620 Chronicles of the Cape Fear Rwer

of his sonorous voice upon my drowsy spirit when he spoke in
minor tones, and the painful excitement of his sudden high-
pitched exclamations, which roused me with an abashed and
startled countenance from fitful dreams. And I remember,
while being nudged with expressive gestures by my parents to
keep awake, how I longed to sink out of sight upon the floor of
the pew and yield to the over-mastering desire for undisturbed
repose.

How often in more recent years, when the cares of business
made the burden of life almost insupportable, have I longed to
hear one of those delightful sermons of my childhood, when the
voice of the preacher, meaningless to me then, like the droning
of a bee soothed the tired senses until they sank unconscious
into the arms of Death’s twin-brother, Sleep.

One of the great events in the church history of Wilmington,
which I believe under the hand of God led to your original
founding, was the wonderful revival of the Holy Spirit in the
hearts of the Wilmington people in the year 1858. I was then
eleven and a half years of age, and attended with my parents
and brothers and sisters the First Presbyterian Church on
Front Street, which I saw burned to the ground afterwards, and
I also attended the morning session of the Sunday-school which
was held in the lecture-room in the rear of the church building,
and which still stands in the alley opposite our present Front
Street market house. I can remember my first tottering steps
when I was learning to walk, but I can not remember the first
time I attended church: it must have antedated even that re-
mote period.

Mr. Robert Gibbs was the superintendent, and a Mr. Sher-
wood, who was a merchant of Wilmington, was my teacher.
The pastor of the church was the Rev. Matthew B. Grier, a
scholar and a gentleman of the old school, who was perhaps
more generally respected and honored in the town of Wilming-
ton than any other minister of his time. He was a man of
attractive and striking personality, of about six feet stature,
remarkable intellectual attainments, most courteous and refined
deportment, singular grace and ease of manner, and of extreme
punctiliousness with reference to his immaculate clerical dress.

It was his custom to make regular visits, or visitations, upon
the families of his congregation every month, and I have often
recalled with great amusement some of the occasions when he
visited my father’s family and examined us with reference to

Peace Restored 621

that indispensable qualification of our faith, the Westminster

Shorter Catechism.
I remember that his visits were timed for Saturdays, or after

school hours on week days, so that no excuse would be valid

with reference to other obligations. I recall also our brawny

Scotch nurse, fresh from the Highlands, whose duty on the occa-
sion of the minister’s coming was to corral the youthful mem-
bers of the family and prepare them by careful scrubbing and
change of clothes for the ordeal of his examination.

About that time I had developed a remarkable fondness for
the breeding of pigeons and possessed a flock of different varle-
ties numbering forty or fifty, all told. These pigeons were
known and recognized by familiar names, and to an especially
fine pair of white fantails I had given the names of our pastor
and his dignified wife. On one occasion the alarm was given
to the boys at play that the minister was approaching and that
we were to prepare for presentation. My two brothers and I
immediately took refuge under a storehouse in the yard, from
which we were ignominiously dragged by our heels by the
Scotch nurse, and after a careful overhauling were sent into the
house to be eatechised. One of our number, however, escaped
(I think it was our brother from Charleston). I may mention
at this particular juncture that the female fan-tailed pigeon,
already referred to by name, had been missing for several days.
You can imagine the consternation of our good mother, while
we were being examined on the question of “Effectual Calling,”
to hear from the back yard an excited and effectual call to us
by the brother aforesaid, “Come out, come out, Mrs. Grier has
alighted on the top of the stable!” The reassuring “Ha, ha,”
of our good pastor, however, relieved our embarrassment, and
this incident, with his better acquaintance, established our
hearts in mutual affection.

The personnel of the white members of the original organiza-
tion of the church on Chestnut Street is doubtless well known
to you, but I think that the excellent character of our colored
members has not been sufficiently emphasized. I recall Wilham
Cutlar, Alfred Hargrave, Henry Taylor, and George Price, sr.
They were all superior persons, skilled craftsmen, intelligent,
courteous, self-supporting, and generally respected in this com-
munity, as their worthy sons are respected who are here tonight.

After they had bought and occupied the original building and
engaged a talented colored pastor, named Rev. D. J. Sanders,