all the themes which interested him most profoundly and on which he preached with unsurpassed ardour and rapture were the fundamental doctrines of the Scriptures. The last sermon he ever preached was on Regeneration; and on many phases of the Christian system he preached with consummate ability. He believed fully in the doctrine of future punishment, and his description of the fate of the lost made the unbelieving quake with terror and consternation. His preaching was of that fervid, startling, and threatening sort, well suited to awaken religious anxieties and to bring the people to a public confession. He was his own evangelist,—did chiefly the work of bringing his congregation to repentance, and the growth of his church consisted almost entirely of the fruit of his own ministry. His church on the island began with nine members, and it was reported that there were over 2,000 at the time of his death. He had uncommon caution about receiving people into his church. He was not willing to take people to count, and he preached searchingly to those who were thinking of applying for membership.
Just two little and yet important things call for a place in this chapter. Jasper was an inexorable debt-payer. The only debt that he could tolerate was a church debt, and he could ill tolerate that. The unsettled account of his great new church building grappled him like a nightmare. It was his burden in the day and his torturing dream at night. Even during his dying days the church debt haunted and depressed him, and loud among his parting exhortations was his insistent plea that the church debt should be speedily paid.
In his early life Jasper contracted the use of tobacco,—as, indeed, almost his entire race did, and he was also quite free with the use of alcoholic drinks,—though never, so far as is known, to the extent of intoxication. No question as to his sobriety has ever ridden the air. But these habits lingered with him long after he entered the ministry, and even until he was winning enviable and far-spreading favour as a preacher. So far as known, these facts did not becloud his reputation nor interfere with his work. Of course, he never entered a barroom, and never drank convivially, but he kept liquor in his house, and took it as his choice dictated. But gradually it worked itself into his conscience that these things were not for the best, and without the least ostentation or even publicity he absolutely abandoned the use both of tobacco and alcoholic drinks. He made no parade about it, and took on no fanatical airs. Just as he thought it was wrong to owe money which he could not pay and therefore hated a debt, so he felt that these habits, useless at best, might really be harmful to him and to others, and therefore he gave them up.