Everett Wade Bedinger (93)
A History of the Yale Class of 1851
(Written for Class Reunion in 1891) by
Everett Wade Bedinger (1830-1916)
I was born, Sept. 8, 1830, on a farm in Kenton County, Ky. My father, Benjamin Franklin Bedinger M. D. born in Bourbon County, Ky. June 14, 1797, was a son of Major George M. Bedinger and Henrietta Clay, youngest daughter of Henry Clay, of Bourbon County, Ky., and cousin of the great statesman of that name.
George M. Bedinger, my grandfather was a son of Henry Bedinger and Magdalena Schlegel, who came from Strasbourg on the Rhine, first to York County, Penn., and thence to Shepherdstown, Jefferson County, Va. where George M. Bedinger was born, Dec. 10, 1756. In 1775 when not yet nineteen years of age, he, with his two brothers, Henry and Daniel, joined the military company which was organized at Morgan's Spring, in the suburbs of Shepherdstown. On the first news of the conflict at Lexington, Massachusetts, he with the company took a "Bee-line for Boston". They were warmly welcomed by General Washington. Young Bedinger served throughout the war, and came out at the close a major. Later, he moved to Kentucky, and became a large landholder at and near the Lower Blue Lick Springs. He was an active leader in the war with the Indians, a member of the United States Congress.
Dr. B.F. Bedinger, my father, was a well-proportioned man of six feet eight inches in height, and as large in mind and heart as he was in body. He graduated in medicine in Philadelphia in 1818. He was an ardent Whig, and would doubtless have been prominent in politics, had he not promised his wife never to run for office. He was an influential member of the National Convention that nominated Gen. Zachary Taylor for the presidency. Abraham Lincoln was a member of the same convention. I was with my father when he and Lincoln met in 1858 at a hotel in Bloomington, Ill. They spent a large part of the evening discussing the political situation, Dr. Bedinger warning Mr. Lincoln of the dreadful results that would follow the success of his new party. Mr. Lincoln little thought that the loss of his own life would be one of those dreadful results. Dr. B. F. Bedinger was raised under deistical influences, and remained an unbeliever till after many years of investigation. He became convinced of the truth of Christianity, and at the age of sixty-three united with the Presbyterian Church. He became an earnest worker, and Elder in the church, and was said of him by a leading minister , seemed to want to press the service of a lifetime into its few remaining years. He died Sept. 7, 1871. Sarah Everett Bedinger, my mother, born in Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct.23, 1800, was a daughter of David Everett Wade, who came from New Jersey to Fort Washington, now Cincinnati, in the year 1788, and built one of the first houses erected outside the fort.
Sarah Everett, named for her grandmother, was an earnest, devoted Christian from her youth. She had a clear, strong intellect, a warm loving heart, an indomitable will completely under the control of a judgment that seemed to perceive intuitively the purest, wisest, most righteous course to be pursued. Her son, E. W. Bedinger, does not remember her ever to fail to do what she thought her duty. No self-sacrifice was too great for her lovingly to undergo for her father in years of helpless palsy, or her husband, her children or her God. God spared her to her children till she had nearly completed her eightieth year. They owe to her whatever was noblest and best in their lives.
When I was four years of age, the family moved to Cincinnati, and remained for eight years; then moved to Covington, Ky., where they remained for three years; then to Richwood, Boone County, Ky. They called their place "Forest Home".
They continued to reside there till 1861, and some of the family till the present time.
I attended the preparatory department of Cincinnati College. In Sept. 1847, I entered the freshman class of Miami University at Oxford, Ohio; but left in a few months and went to Frankfort, Ky., where I entered the school of B.B. Sayre.
In the fall of 1848, I entered Sophomore Class at Yale, in the class with which I graduated in 1851. I entered Yale well prepared in mathematics, fairly so in Latin, but ~ knew little in Greek, in which I was given a heavy condition. For several months I associated with some rather "fast" students, did not study very well, and my grade was very low. In the spring of 1849 I became a Christian and entered upon a new life. I studied more faithful, and my grade improved so that when the junior appointments were given I received a second dispute. I lost considerable time by sickness during the senior year but received a first dispute among the final appointments.
I left New Haven on presentation day and did not return to commencement, but received my diploma privately. My health being impaired when I left college, I went to my father's farm and took the management of it.
I was married June 1, 1852, to a second cousin, Miss Sally Eleanor Lucas, daughter of Hon. Daniel Bedinger Lucas, recently Chief Justice of the State of West Virginia. Our married life was a happy one, and God gave us seven children, two daughters and five sons. Mrs. Bedinger was a sincere Christian, a loving wife and mother. She died July 1, 1867.
Shortly after our marriage my parents gave me four hundred acres of their twenty-one hundred acre Richwood tract in Boone County, Ky., on which I built, and engaged in farming successfully. I was active in church work and became superintendent of the Sabbath School and an Elder in the Richwood Presbyterian Church. The church was frequently left without a minister, and the elders kept up all the services, but felt the need of a minister greatly. This, with God's blessing upon some remarks I made at a prayer meeting that led a friend to Christ, caused me to consider it my duty to give myself to the work of the ministry. I sold my farm and stock and moved my family to Danville, Ky., where I entered the Theological Seminary in Sept. 1857. In April, 1858, I was elected a commissioner to the General Assembly. At the same meeting of Ebenezer Presbytery I was licensed to preach the gospel. I attended the meeting of the General Assembly at New Orleans, and was a member of the Committee of Bills and Overtures. Returning to Boone County, I preached to the Richwood and Burlington churches till fall when I resumed my studies at the seminary.
