University of Virginia Library

You will remember that I objected sitting as a member
of the Committee for Courts of Justice, whilst it was acting upon the
petition in relation to Yeocomico Church, because I was a member of the
Methodist Episcopal Church, and understanding that it was the subject
of dispute between that Church and the Episcopal Church; but at your
instance I did sit, but, being chairman of the committee, its action made
it unnecessary for me to vote. I take this mode, however, of saying that
I perfectly agreed with the committee, and even desired to go further
than the committee in this. I wished to pass a law giving to the Episcopal
Church all churches that it is now in possession of, to which it had a
right before the Revolutionary War. I think the construction given by
the committee to the Act of 1802, or at least my construction of it, is, that
the General Assembly claimed for the Commonwealth the right to all the
real property held by that Church, but that Act expressly forbids the sale
of the churches, &c. It is true, the proviso to that Act does not confer
upon the churches the right of property in the houses, &c. But it intended
to leave the possession and occupancy as it then existed; and, that
possession and occupancy being in the Episcopal Church, it had a right to
retain it until the Legislature should otherwise direct. I believe that the
Committee was of the opinion that the Episcopal Church had a right to
the use and occupancy of the church now in question: it certainly is my

opinion. I hope my Methodist brethren will see the justness of the determination
of the Committee, and with cheerfulness acquiesce in its
decision.

The Rev. Wm. Hanson, rector of Trinity Church
in this place, a few days since handed me a number of the `Southern
Churchman' from Alexandria, dated the 27th of February, 1857. In it
is an historical sketch, from your pen, of Cople parish, Westmoreland
county, Virginia, and particularly of Yeocomico Church,—a spot ever
near and dear to my memory. From a long and intimate acquaintance
with its locality and history, I beg leave very respectfully to present the
following facts. It was built in the year 1706, as an unmistakable record
will show,—it being engraved in the solid wall over the front-door. It
was called by that name after the adjacent river,—the Indian name being
preserved. The Rev. Mr. Elliot was the last settled minister up to the
year 1800, when he removed to Kentucky. From that time it was wholly
unused and neglected as a place of worship until the Methodists occasionally
met under the shadow of its ruin about the year 1814, and continued
so to do, keeping alive the spark of vital piety, until the Rev. Mr. Nelson
in 1834 took charge of it as a settled minister. During his ministration
it was jointly used by the Episcopalians and Methodists in Christian harmony
and good-will. He being succeeded by the Rev. Mr. Ward in 1842,
the question of occupancy and right of possession was unhappily agitated,
which led to a decision of the Legislature giving to the wardens and vestry
of the Episcopal Church the exclusive right to its use and control. Thus
it will be seen, for thirty-four years there had been no settled minister of
our communion, or its sublime and beautiful service performed, except
two or three times by occasional visits.

"The Mr. Murphy you allude to was a Scotch gentleman from Ayrshire,
living at Ayrfield, half a mile distant from Old Yeocomico, whose estate,
consisting of some thousands of acres, surrounded the church and burial-ground
on all sides. He was a gentleman of intellectual culture, an
honoured magistrate, and a Presbyterian of the `Covenant' school; whose
residence was the seat of hospitality and the home of the clergy, with a
welcome to all `who proclaimed the glad tidings, that published salvation,
that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth.' The Mr. Rogers you kindly
allude to is the unworthy writer of these lines and the following narrative.
I am a citizen of New Jersey by birth and education, (not of New York,
as you incidentally state.) In the spring of 1813, I joined the 36th
Regiment of United States Infantry (Colonel Carberry) at Washington.
In the fall of that year, I was detached by order of General Bloomfield to
Sandy Point, Westmoreland county, Virginia, on the Potomac, with a
company of men to watch the movements of the British fleet. In the
spring of 1814, our quarters becoming uncomfortable, we sought out an
encampment in what is called there the Forest or high ground. Among

