CHAPTER 38 JOHN ULIN

CHAPTER 38 JOHN ULIN The subject of our sketch was born in Virginia, in the year 1792, and brought up to manhood in the wilds of Greenup county, Kentucky. Growing up, as he did, and the scenes of border warfare, which, in his early life, prevailed between the whites and Indians, it might be expected that young Ulin would form a character corresponding to the times in which he lived, and the scenes by which he was surrounded. His father was a daring and adventurous backwoods hunter. A spot is pointed out to the traveler, as he passes along the banks of the Ohio, or floats over the surface of that majestic river, where a high, craggy rock rises up almost perpendicularly from the bank, on the Virginia side, called "Ulin’s leap." It is a wild, romantic spot, even to this day. The summit of the rock is covered with scraggy trees and evergreens, and is wild and unbroken as nature made it. In olden time, the father of John, when hotly pursued by the Indians, with whom he was not able to compete, leaped over this frightful precipice into the depths below, and escaped unhurt from the savage foe. It was a deed of desperate daring, but it was better for him to make the fearful leap, than to fall into the hands of the merciless savages, whose revenge he had aroused.

Young Ulin shared the fortunes of his father, and entered, in early life, upon the stirring field of adventure. He became an expert hunter. The woods were his home, and in its deep solitudes he wandered in search of game. There was a native buoyancy, if not wildness, in his composition, united, however, with great amiability, and a full flow of sociality, that made his society desirable among both old and young; and hence, in all backwoods sports and pastimes, in all scenes of mirth and gayety, or reckless daring, he occupied a place in the front rank of his associates. But he was destined by Providence for another sphere. That brilliant mind and brave young heart was to be occupied in different pursuits from those which then absorbed them. A great observer of human destiny had said:

"There is a Divinity that shapes our ends Rough hew them as we will." A book, however, older than that of the dramatic poet, and one from which he had drawn, uncredited, so largely, had uttered the sentiment in countless forms of expression long before; and we need only go to that old book of life to learn, that "it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps," and that "our ways are from the Lord."

We have already spoken of a pioneer preacher who had penetrated these wilds. On a certain occasion, gloomy and melancholy as the dark defiles and solitudes around him, he might have been seen urging his steed through the forest, in search of a new appointment in that wild region. At length he arrives, and surrounded by the old and young from far and near, he opens his message. One dark eye in that assembly scans the preacher, though the mind is intently fixed upon the sermon.