Having received calls to be pastor of Richwood and Burlington churches I was ordained in April, 1859, and at once entered upon the full work of the ministry. The same year I was called by the church of Paris and was duly installed. An attack of diphtheria left my throat in a bad condition which became aggravated by frequent preaching, while the close confinement and application to study impaired my general health to such a degree that my physical forbade preaching. I resigned and moved to my father's house in Boone County, where by exercise in the open air my health improved, and after a few months I was able to resume preaching to Richwood and Burlington churches. My ministry both at Paris and Boone County was blessed and there were valuable additions to the church on profession of faith: the churches were in a prosperous condition till disturbed by war between the United and Confederate States.
During these years the question of how to deal with slavery existing in the Southern States agitated both church and state. I viewed it as a relation not desirable but not sinful in itself, and to be dealt with so to prepare the slaves for freedom, and to gradually liberate them in such away as would be just to the owners and best for the Negroes.
When these matters passed from the stage of discussion to action, and the Republican Party began its war to coerce States which had never surrendered their sovereignty, and when the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church passed the Spring resolutions overriding the constitution of the church, and denouncing as rebels and schismatics those who would not bow their consciences at the behest of their usurpation, I did not hesitate to express and publish my convictions, not to take part with those contending for the right of self government for which my grandfathers had fought and suffered.
Not long after the publication of my plea, the Government seized possession of Kentucky and proclaimed martial law. A company of cavalry was present to arrest me. I was informed that they were on their way, and evading them, went to Logansport, Indiana. Before leaving, I told one of my elders that I felt it my duty to continue my ministry, and not to enter the army as a soldier; I was willing to give my parole that while in the northern lines I would say and do nothing against them, but quietly preach and minister to my people; but, that as to giving an active support to what I deemed usurpation and
iniquitous war, nothing could induce me to do it. The elder, who was a Union man, went to the provost marshal of Boone County, and requested that I might be allowed to give my parole and remain ministering to my churches.
The marshal said he himself would be willing, but he had orders from headquarters for my arrest. When informed of this, I went to Canada, crossing the bridge at Niagara Falls the evening before guards were placed to arrest Southern sympathizers going that way.
No one who has not passed through such a season of disturbance can realize the perplexity and anxiety of mind of one who desired and determined to act aright according to the best light he could attain. I determined that whatever might be the consequences, I would keep the Sabbath holy and tell the truth. Sometimes the temptation was great to break this resolution, but God gave grace to keep it and, in a number of instances, answered prayer for deliverance when serious calamity seemed the certain result of persistence in following conscience. I remained in Canada till September.
Several Southerners left with me. They determined not to regard the Sabbath, and were seized and imprisoned. I would not travel on the Sabbath, though in a neighborhood where I was known and threats had been made to hang me as a rebel if caught there; but I passed the lines in safety. Monday morning, before day, I started from my brothers, some twenty-five miles distance from Lawrenceburg, Ind. to try and find a way to get across the Ohio River. I traveled in a spring wagon driven by a Negro my father had liberated some years before, and whose life I had saved when in danger whilst he was a slave in Kentucky. There was a large force of United States soldiers, said to be fifteen thousand, camped along the line of the road I traveled.
When I saw I was approaching these soldiers, I took the lines from the Negro and drove myself. I passed through the whole force, and through the town without being molested or questioned, though a number of times soldiers and others called to, "Put the nigger out of your wagon.” The Negro, returning next day, was stopped several times and asked, "Where is the man who was in the wagon with you?” He replied he "did not know. He said he was going to see his folks." They finally released him. My plan was to swim the Ohio River under cover of darkness, and so I drove on down the river through Aurora and Rising Sun. Just before dark I met squads of soldiers passing towards the river, and on asking two little children where the soldiers were going, they replied that they were going to the river to walk up and down and meet each other all night. The night was a beautiful, clear, starlight one, and the river was like a mirror, without a ripple, and I saw at once that this plan of swimming was impracticable, as the disturbance of the water could be seen for a long distance, and I would be the target for any number of minie balls.
I had slept but little the night before, and the day had been a long one of weary travel and nervous strain, and I determined to get a good night's rest, came to a comfortable looking farmhouse and hollered. The owner came to the door. I asked boldly, "What's the chance to get across the river?” The man replied, "None at all tonight.” I asked if I could spend the night there. He consented, came out and put up the team. He took me into the sitting room and introduced me to the captain of the river pickets. I thought I was caught, and probably would be sent to prison if I told the truth about myself. The captain did not, however, ask any questions, but talked about the war, the rebels, and his own exploits. I was a good listener, and whenever he was about to stop would start him by asking some timely question.
After prayers they went to bed. I slept soundly, but arose early to consider the situation. My host and the captain had evidently concluded, from the bold proposal to cross the river, that I was a Union man who had fled from the Rebels when they advanced, and now that they had returned, wanted to get back home. It seemed scarcely probable that they would let me depart without questioning, and the temptation to confirm them in their supposition was very great. I wanted to see my wife and children, only a few miles away very much, and I felt that my health would fail utterly, if I were confined to prison. I never prayed more earnestly than that morning for the grace to know and do right, and to be delivered from temptation, and from the calamity that threatened. I went down, looked after my team, and had it got out. I was able to preserve a calm demeanor and eat heartily. When we rose from the table I turned to my host, and ask, "What is the chance for me to cross the river this morning?" He replied, "I have a skiff but I was allowed to keep it only on condition that I would not put it in the river without permission from headquarters. But my brother, who lives about a mile below got permission to put his skiff in the river yesterday. If you are all right, I think he will put you across."
I thanked him, shook hands, and was allowed to depart without being asked a single question. I drove down the river about a quarter of a mile, and saw a skiff resting against the shore. I ask a small boy sitting on a (copy not clear here). "When did it come here?" "It wasn't here last night.” "I'll give you a quarter if you'll go across the river with me and bring it back.” So God gave deliverance, and in a few hours I was home with my loved ones. I could not stay, however, as the-northern army had advanced and were camped not far from the house. After two days I left for the south, went to Virginia, to Richmond; Staunton, Lexington, and other places, preaching as opportunity offered, always escaping the bullets of guards and guerrillas.