other places recommended to us by the late General Alexander Parker
we visited the ruins of Yeocomico Church. As soon as I saw it, I exclaimed,
`There is Kirk-Alloway,' (alluding of course to Burns's `Tam
O'Shanter.') Had it stood for the original picture as drawn by the
humorous poet, it could not have more forcibly impressed me with awe
and deep-abiding interest. Its form,—that of a cross,—its solitude, were
strikingly impressive, for it stood in a dell where its silence was only disturbed
by the passing breeze whispering through the pines and cedars and
undergrowth which choked up the entrance. It was overshadowed also
by ancient oaks stretching their gigantic arms, as it were, to guard the
sacred relic from mouldering time and the desolating elements. Its doors
were open, its windows broken, the roof partly decayed and fallen in, and,
to complete its apparent hopeless fate, a pine-tree thirty or forty feet
high was blown up by the roots and lay across the main structure. Its
burial-ground, which is spacious, was enclosed by a costly, high brick wall,
with narrow gateways,—symbolical perhaps of the `narrow path,'—filled
to its utmost capacity with broken tombstones and desolate graves overgrown
with briers and shrubbery, showing that the `rich and the poor
there rested together, and the servant was indeed free from his master,'—
alike unprotected and uncared-for. A ruin outside the wall, which was
intended and once served as a vestry, had rotted down; the chimney, a
strong brick one, alone standing,—a naked monument of better days. In an
alcove of forest-trees a few yards distant flowed numerous springs of cool,
delicious water. Indeed, it required no great stretch of imagination to
fancy the midnight-scene so graphically described in Burns's Kirk-Alloway,
and the race to cross the running stream (for one really flows across the
main road, some hundred yards distant) where `mare Meggie lost her
tail.' With some difficulty I entered the porch, which was built of brick
and formed the upper part of the cross, spacious and on a level with the
ground,—its massive double doorway quite open, presenting within as
hopeless a ruin as its exterior,—the roof rotted away at its angles, one
of the galleries partly down, the girders rotted off and fallen upon the
pews, and the wall in two places mouldered away by years of saturation
from snow and rain. The remains of a large Bible still lay upon
the desk. The font was gone,—which I was told was of marble, and now
used for convivial purposes. The chancel, in the eastern arm of the
cross, to the right of the pulpit, surmounted by a large Gothic window
much broken, was still in tolerable preservation. In it was the Communiontable,—its
frame antique, covered with a heavy walnut slab,—sound, but
rough and soiled from exposure. Large frames, once covered with canvas
exhibiting in distinct characters the Lord's Prayer, the Ten Commandments,
and other texts of Scripture, hung upon the walls, now much
defaced, mouldered, and torn. The aisles were paved with brick, and
covered with abundant evidence of its being the resort of sheep and
cattle running at large; and, to complete the evidence of its abandonment,
the ceiling—which was of boards—was tenanted by squirrels, snakes, and
scorpions. Indeed, we may truly say, `All its hedges were broken down
by the wild boar of the wilderness,' and there was no one to care for it.
Besides, I was told, it was the terror of the neighbourhood, from being
the resort of runaway negroes and wandering vagrants, added to the awe
inseparably connected with the lonely, silent depository of the dead. In
contemplating the scene before me, I felt a mysterious attachment to this
relic of piety and early faith of our fathers,—not dreaming (being a
stranger and a wanderer) at some future day I should be honoured and
favoured by the commission to restore this temple, now in the dust, to the
service of my Creator and Redeemer. We resolved at once to pitch our
tents outside the wall: a fatigue-party was detailed to trim up the trees,
cut down the undergrowth, and burn up the leaves and rubbish, to remove
the tree which lay across the roof, to cleanse the church and repair
it as far as practicable, to make it a safe depository for our stores and
camp-equipage. This being done, we were presented with a shady grove,
dry ground, and a most inviting and lovely prospect,—with an abundance
of pure, delicious water at our feet, and a central position to make nightly
detachments to guard the historic shores of old Potomac,—for there rest
the remains of the Washingtons, the Lees, the Parkers, and many other
gallant spirits of patriotic memory. As illustrative of the actual condition
of the spot I am now describing, permit me to relate an original anecdote,
which occurred a short time before my visit.