Preaching gave the itinerant relief, as it afforded him an opportunity to unburden his heart in the description of another’s. The shade passed from his countenance, the dark, lustrous eye was kindled with light and softened by tears, and the simple, truthful, loving eloquence which fell from his tongue found way to every heart. Young Ulin, for it was him among the rest of that backwoods assembly that we have alluded to, never was so strangely and powerfully touched before. He saw and felt, in the light of the Gospel of a free salvation, for the first time that he was a sinner, and that he must be converted or lost. He was among the first at the rude altar for prayer, as a seeker of salvation, and after an earnest struggle, with strong crying and tears, he found the pearl of great price, and was made happy in the love of God. His conversion was clear and powerful, and of such a nature as forever to shut up all avenues to doubt in regard to it. A glorious change had come over him, and he now withdrew from the sports of the wildwood, and directed his attention to the more staid and sober pursuits of life. Not long after his conversion, he felt moved by the Holy Spirit to engage in the work of calling sinners to repentance, and such were the gifts, grace, and usefulness that characterized his labors, that he was duly licensed to preach as a local preacher. He did not, however, continue long in this vocation. His ardent spirit longed for a wider field of usefulness, and he sighed to be given up exclusively to the work of saving souls. Though he had a family, and, in consequence of the great difficulty in that day of getting a support, few, if any, preachers with families were admitted into conference, yet, because of his extraordinary talents and burning zeal, he was admitted into the itinerant ranks at Hillsboro, October 4, 1826. His first appointment was to Burlington circuit, on which he was continued one year, and where he labored with great success as a herald of the cross to perishing thousands. His next appointment was Charleston, Virginia, embracing a wild but beautiful country on the Kanawha and Elk rivers. Here he blew the soft and silvery tones of the Gospel trumpet, which waked the echoes of the mountains and vales of that picturesque land, and many were the hearts that were touched and melted at the sound. Reader, have you ever heard the Alpine horn, gliding in smooth cadences over the waters, floating through the vales, and echoing back in softer tones from the mountains, plaintive as the coo of a dove, and sweet as the lute of an angel? If you have, it will give you some conception of the clear, soft, far-reaching voice of John Ulin. We have heard the grand, sublime roar of the lion-like Bascom, as with the majestic sweep of a hurricane it leveled the forests of men at immense campmeetings, and we have heard the soft and eloquently beautiful strains of the lamb-like Summerfield, as it won and melted all hearts in the crowded churches of our great cities; but we never heard a voice which, for sweetness, compass, and power, excelled that of John Ulin. He was emphatically a child of Nature, and grew up amid the sublime and beautiful scenes which God himself had formed, and the clumsy hand of man had not marred, and he gathered his inspiration from these scenes, together with the deep communing of his own heart with God. From Virginia he was sent to Gallipolis, including that town and the country lying upon the waters of Raccoon, Chickamauga, Kiger, and Shade rivers. This was a large circuit, and it was laborious to travel, but the faithful herald sounded the clear notes of the Gospel in all its length and breadth. Methodism had made but little progress in Gallipolis. It was settled by the French, as its name imports, and they were mostly Roman Catholics, having brought their priest with them from Paris. From some cause or other, many years ago they were, we are informed, excommunicated ’en masse’, and since then they have not felt disposed to unite with any Protestant denomination, though some of the descendants of the old settlers have laid aside their prejudices and become connected with different denominations. After laboring in this field for one year, Ulin was sent to Salt Creek circuit, embracing the towns of Piketon and Waverly and the surrounding country. Some parts of this circuit were settled by old Methodists from Virginia; and one neighborhood particularly, a few miles below Piketon, called now the Barnes neighborhood, was settled by an old brother Boydston and his family, who were stanch Methodists of the old school. Here brother Ulin found a welcome home, and was instrumental in the awakening and conversion of some of the children of the ancient families residing there. There was another settlement on the Big Bottom, called Foster’s, which was a stronghold of Methodism, and there, also, our brother was made a blessing to the Church. Piketon was a wicked place, and there were but a few Methodists there in the days of Ulin, though the Church since has grown largely. His next and last field of labor was New Richmond, with the now sainted Collins. But his work was done. The cholera was doing its dreadful work. He and his beloved companion were engaged in ministering to the wants of the sick and dying. In the midst of her kind ministrations she was seized with the malady, and in a few hours death terminated her labors of love. The last sad office, of consigning the wife of his youth and the mother of his children to the grave, was scarcely performed ere the fell monster seized him, and there in his little hut, surrounded by eight lovely, helpless children, the father breathed his last. He had nothing to leave them but a father’s blessing and a father’s prayers. He gave up all for Christ, and when he died he gave his children to the Savior. After bidding them, one by one, an affectionate adieu, he told them to live for God, and meet their father and mother in heaven. In the midst of the tears and heart-breaking sobs of those children, he shouted victory over death, and went to join the sainted above. We were on another part of the district when the event occurred, but we hastened with rapid pace to look after the dear children. Before we arrived, however, father Collins and the stewards had them all provided with good homes, where they were brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and some of them, we know, this day are following in the footsteps of their parents to heaven.

Inscrutable as are the ways of Providence, we knew that "He doeth all things well." And though unbelief might ask in such a time of trial, "where now is thy God?" yet the Providence which took the parents to heaven provided bountifully for the children, and he who is the Father of the fatherless will always "temper the wind to the shorn lamb."