I finally determined to bring my family, a wife and six children, to Virginia, This return to Kentucky was also full of incidents and dangers, which I must pass in order not to make my story too long. Before removing my family, however, a lull in the pursuit of southern sympathizers allowed me to remain and preach to a neighboring church. But the imprisonments began again, and after securing a pass from Burnside's headquarters at Cincinnati for Prestonburg, Ky., though refused a permit to enter the Confederacy, we started for Virginia through the mountains to Eastern Kentucky. We loaded a carriage and spring wagon, each drawn by a pair of good mules. I confess I did not realize the difficulty and dangers of the undertaking. As we reached the region of rough country and rougher men, we stopped with a Dr. Bigstaff, who was a southern sympathizer. The thieves of that district dubbed themselves "Home Guards.” The doctor feared to shelter us lest he bring them upon him, but the sight of the wife and children prevailed. In the morning he tried to dissuade me from going on, saying that the attempt was madness, especially with a wife and children. But he gave me the name of a friend farther on, and we started. This friend refused to have anything to say to me in his village, but after I left, followed me by a circuitous route, and gave us all the information we needed. He advised me to especially avoid by hard driving having to stop at a place called "Gill's Mills". Driving on I was overtaken by a man who looked at me suspiciously and remarked that it was strange to see a carriage in that part of the country--. (Copy not clear). other man who was evidently a leader. To him the first man explained that I was a preacher who had a pass from Gen. Burnside's headquarters at Cincinnati to go to Prestonburg. He looked at him with an incredulous smile of contempt and turned with a scowl to me. I said nothing, and simply handed him the pass. He examined it very critically but became satisfied it was genuine. He rode on with us talking of the war.
It was getting late, and they soon came to a house of a farmer who had been well to do before the war. His house was a two story frame with porches. The yard and shrubbery showed good taste. The owner’s name was William Green. The larger of the men said that Green was a clever man, though a rebel. He called and when Green appeared, ordered him to come to him.
Green came, looking apprehensive of he knew not what-perhaps being shot. The man simply said to him, "I want you to take care of Mr. Bedinger and his family for the night". Green said he could not make them comfortable, as they had everything taken from them. The man said, "do the best you can; and turning to me said, "you can't do better. I would take you to my house, but there is no woman there, and it is not a fit place for your wife and children". He rode away then. Green looked as if he were compelled to entertain an enemy, but when I told him that I was a Southern sympathizer trying to go south, and that the man who had imposed me upon him had done so because- I had a pass from Gen. Burnside, and had thought I was on some business in the interest of the Northern cause. Green became very cordial and said, "I think you may get through, for that big man is the leader of this band of cutthroats and robbers, who call themselves the "Home Guards", and he may Keep them off you". The big man was a noted ruffian who with his own hands had committed a number of the most brutal murders, and was, two or three years after the war, killed as he was trying to take the life of a son of a man he had killed. Green said that the band had plundered him again and again; that they had even taken his---(Copy not clear-line missing) start as it is light enough for you to drive; get past "Gill's" early, and drive forty miles if possible. Don't spare your mules. I'll have them ready, and your breakfast, so that you can start as early as possible." The next day I started at daybreak and in a short time reached the Licking River which I forded and drove on the road leading up the river till I nearly reached the widow Gill's house, the dreaded point of danger. A drizzling rain had set in and the road soon became slippery. When about three or four hundred yards from Mrs. Gills', one of the mules, scared by a stump, stopped. I struck him, but the mule instead of going forward shied, and threw the front wheel of the carriage into a deep gully, and broke every spoke out of it. I thought this ensured ruin, but took off the wheel from the spring wagon, put it on the carriage, and drove to a shed near Mrs. Gills' house and took my family into the house. With the same wheel I brought the spring wagon to the shed, then asked Mrs. Gills if there was a wagon maker anywhere about. I was told they all had left as soon as the war had begun, but there was a gun maker about seven miles off in the-hills who might put the spokes in the wheel. I sent my driver off to the gunsmith to get the spokes in the wheel repaired, and spent the day lying on the floor with a terrible headache. The driver did not return with the wheel until after dinner Saturday. Having determined not to travel on Sunday, I decided to stay at Mrs. Gills'. She said they had no preaching in the neighborhood since the war began, nearly three years before. I sent out word that I would preach at Mrs. Gills’ and Sunday a goodly number gathered. I preached the only sermon heard there during the war.
But new trouble awaited us at every advance. The wagons broke down where it was impossible to effect repairs. Our destination soon had to be confessed, and our arrest by the Union Cavalry was hardly prevented by our pass, even though it was "the minister, not going to fight but to preach the gospel". The soldiers passed safely along a narrow dug-way, I looked back and saw the rear wagon-(Copy not clear, line missing) was a night spent in a pretended cabin across the creek which was already over supplied with men, women, and children. Rain, swollen streams, which had to be forded, fallen trees, etc., diversified our progress from this point. Another cabin that let through the rain in torrents was our only comfort the next night. A fire, however, helped us dry off. The Sabbath found us in a little settlement, where religious services were held.
One of the attendants expressed his wonder that I had escaped having my riding horse, which I had brought along, and mules stolen, saying, "I don't know how you got by with those mules. Why each pair would sell for $400 as soon as put on the market at Cincinnati. I am sure you won't get by (------), about ten miles from here, with those mules; you'll be coming back about day after tomorrow in an ox-cart". Similar remarks were made by others almost daily.
