Brother Morrow and the rattlesnake that wasn't

This is another of Henry Gittinger's stories about the old Greenville neighborhood in far southeast Lucas County of which he --- born in 1861 --- was a native son. Gittinger edited and published The Chariton Leader for many years; this item appeared in his edition of Feb. 11, 1915.

The incident would have have occurred 1870-72, when the Rev. J.S. Morrow was one of two preachers assigned to the Russell Circuit of the Methodist Episcopal Church to serve as many as eight scattered congregations of which only Russell remains. Greenville, where this story is set, had been the scene of the first preaching service in Lucas County, held during 1849 in the cabin of Xury and Polly West. Despite its seniority among Methodist congregations, there never was a church building at Greenville, however.

Here's Henry's tale of a pioneer preacher and a couple of his trials and tribulations. The map is from the Andreas Atlas of Iowa, published in 1875.

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 Methodism was the predominating church order in our neighborhood and services were held with more or less regularity at the old Benson school house, no especial edifice for worship being in existence, but not more frequent than twice a month, usually holding over one Sunday and skipping two.

At that early day the school house stood up on the prairie on which was a growth of tall grass, but a well traveled highway passed by it leading to Logan's mill down near the timber stretch this side of the river. From this highway byroads led to the farm homes, therefore, the school house and temple of worship was not hard of access, though at that early day the general landscape looked wild and cultivated fields presented themselves here and there in the distance upon the commons.

The woods were full of wildlife and creeping reptiles inhabited the prairies and I can testify to the fact that often those in the a-b-c class on their way to school had to leap over the coils of the deadly rattlers that had taken possession of the path, suddenly confronting the youthful pedestrian, and contending against the right of passage. Amid these environs even the child became wary and but few cases are recorded in which the poisonous fang injected its venom.

Sometimes numerous reptiles would, during periods of non-use, crawl into the school house and hold possession of the halls of learning until driven out or exterminated by superior force, ere they had gained a beguiling influence. This condition was of common knowledge and created even less consternation or comment than the fads that have invaded our more modern schools, neither were they much more to be feared. This digression is necessary, as the foundation to the following narrative:

In a previous sketch I have said that old LaGrange was the seat of pioneer Methodism and that the early pastors did not revel in the luxuries of high salaries with which to tempt gouty visitations or gorgeously adorn their persons. In fact it took good maneuvering to make both ends meet and the then pastor, today,  would appear "seedy" before his congregation, which in fact he really was, but on the other hand, it must not be forgotten, his congregation was more or less "seedy" also, thus there was a recompense of harmony.

This year, the Lord and the conference had sent Bro. Morrow to the circuit, a servant with mediocre ability without conceit, but who was willing to give the best he had and worked hard at the job. He never enumerated sermons and was willing to preach so long as he could get listeners.

I remember it was on a Saturday evening after the twilight shadows had gathered that Bro. Morrow was standing up before his audience preparing them for the quarterly meeting, for on the morrow the presiding elder was to be present to preach the big sermon. All was expectation. The dim rays from the tallow dips cast fantastic shadows into the darker recesses of the room and things seemed uncanny and ghostly, with little light to speak of anywhere other than that which the preacher was trying to emanate.

He had worn the tips of one of his shoes through and as he surged forward and backward with the weight of his logic the gape would open and close like the mouth of some living thing. Bro. Harley French, an excitable although earnest communicant, whose habitation was up on the east bank of Honey Creek some distance north of the Bridge crossed by the Mormon Trace, saw this and in the  dim light fancied it to be the head of a poisonous serpent making ready to spring up from its coil to sting Bro. Morrow to death. So he secured a stout cudgel, stealthily stole forward in order not to   precipitate the crisis until he could bruise the serpent's head, according to the command, and brought the cudgel down with a bang on the gaping member.

I don't remember what happened, but I do know there was a commotion of surprise, a few shrieks of pain, some stuttering explanations and the doxology was entirely forgotten amid the humiliation.

Even though the next morning was Sunday, Elkany Widger, who was skilled in such matters, pulled the fangs in Bro. Morrow's shoe and when he appeared at the eleven o'clock service, the gaping opening had been closed with a nice piece of new black leather.