"Colonel Garner, an officer of the Revolution, lived three or four miles
distant: passing the church late in the evening with a friend, they were
overtaken by an angry cloud of wind and rain, accompanied by lightning
and thunder. The colonel proposed taking shelter in the church, leading
their horses in, which they could do without difficulty, as the porch and
pavement of the aisles were on a level with the ground. To this his friend
positively objected, declaring he would rather bear the pelting of the storm
than pass an hour within its gloomy walls. He therefore put spurs to his
horse for his home. Not so with the colonel: he was a brave man, not
fearing hobgoblins or witches. He dismounted at the opening in the wall,
where there had once been a gate. Taking the bridle-rein in his hand, he
proceeded to thread his way through the bushes to the porch. He got
inside, followed by his horse, and was just entering the church, when the
unusual visit frightened a flock of sheep that had taken shelter there, who
suddenly rushed to the door to make their escape. The charge took the
colonel by surprise, knocked him down, routed his horse, and trampled
him in the dust, (for it was not paved as it now is.) After the column
had passed over him, he found in the `mêlée' he had lost his hat, and was
scratched and bruised about the face and hands. Nothing daunted, however,
he groped his way into the church, and, being well acquainted with
its internal arrangement, he took shelter in the pulpit, where he knew was
a comfortable seat, and where he would be protected from the wet by the
sounding-board, made of durable materials and still firmly attached to the
wall. The storm was now raging without, lightning and thundering and
raining, with a tempest of wind. After sitting for a time he fell asleep
and did not awake until three or four in the morning. By this time the
cloud had passed over, the stars were shining, and he was glad to extricate
himself by a hasty retreat homeward. He found his discomfited horse
taking his rest at the stable-door.

"Our happiness at this encampment, after some months, was unexpectedly
broken up by the arrival of a vessel with an order to embark for St. Mary's,
Maryland. We finished our military service by assisting in the defence of
Fort McHenry, Baltimore. We had the satisfaction, however, of carrying
with us the united testimony of the whole neighbourhood that not a chicken,
an egg, or a vegetable, had been wrongfully taken by any one of the soldiers,
nor an injury or an insult offered to any one. The church and its environs
had been sacredly guarded, and we left it in a much better condition than we
found it. But it was not so (as I afterward learned) by our successors, a

company of militia from the upper country, who proved themselves to be a
scourge to those they professedly came to protect, by robbery, violence, and
destruction of private property. It was they `who made a chopping-block of
the Communion-table' and otherwise defaced the church. In ascribing it to
the soldiers, be assured, sir, you have been led into an unintentional error.
They served under a discipline paternal but strict, both as regards order
and cleanliness. In the year 1820, being on a visit to Ayrfield, and seeing
Old Yeocomico still a ruin, even more deplorable than when I left it, I
proposed to Mr. Murphy to undertake its repair. To this he not only
assented, but gave money, labour, and his personal service. The gentlemen
of the neighbourhood subscribed cheerfully and liberally, and the
work was pushed forward by employing suitable mechanics and importing
from Alexandria lumber, shingles, paints, and seven or eight barrels of
tar for the roof, which had not had a shingle put upon it since the year
1788, at which time, I heard Mr. Murphy say, the gentlemen of the surrounding
estates were assessed to meet the expense. It is true as you
state,—the font, `a beautiful marble one,' as you describe it, had been
taken away and used for unholy purposes, and by him restored; also, the
plate, with a damask tablecloth and napkins marked `Yeocomico Church'
in the centre, had been safely kept at Lee Hall, and were gladly restored
by the pious and excellent lady, the late Mrs. Sarah Newton, who at that
time owned and occupied the mansion and estate. The first thing we did
was to open a double gateway in front, with a wide gravel-walk up to the
porch or apex of the cross, the pavement of which I laid with my own
hands, none there being familiar with such work. If the narrow opening
in the wall was symbolical of the `narrow path,' the one we now opened
was illustrative of `free grace,'—a truth to which I feel myself indebted
for a knowledge of salvation through the interceding blood of a crucified
Redeemer. It is also true, as you state, I presented the church with a
large stove and ample pipe to warm it thoroughly, it having stood for upward
of a century without one. It is also true I had the great pleasure to place
a Bible and Prayer-Book both on the desk and in the pulpit, and I rejoice
to know the church is still protected and cared for,—although I have not
seen it for more than twenty years. Permit me now, sir, in conclusion, to
say I have frequently reflected with sorrow on the mysterious desolation
of the ancient churches of Virginia, and can only account for it by the
demoniac influence of the infidel theories and sentiments of the French
Revolution, which at that time pervaded the public mind and had poisoned
the very fountain of our better nature and sealed the best impulses of the
human heart. These temples of the living God, these sacred monuments
of the faith of our fathers and the religious care of the Provincial Government,
were generally of lofty and commanding structure, of costly finish,
and of the most durable materials,—such as in England have lasted for
centuries. They stood in well-chosen positions, and under their shadow
lay the remains of the kindred of large congregations, many of whom were
the immediate descendants of holy men who had ministered at their altars;
yet, most strange to say, not an arm was put forth to save, or an eye found
to pity. `Behold, therefore, saith the Lord, your house is left unto you
desolate.'