Monday, Nov. 2, found the road impassable, and we were compelled to leave it and take the bed of a creek. To our dismay we got into a bed of quicksand. I whipped up the mules and got through, but, looking back, saw the wagon stopped and the mules sinking deeper with every struggle. I called to the driver to unhitch them, and running back, rushed into the creek, and as soon as the mules were detached from the wagon succeeded in getting them out. After unloading the wagon and prying it up, we succeeded in getting it out also. Driving on, trying to make up for lost time, I struck the wheel of the carriage against a log, and broke down when I had only traveled a few miles. It took two days to get the wheel repaired by the man to whom the
driver took it, and when he brought it back, it looked pretty well except that it was dished the wrong way. With heavy levers, forced the dish the other way- made some false spokes and drove them in at such an angle as to keep the wheel dished right, and tied them in. By frequent attention I made that wheel take me over all the rough roads to my journey's end. The delay was very trying, but was afterwards found to have been a kind (Line missing Copy not clear) time another party was murdered.
I met a force of Confederates on their way to drive the bushwhackers out of Pond Gap. One of the soldiers, Mr. Booth, who attended my ministry at Paris, explained:
"Why, Mr. Bedinger! Where did you come from?"
"Direct from Paris."
"How did you get here?"
"By the most direct road."
"You brought your wife and children through without a guard?"
"Yes."
"Well you have made one of the most wonderful trips of the war."
While my home was in Salem, Gen. Averill's raiders burned what books I had brought from Kentucky, and my whole stock of sermons. I had neither time nor opportunity to write others, so that thenceforward I preached without writing.
About the last of December, I settled about four miles west of Gordonsville, on the road to Liberty Mills. Gen. Lee's army was in winter quarters along the line of the Rapidan River, and Gen. Grant's on the opposite side of the river. Gen. Lee's extreme left was near our house, and I found the 18th North Carolina Regiment without a chaplain, and began at once to minister to their spiritual necessities. I visited the camp daily, and preached publicly, and talked to them privately; I also distributed tracts. The preaching was in the open air, and often when snow was on the ground, and the wind blowing. When nothing was
in the way, the drummer would give the signal for preaching, and those of the soldiers who were disposed to attend would arrange themselves on their stools along a shallow hollow, and I would take my position on the side from which the wind blew and preach.
It was a season of spiritual blessing in the army of Northern Virginia, and the 18th North Carolina shared it. The first invitation given by me to attend (Line missing) From that time till the 4th of May there were almost daily professions of faith in Christ. On that day I had arranged to occupy a chapel the soldiers had built for us, and to baptize several who had professed their faith. Before I reached the camp, the whole camp had marched to meet the enemy, and the terrible fighting of Spotsylvania had begun. The 18th North Carolina was in the center of the greatest carnage, and within ten days was nearly blotted out of existence. I met some of them in the hospitals which I attended, but many ~f those who had professed their faith had passed from the scene of trial to the rest that remain for Godly. I met one of them, after the war, attending the General Assembly as an Elder.
After the enemy had gone I began preaching at Orange Court House and Gordonsville; also at Madison Court House and Wolftown on the head waters of the Rapidan, undisturbed by the war except when Gen. Custer made a raid on Dec.2, 1864, to try and destroy the railroad and stores at Gordonsville, and the Federals advanced and attacked, but found them too strongly posted, and after a few hours skirmishing fell back. Our house was between the lines of the Federals, the rear line of battle only a few hundred yards away. While the front line was fighting the rear was allowed to leave the ranks by detachments to plunder the house. When they got through there was nothing left in the way of provisions and but little in the way of clothing or valuables left. Some incidents of the day would hardly be credited; they were so brutal.
Toward the close of my ministry at Gordonsville there was a gracious outpouring of the Holy Spirit, about twenty united with the Presbyterian Church.
The war closed in 1865, and that summer we moved to Rion Hall, Mr. Lucas' residence, between Harper's Ferry and Charles Town. I supplied the pulpit of the Presbyterian Church at Charles Town for six months, during which time there were over sixty new members by profession of faith.
For the next sixteen months I labored in several feeble churches, which had been left without ministers during a large part of the war, and had grown weaker and weaker. My labors were blessed in gathering them together and starting (Line Missing) I watched and nursed and struggled to keep her alive, but death 'Prevailed, and the end came July 7, 1867.
In the fall of 1876 I accepted a call to the pastorate of the Presbyterian Church in Shepherdstown, Va. where I had a prosperous ministry for three years. During this period I married on the 16th of March, 1869, Miss Anna Moore Billmyer, a devout member of the church to which I ministered. Her father, Mr. C. Billmyer, Had been a prominent business man and an elder of the church. God's favor attended the marriage. Mrs. Bedinger has been and still is a faithful, loving wife and devoted mother, the light of the home which she has made happy for me and my children. God gave us five daughters and two sons, all of whom are living except a little girl who died, "an infant of days". The church was fairly prosperous during my ministry at Shepherdstown, and my labor at a mission point resulted in the building of a church at Kearneyville.
In the spring of 1870 I accepted a call to the Florence and Richwood churches in Boon County, Ky., and moved to my father's house in Kenton County on the farm since settled as the town of Erlanger.
I remained in charge of these churches till September, 1878, when I took charge of the church at Anchorage, Ky., twelve miles from Lewisville. In connection with the church I was Chaplain and teacher of Moral Science and Evidences of Christianity in Bellewood Female Seminary. I remained in charge of the church and seminary for eleven years during which the church grew from being a very weak one heavily in debt to one considerable strength and great liberality, while the seminary more than doubled its attendance, and had to refuse many applicants for admission. That which is of greater moment is that every year of this period there were numerous additions to the church on "Professions of Faith in Christ". Many of these were from the seminary, from which they went not only well educated but earnest workers in churches scattered in every Southern State, and several also as foreign missionaries. From the pleasant field of usefulness I was called by the Synod of Kentucky to take charge of its Evangelistic Work.
I had always felt the deepest interest in having the Gospel given to the feeble churches and destitute places of our own land. I had always given a part of my ministry to that kind of work.
A glorious work has been achieved and I rejoice in having taken part in it. In the eleven years of continuance of synodical work, I have been Treasurer of the Evangelistic Fund. For four and one half years I have been Chairman of the Synod's Committee, and now endeavoring to press this work.
