Five Years in the Alleghanies — Text and Context
Edition facts
Five Years in the Alleghanies — Text and Context can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 43,192 words, 3 hr 8 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 19.9 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Evangelists -- United States -- Biography,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
The milestone--The elegant young man--The collier--The rich lady 15
The grog-shop--The rolling mills--The Universalist 27
The new “relagin”--The hard father and his little daughter--The deserted homes--The stolen books 37
Book preachers installed--“Caught with guile”--The clenched fist--Review 49
Governor of West Virginia--Surprising desolations--The lodging--The dinner--“Blazing the trees” 57
The hunter seeking books for a Sunday-school--The first sermon--Clock pedlars 68
The “Ironside” preacher and distiller--Wife and granddaughter 75
A church dignitary--“Have you let Washington into heaven?” 81
The pistol--The surveyor’s son--A public-house--“You have prayed plenty”--The pocket-Bible 89
The summit of Cheat mountain--The “fellow that wanted to colport”--The sheriffs warrant--Wishing to be a _tract_ agent 97
The wickedest man in the county--The bully--The shooting match--A gang of desperadoes 111
A night on guard--Old Randal Lucas 119
“No church, no preacher, no Sunday-school, no day-school”--A young lady’s success 128
“No such place as hell”--The busy lawyer--A Trinity--The great work in L----, and in U---- 137
A Pentecostal season--Service in a graveyard--A Seceder church 151
The Spirit’s blessing at C----, and near Marshall’s Pillar, and at L---- B---- --Col. S----‘s household 163
Grieving the Spirit--Striking effects of the Anxious Inquirer 176
Work of grace at L---- --The German professor--The wealthy young lady--“Don’t be offended”--A distinguished civilian 188
“It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.” In all my connection with the scenes here truthfully described, as in the training and discipline of earlier years through which I was brought into them, I have been _led in a way that I knew not_.
I was born on the border of Western Pennsylvania and Virginia, within the wilds of the vast range of the Alleghanies, where the howl of the wolf, the scream of the panther, and the Indian’s tomahawk were my dread. In infancy my father died, and a few years later my pious mother. But God raised up a foster-mother, and in her family an intelligent Scotch female teacher, who made me her special charge during my first year at school. Here, in connection with faithful preaching from a tent in the woods on the Sabbath, and instruction in the log-cabin day-schools, I received those rudiments of education, and was indoctrinated in that sound system of faith and morals from which “old Scotia’s grandeur springs.”
Conscious of my ruin by sin and need of the “new birth,” as set forth in old standard works of Flavel and Boston which I read, for three years from ten to thirteen, I was often deeply impressed as to the state of my soul. I attended constantly on preaching and the monthly examinations, committed to memory catechisms and scriptures, and wrestled with God in prayer that I might be truly converted and become a minister of the gospel; and sometimes I indulged a trembling hope in Christ.
But among the snares and flatteries of ungodly companions, my alarm and faint hopes of salvation gradually subsided. I was at length led to show my _manhood_ by tobacco-chewing, card-playing, and even profanity. Next I was enticed to read works on Universalism, and for four years sought to stifle conscience by arguments to prove that all will be saved. Yet a still small voice was whispering, “The soul that sinneth it shall die;” and though jovial in company, when alone hell would seem to flash up before me in all its horrors. Two great powers were striving in my heart: one to lead me into deeper sin; the other crying, “Turn ye, turn ye; for why will ye die?” At seventeen I went with an ungodly young man into the then wilderness of Central Ohio, where for half a year I heard no sermon, hunted on the Sabbath, threw off restraints, and as it were dared the vengeance of God. Oh how astonishing the mercy of God, to continue to strive with such a rebel!
When I arrived at eighteen, I spent two or three nights in a week at the card-table, to “kill time” and drown the whispers of the Spirit. I thought of enlisting in the army, and then resolved to go to sea: but in the providence of God, a young woman just then engaged my affections; thoughts of the army and the sea were dislodged, and in a few months we were married, depending on our personal exertions for the means of support.
Jonathan Cross opens his memoir with a stark confession: he was born on the border of Western Pennsylvania and Virginia, where the howl of wolves, the scream of panthers, and the Indian's tomahawk were his childhood dreads. This personal history grounds his account of five years spent as a colporteur—a distributor of religious books and tracts—in the Alleghany Mountains. The narrative is built around a series of encounters with isolated settlers, many of whom are hostile, superstitious, or deeply entrenched in violent habits. Cross does not present himself as a heroic figure; instead, he records the slow, often surprising changes that occur when a printed page or a spoken sermon breaks through suspicion.
Violence and Conversion in the Backwoods
The excerpts reveal a pattern: the most formidable characters in Cross's account are those who have built reputations on physical strength and lawlessness. One man, known as Father B——, was a notorious bully who could whip any man in the county; he even decided the location of a courthouse by a fistfight. Yet a single tract, 'The Fool's Pence,' given to him by a judge, led to his conversion and a subsequent fifteen-year career as a successful preacher. Cross does not explain how this transformation occurred, but he presents it as a matter of record, testified to by another speaker at a meeting. The narrative thus juxtaposes raw frontier violence with the sudden, unexplained power of printed words to redirect a life.
The Sabbath Shooting Match
One of the most vivid episodes involves a colporteur who arrives in a settlement where Sunday is the day for frolicking and dissipation. Lodging with a family preparing for a shooting-match, he decides to join them rather than protest. At the gathering, he prays aloud and then preaches, and the crowd—initially confounded—listens in silence. He distributes his remaining books and tracts, and soon afterward, news spreads that people in that region are concerned about their souls. Within a short time, a preacher gathers a congregation and over twenty converts, and Sunday frolicking ceases. Cross's account here emphasizes the colporteur's willingness to meet people on their own ground, even at a gambling event, and the unexpected receptivity that follows.
A Colloquial Record of Frontier Religion
Cross's prose is direct and unadorned, often reproducing the words of the people he meets. The excerpts include a man's testimony about reading a tract on the word 'Eternity' until he had it committed to memory, then building a church on his land within six months. Another speaker recalls a judge's stern lecture to a bully, complete with the phrase 'you have become too bad a man to live.' These embedded voices give the memoir a documentary quality, as if Cross is compiling evidence rather than crafting a polished narrative. The chapter titles—'The grog-shop—The rolling mills—The Universalist,' 'The pistol—The surveyor's son'—further suggest a catalog of encounters, each one a case study in the collision of religious conviction with frontier life.
Readers approaching Five Years in the Alleghanies should expect a series of discrete episodes rather than a continuous story. Cross's method is to let the incidents speak for themselves, often without explicit moralizing. The book rewards attention to the details of setting—the isolated farms, the court-house fights, the Sabbath shooting-matches—and to the precise wording of the testimonies he records. It is a work that documents, without sentimentality, the slow and uneven spread of religious influence in a region where law and order were still being established.
I recall how Mr. Cross trudged those rough mountain trails with his little books, and I thought of Lady Fanshawe, keeping her own quiet record through upheaval and exile. Both understood that a single voice, set down patiently, can hold a world together when everything outside is chaos. There is a kinship in that—in the Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe Wife of Sir Richard Fanshawe, Bt., Ambassador from Charles II to the Courts of Portugal and Madrid. — Text and Context remembering what the Alleghanies taught me.
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