(Written for Class Reunion in 1891) by
Everett Wade Bedinger (1830-1916)
I was born, Sept. 8, 1830, on a farm in Kenton County, Ky. My father, Benjamin Franklin Bedinger M. D. born in Bourbon County, Ky. June 14, 1797, was a son of Major George M. Bedinger and Henrietta Clay, youngest daughter of Henry Clay, of Bourbon County, Ky., and cousin of the great statesman of that name.
George M. Bedinger, my grandfather was a son of Henry Bedinger and Magdalena Schlegel, who came from Strasbourg on the Rhine, first to York County, Penn., and thence to Shepherdstown, Jefferson County, Va. where George M. Bedinger was born, Dec. 10, 1756. In 1775 when not yet nineteen years of age, he, with his two brothers, Henry and Daniel, joined the military company which was organized at Morgan's Spring, in the suburbs of Shepherdstown. On the first news of the conflict at Lexington, Massachusetts, he with the company took a "Bee-line for Boston". They were warmly welcomed by General Washington. Young Bedinger served throughout the war, and came out at the close a major. Later, he moved to Kentucky, and became a large landholder at and near the Lower Blue Lick Springs. He was an active leader in the war with the Indians, a member of the United States Congress.
Dr. B.F. Bedinger, my father, was a well-proportioned man of six feet eight inches in height, and as large in mind and heart as he was in body. He graduated in medicine in Philadelphia in 1818. He was an ardent Whig, and would doubtless have been prominent in politics, had he not promised his wife never to run for office. He was an influential member of the National Convention that nominated Gen. Zachary Taylor for the presidency. Abraham Lincoln was a member of the same convention. I was with my father when he and Lincoln met in 1858 at a hotel in Bloomington, Ill. They spent a large part of the evening discussing the political situation, Dr. Bedinger warning Mr. Lincoln of the dreadful results that would follow the success of his new party. Mr. Lincoln little thought that the loss of his own life would be one of those dreadful results. Dr. B. F. Bedinger was raised under deistical influences, and remained an unbeliever till after many years of investigation. He became convinced of the truth of Christianity, and at the age of sixty-three united with the Presbyterian Church. He became an earnest worker, and Elder in the church, and was said of him by a leading minister , seemed to want to press the service of a lifetime into its few remaining years. He died Sept. 7, 1871. Sarah Everett Bedinger, my mother, born in Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct.23, 1800, was a daughter of David Everett Wade, who came from New Jersey to Fort Washington, now Cincinnati, in the year 1788, and built one of the first houses erected outside the fort.
Sarah Everett, named for her grandmother, was an earnest, devoted Christian from her youth. She had a clear, strong intellect, a warm loving heart, an indomitable will completely under the control of a judgment that seemed to perceive intuitively the purest, wisest, most righteous course to be pursued. Her son, E. W. Bedinger, does not remember her ever to fail to do what she thought her duty. No self-sacrifice was too great for her lovingly to undergo for her father in years of helpless palsy, or her husband, her children or her God. God spared her to her children till she had nearly completed her eightieth year. They owe to her whatever was noblest and best in their lives.
When I was four years of age, the family moved to Cincinnati, and remained for eight years; then moved to Covington, Ky., where they remained for three years; then to Richwood, Boone County, Ky. They called their place "Forest Home".
They continued to reside there till 1861, and some of the family till the present time.
I attended the preparatory department of Cincinnati College. In Sept. 1847, I entered the freshman class of Miami University at Oxford, Ohio; but left in a few months and went to Frankfort, Ky., where I entered the school of B.B. Sayre.
In the fall of 1848, I entered Sophomore Class at Yale, in the class with which I graduated in 1851. I entered Yale well prepared in mathematics, fairly so in Latin, but ~ knew little in Greek, in which I was given a heavy condition. For several months I associated with some rather "fast" students, did not study very well, and my grade was very low. In the spring of 1849 I became a Christian and entered upon a new life. I studied more faithful, and my grade improved so that when the junior appointments were given I received a second dispute. I lost considerable time by sickness during the senior year but received a first dispute among the final appointments.
I left New Haven on presentation day and did not return to commencement, but received my diploma privately. My health being impaired when I left college, I went to my father's farm and took the management of it.
I was married June 1, 1852, to a second cousin, Miss Sally Eleanor Lucas, daughter of Hon. Daniel Bedinger Lucas, recently Chief Justice of the State of West Virginia. Our married life was a happy one, and God gave us seven children, two daughters and five sons. Mrs. Bedinger was a sincere Christian, a loving wife and mother. She died July 1, 1867.
Shortly after our marriage my parents gave me four hundred acres of their twenty-one hundred acre Richwood tract in Boone County, Ky., on which I built, and engaged in farming successfully. I was active in church work and became superintendent of the Sabbath School and an Elder in the Richwood Presbyterian Church. The church was frequently left without a minister, and the elders kept up all the services, but felt the need of a minister greatly. This, with God's blessing upon some remarks I made at a prayer meeting that led a friend to Christ, caused me to consider it my duty to give myself to the work of the ministry. I sold my farm and stock and moved my family to Danville, Ky., where I entered the Theological Seminary in Sept. 1857. In April, 1858, I was elected a commissioner to the General Assembly. At the same meeting of Ebenezer Presbytery I was licensed to preach the gospel. I attended the meeting of the General Assembly at New Orleans, and was a member of the Committee of Bills and Overtures. Returning to Boone County, I preached to the Richwood and Burlington churches till fall when I resumed my studies at the seminary.
Having received calls to be pastor of Richwood and Burlington churches I was ordained in April, 1859, and at once entered upon the full work of the ministry. The same year I was called by the church of Paris and was duly installed. An attack of diphtheria left my throat in a bad condition which became aggravated by frequent preaching, while the close confinement and application to study impaired my general health to such a degree that my physical forbade preaching. I resigned and moved to my father's house in Boone County, where by exercise in the open air my health improved, and after a few months I was able to resume preaching to Richwood and Burlington churches. My ministry both at Paris and Boone County was blessed and there were valuable additions to the church on profession of faith: the churches were in a prosperous condition till disturbed by war between the United and Confederate States.
During these years the question of how to deal with slavery existing in the Southern States agitated both church and state. I viewed it as a relation not desirable but not sinful in itself, and to be dealt with so to prepare the slaves for freedom, and to gradually liberate them in such away as would be just to the owners and best for the Negroes.
When these matters passed from the stage of discussion to action, and the Republican Party began its war to coerce States which had never surrendered their sovereignty, and when the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church passed the Spring resolutions overriding the constitution of the church, and denouncing as rebels and schismatics those who would not bow their consciences at the behest of their usurpation, I did not hesitate to express and publish my convictions, not to take part with those contending for the right of self government for which my grandfathers had fought and suffered.
Not long after the publication of my plea, the Government seized possession of Kentucky and proclaimed martial law. A company of cavalry was present to arrest me. I was informed that they were on their way, and evading them, went to Logansport, Indiana. Before leaving, I told one of my elders that I felt it my duty to continue my ministry, and not to enter the army as a soldier; I was willing to give my parole that while in the northern lines I would say and do nothing against them, but quietly preach and minister to my people; but, that as to giving an active support to what I deemed usurpation and
iniquitous war, nothing could induce me to do it. The elder, who was a Union man, went to the provost marshal of Boone County, and requested that I might be allowed to give my parole and remain ministering to my churches.
The marshal said he himself would be willing, but he had orders from headquarters for my arrest. When informed of this, I went to Canada, crossing the bridge at Niagara Falls the evening before guards were placed to arrest Southern sympathizers going that way.
No one who has not passed through such a season of disturbance can realize the perplexity and anxiety of mind of one who desired and determined to act aright according to the best light he could attain. I determined that whatever might be the consequences, I would keep the Sabbath holy and tell the truth. Sometimes the temptation was great to break this resolution, but God gave grace to keep it and, in a number of instances, answered prayer for deliverance when serious calamity seemed the certain result of persistence in following conscience. I remained in Canada till September.
Several Southerners left with me. They determined not to regard the Sabbath, and were seized and imprisoned. I would not travel on the Sabbath, though in a neighborhood where I was known and threats had been made to hang me as a rebel if caught there; but I passed the lines in safety. Monday morning, before day, I started from my brothers, some twenty-five miles distance from Lawrenceburg, Ind. to try and find a way to get across the Ohio River. I traveled in a spring wagon driven by a Negro my father had liberated some years before, and whose life I had saved when in danger whilst he was a slave in Kentucky. There was a large force of United States soldiers, said to be fifteen thousand, camped along the line of the road I traveled.
When I saw I was approaching these soldiers, I took the lines from the Negro and drove myself. I passed through the whole force, and through the town without being molested or questioned, though a number of times soldiers and others called to, "Put the nigger out of your wagon.” The Negro, returning next day, was stopped several times and asked, "Where is the man who was in the wagon with you?” He replied he "did not know. He said he was going to see his folks." They finally released him. My plan was to swim the Ohio River under cover of darkness, and so I drove on down the river through Aurora and Rising Sun. Just before dark I met squads of soldiers passing towards the river, and on asking two little children where the soldiers were going, they replied that they were going to the river to walk up and down and meet each other all night. The night was a beautiful, clear, starlight one, and the river was like a mirror, without a ripple, and I saw at once that this plan of swimming was impracticable, as the disturbance of the water could be seen for a long distance, and I would be the target for any number of minie balls.
I had slept but little the night before, and the day had been a long one of weary travel and nervous strain, and I determined to get a good night's rest, came to a comfortable looking farmhouse and hollered. The owner came to the door. I asked boldly, "What's the chance to get across the river?” The man replied, "None at all tonight.” I asked if I could spend the night there. He consented, came out and put up the team. He took me into the sitting room and introduced me to the captain of the river pickets. I thought I was caught, and probably would be sent to prison if I told the truth about myself. The captain did not, however, ask any questions, but talked about the war, the rebels, and his own exploits. I was a good listener, and whenever he was about to stop would start him by asking some timely question.
After prayers they went to bed. I slept soundly, but arose early to consider the situation. My host and the captain had evidently concluded, from the bold proposal to cross the river, that I was a Union man who had fled from the Rebels when they advanced, and now that they had returned, wanted to get back home. It seemed scarcely probable that they would let me depart without questioning, and the temptation to confirm them in their supposition was very great. I wanted to see my wife and children, only a few miles away very much, and I felt that my health would fail utterly, if I were confined to prison. I never prayed more earnestly than that morning for the grace to know and do right, and to be delivered from temptation, and from the calamity that threatened. I went down, looked after my team, and had it got out. I was able to preserve a calm demeanor and eat heartily. When we rose from the table I turned to my host, and ask, "What is the chance for me to cross the river this morning?" He replied, "I have a skiff but I was allowed to keep it only on condition that I would not put it in the river without permission from headquarters. But my brother, who lives about a mile below got permission to put his skiff in the river yesterday. If you are all right, I think he will put you across."
I thanked him, shook hands, and was allowed to depart without being asked a single question. I drove down the river about a quarter of a mile, and saw a skiff resting against the shore. I ask a small boy sitting on a (copy not clear here). "When did it come here?" "It wasn't here last night.” "I'll give you a quarter if you'll go across the river with me and bring it back.” So God gave deliverance, and in a few hours I was home with my loved ones. I could not stay, however, as the-northern army had advanced and were camped not far from the house. After two days I left for the south, went to Virginia, to Richmond; Staunton, Lexington, and other places, preaching as opportunity offered, always escaping the bullets of guards and guerrillas.
I finally determined to bring my family, a wife and six children, to Virginia, This return to Kentucky was also full of incidents and dangers, which I must pass in order not to make my story too long. Before removing my family, however, a lull in the pursuit of southern sympathizers allowed me to remain and preach to a neighboring church. But the imprisonments began again, and after securing a pass from Burnside's headquarters at Cincinnati for Prestonburg, Ky., though refused a permit to enter the Confederacy, we started for Virginia through the mountains to Eastern Kentucky. We loaded a carriage and spring wagon, each drawn by a pair of good mules. I confess I did not realize the difficulty and dangers of the undertaking. As we reached the region of rough country and rougher men, we stopped with a Dr. Bigstaff, who was a southern sympathizer. The thieves of that district dubbed themselves "Home Guards.” The doctor feared to shelter us lest he bring them upon him, but the sight of the wife and children prevailed. In the morning he tried to dissuade me from going on, saying that the attempt was madness, especially with a wife and children. But he gave me the name of a friend farther on, and we started. This friend refused to have anything to say to me in his village, but after I left, followed me by a circuitous route, and gave us all the information we needed. He advised me to especially avoid by hard driving having to stop at a place called "Gill's Mills". Driving on I was overtaken by a man who looked at me suspiciously and remarked that it was strange to see a carriage in that part of the country--. (Copy not clear). other man who was evidently a leader. To him the first man explained that I was a preacher who had a pass from Gen. Burnside's headquarters at Cincinnati to go to Prestonburg. He looked at him with an incredulous smile of contempt and turned with a scowl to me. I said nothing, and simply handed him the pass. He examined it very critically but became satisfied it was genuine. He rode on with us talking of the war.
It was getting late, and they soon came to a house of a farmer who had been well to do before the war. His house was a two story frame with porches. The yard and shrubbery showed good taste. The owner’s name was William Green. The larger of the men said that Green was a clever man, though a rebel. He called and when Green appeared, ordered him to come to him.
Green came, looking apprehensive of he knew not what-perhaps being shot. The man simply said to him, "I want you to take care of Mr. Bedinger and his family for the night". Green said he could not make them comfortable, as they had everything taken from them. The man said, "do the best you can; and turning to me said, "you can't do better. I would take you to my house, but there is no woman there, and it is not a fit place for your wife and children". He rode away then. Green looked as if he were compelled to entertain an enemy, but when I told him that I was a Southern sympathizer trying to go south, and that the man who had imposed me upon him had done so because- I had a pass from Gen. Burnside, and had thought I was on some business in the interest of the Northern cause. Green became very cordial and said, "I think you may get through, for that big man is the leader of this band of cutthroats and robbers, who call themselves the "Home Guards", and he may Keep them off you". The big man was a noted ruffian who with his own hands had committed a number of the most brutal murders, and was, two or three years after the war, killed as he was trying to take the life of a son of a man he had killed. Green said that the band had plundered him again and again; that they had even taken his---(Copy not clear-line missing) start as it is light enough for you to drive; get past "Gill's" early, and drive forty miles if possible. Don't spare your mules. I'll have them ready, and your breakfast, so that you can start as early as possible." The next day I started at daybreak and in a short time reached the Licking River which I forded and drove on the road leading up the river till I nearly reached the widow Gill's house, the dreaded point of danger. A drizzling rain had set in and the road soon became slippery. When about three or four hundred yards from Mrs. Gills', one of the mules, scared by a stump, stopped. I struck him, but the mule instead of going forward shied, and threw the front wheel of the carriage into a deep gully, and broke every spoke out of it. I thought this ensured ruin, but took off the wheel from the spring wagon, put it on the carriage, and drove to a shed near Mrs. Gills' house and took my family into the house. With the same wheel I brought the spring wagon to the shed, then asked Mrs. Gills if there was a wagon maker anywhere about. I was told they all had left as soon as the war had begun, but there was a gun maker about seven miles off in the-hills who might put the spokes in the wheel. I sent my driver off to the gunsmith to get the spokes in the wheel repaired, and spent the day lying on the floor with a terrible headache. The driver did not return with the wheel until after dinner Saturday. Having determined not to travel on Sunday, I decided to stay at Mrs. Gills'. She said they had no preaching in the neighborhood since the war began, nearly three years before. I sent out word that I would preach at Mrs. Gills’ and Sunday a goodly number gathered. I preached the only sermon heard there during the war.
But new trouble awaited us at every advance. The wagons broke down where it was impossible to effect repairs. Our destination soon had to be confessed, and our arrest by the Union Cavalry was hardly prevented by our pass, even though it was "the minister, not going to fight but to preach the gospel". The soldiers passed safely along a narrow dug-way, I looked back and saw the rear wagon-(Copy not clear, line missing) was a night spent in a pretended cabin across the creek which was already over supplied with men, women, and children. Rain, swollen streams, which had to be forded, fallen trees, etc., diversified our progress from this point. Another cabin that let through the rain in torrents was our only comfort the next night. A fire, however, helped us dry off. The Sabbath found us in a little settlement, where religious services were held.
One of the attendants expressed his wonder that I had escaped having my riding horse, which I had brought along, and mules stolen, saying, "I don't know how you got by with those mules. Why each pair would sell for $400 as soon as put on the market at Cincinnati. I am sure you won't get by (------), about ten miles from here, with those mules; you'll be coming back about day after tomorrow in an ox-cart". Similar remarks were made by others almost daily.
Monday, Nov. 2, found the road impassable, and we were compelled to leave it and take the bed of a creek. To our dismay we got into a bed of quicksand. I whipped up the mules and got through, but, looking back, saw the wagon stopped and the mules sinking deeper with every struggle. I called to the driver to unhitch them, and running back, rushed into the creek, and as soon as the mules were detached from the wagon succeeded in getting them out. After unloading the wagon and prying it up, we succeeded in getting it out also. Driving on, trying to make up for lost time, I struck the wheel of the carriage against a log, and broke down when I had only traveled a few miles. It took two days to get the wheel repaired by the man to whom the
driver took it, and when he brought it back, it looked pretty well except that it was dished the wrong way. With heavy levers, forced the dish the other way- made some false spokes and drove them in at such an angle as to keep the wheel dished right, and tied them in. By frequent attention I made that wheel take me over all the rough roads to my journey's end. The delay was very trying, but was afterwards found to have been a kind (Line missing Copy not clear) time another party was murdered.
I met a force of Confederates on their way to drive the bushwhackers out of Pond Gap. One of the soldiers, Mr. Booth, who attended my ministry at Paris, explained:
"Why, Mr. Bedinger! Where did you come from?"
"Direct from Paris."
"How did you get here?"
"By the most direct road."
"You brought your wife and children through without a guard?"
"Yes."
"Well you have made one of the most wonderful trips of the war."
While my home was in Salem, Gen. Averill's raiders burned what books I had brought from Kentucky, and my whole stock of sermons. I had neither time nor opportunity to write others, so that thenceforward I preached without writing.
About the last of December, I settled about four miles west of Gordonsville, on the road to Liberty Mills. Gen. Lee's army was in winter quarters along the line of the Rapidan River, and Gen. Grant's on the opposite side of the river. Gen. Lee's extreme left was near our house, and I found the 18th North Carolina Regiment without a chaplain, and began at once to minister to their spiritual necessities. I visited the camp daily, and preached publicly, and talked to them privately; I also distributed tracts. The preaching was in the open air, and often when snow was on the ground, and the wind blowing. When nothing was
in the way, the drummer would give the signal for preaching, and those of the soldiers who were disposed to attend would arrange themselves on their stools along a shallow hollow, and I would take my position on the side from which the wind blew and preach.
It was a season of spiritual blessing in the army of Northern Virginia, and the 18th North Carolina shared it. The first invitation given by me to attend (Line missing) From that time till the 4th of May there were almost daily professions of faith in Christ. On that day I had arranged to occupy a chapel the soldiers had built for us, and to baptize several who had professed their faith. Before I reached the camp, the whole camp had marched to meet the enemy, and the terrible fighting of Spotsylvania had begun. The 18th North Carolina was in the center of the greatest carnage, and within ten days was nearly blotted out of existence. I met some of them in the hospitals which I attended, but many ~f those who had professed their faith had passed from the scene of trial to the rest that remain for Godly. I met one of them, after the war, attending the General Assembly as an Elder.
After the enemy had gone I began preaching at Orange Court House and Gordonsville; also at Madison Court House and Wolftown on the head waters of the Rapidan, undisturbed by the war except when Gen. Custer made a raid on Dec.2, 1864, to try and destroy the railroad and stores at Gordonsville, and the Federals advanced and attacked, but found them too strongly posted, and after a few hours skirmishing fell back. Our house was between the lines of the Federals, the rear line of battle only a few hundred yards away. While the front line was fighting the rear was allowed to leave the ranks by detachments to plunder the house. When they got through there was nothing left in the way of provisions and but little in the way of clothing or valuables left. Some incidents of the day would hardly be credited; they were so brutal.
Toward the close of my ministry at Gordonsville there was a gracious outpouring of the Holy Spirit, about twenty united with the Presbyterian Church.
The war closed in 1865, and that summer we moved to Rion Hall, Mr. Lucas' residence, between Harper's Ferry and Charles Town. I supplied the pulpit of the Presbyterian Church at Charles Town for six months, during which time there were over sixty new members by profession of faith.
For the next sixteen months I labored in several feeble churches, which had been left without ministers during a large part of the war, and had grown weaker and weaker. My labors were blessed in gathering them together and starting (Line Missing) I watched and nursed and struggled to keep her alive, but death 'Prevailed, and the end came July 7, 1867.
In the fall of 1876 I accepted a call to the pastorate of the Presbyterian Church in Shepherdstown, Va. where I had a prosperous ministry for three years. During this period I married on the 16th of March, 1869, Miss Anna Moore Billmyer, a devout member of the church to which I ministered. Her father, Mr. C. Billmyer, Had been a prominent business man and an elder of the church. God's favor attended the marriage. Mrs. Bedinger has been and still is a faithful, loving wife and devoted mother, the light of the home which she has made happy for me and my children. God gave us five daughters and two sons, all of whom are living except a little girl who died, "an infant of days". The church was fairly prosperous during my ministry at Shepherdstown, and my labor at a mission point resulted in the building of a church at Kearneyville.
In the spring of 1870 I accepted a call to the Florence and Richwood churches in Boon County, Ky., and moved to my father's house in Kenton County on the farm since settled as the town of Erlanger.
I remained in charge of these churches till September, 1878, when I took charge of the church at Anchorage, Ky., twelve miles from Lewisville. In connection with the church I was Chaplain and teacher of Moral Science and Evidences of Christianity in Bellewood Female Seminary. I remained in charge of the church and seminary for eleven years during which the church grew from being a very weak one heavily in debt to one considerable strength and great liberality, while the seminary more than doubled its attendance, and had to refuse many applicants for admission. That which is of greater moment is that every year of this period there were numerous additions to the church on "Professions of Faith in Christ". Many of these were from the seminary, from which they went not only well educated but earnest workers in churches scattered in every Southern State, and several also as foreign missionaries. From the pleasant field of usefulness I was called by the Synod of Kentucky to take charge of its Evangelistic Work.
I had always felt the deepest interest in having the Gospel given to the feeble churches and destitute places of our own land. I had always given a part of my ministry to that kind of work.
A glorious work has been achieved and I rejoice in having taken part in it. In the eleven years of continuance of synodical work, I have been Treasurer of the Evangelistic Fund. For four and one half years I have been Chairman of the Synod's Committee, and now endeavoring to press this work.