The Evening Telegraph

ISRAEL INTENTIONS.

A Day at the Barnsboro Camp-meeting—The Consummation of Discomfort—10,000 People in a Swelter of Heat and a Cloud of Dust—The Tribulations of Going to and fro.

From Our Own Correspondent.

In The Woods Near Barnsboro, N. J., Aug. 15.

"Ten thousand people in a swelter of heat and a cloud of dust!" The caption is literally true, and the dogged patience manifested by this melting multitude affords a rare opportunity for studying some of the most striking peculiarities of the American people. The "Old Bethel Camp-meeting," which was opened on the 11th and will close on the 19th of the present month, is held in a clump of trees, of large growth and ample extent, situated immediately to the right of the line of the West Jersey Railroad, about a mile and a half below Barnsboro Station, and fifteen miles below the Camden terminus. In front of the camp-meeting ground there is a long platform by the side of the railroad track, at which almost every train in either direction stops to disembark passengers during the continuance of the encampment. The railroad company has been taxed to its utmost capacity in carrying all the people that have presented themselves, and in addition to those who have reached the camp by rail there has been a constant stream flowing in from all quarters of the compass, until the multitude has reached the climax, and as I now write numbers, according to the estimate of prominent participants in the religious exercises, about ten thousand.

Going to the Camp.

The trains that left Camden on Saturday afternoon were crowded to suffocation, and hundreds were left behind. Your correspondent prepared to take the 6 o'clock evening train, and to make sure of a seat was ready to take the cars at five. But there were already several hundred people on hand and no cars to take. Every available piece of rolling stock had been brought into use, and yet before the 6 o'clock train could be made up the train that had preceded it must return. About seven it pushed into the depot, every car packed with people who had been to the encampment and been satisfied. By this time the crowd of people in waiting had been swelled to monster proportions. It was so manifest that all could not be accommodated with seats that as soon as the train paused there was a grand rush, and despite the commands and exertions of the railway officials it was found impossible to keep them at bay long enough to permit the homeward-bound passengers to alight. So the multitudes bound in opposite directions encountered each other on the platforms and at the narrow doorways, and great was the shock of the conflict. While the struggle for ingress and egress was being fought at the ends of the cars, hundreds of men who could not get near enough to the objective points to participate made their way head foremost into the cars through the open windows, and when the heroes of the platforms finally effected an entrance they found the choice seats, and frequently the whole array of seats, already occupied. At half-past 7 the train moved from the depot, and about 9 it stopped at the camp station, when the great throng filed through the narrow roadway leading into the woods. Supper for eight hundred at half-past 9 was a serious task. A few hundreds contrived to get something to eat, and several hundreds were content to throw themselves upon the straw without a bite.

The Camp at Night.

The regular sermon for the evening was about over, but a large prayer-meeting was still in progress at the preachers' stand, while from all the larger tents surrounding the circle came the sound of prayer and hymn in an unbroken and discordant strain. Altogether there are about six hundred tents within the limits of the camp ground. Many of these, especially the ones facing the circle, are huts rather than tents, being built of rough boards, with some deference to comfort, although in utter defiance of all the rules of taste. The majority of the small tents have seen service of a far different kind, and still bear the imprint of the National Government, from which they were purchased by speculators, who made a handsome profit upon their investments, and at the same time enabled the camp-meeting people to obtain comfortable and substantial quarters at marvellously low rates. Here and there about the camp there is a square case of earth, supported, at a height of about six feet from the ground, by four upright posts. On each of these is a pile of blazing embers which serve to light up the encampment, casting upon the scene a sombre glare which adds much to its solemnity. The crowd of participants in the services at the stand, and the spectators, surge and sway about the point of interest; exhortations to penitence, and pleas for mercy, and songs of praise, and shouts of joy arise from hundreds of eager and zealous lips; and over all the lurid flame of the pine-knots casts its dim religious lustre. To one who is accustomed to the scene, and who has faith in the efficacy of its appliances and surroundings as agencies for bringing sinners into the fold of the Church, it has a strong and peculiar attraction. To one who witnesses it for the first time, it possesses a strange, weird, and impressive interest, even if its influences do not penetrate to the depths of his soul and move all the chords of his being into harmony with its spirit. To one who is so touched and moved, and who has hitherto nerved his heart in stubbornness against all religious feeling, it marks an epoch. Demons of torment and imps of darkness are conjured up: they glare at him among the flames of the pine-knots, they leer at him among the tree tops, they haunt and torture him until they drive him to despair: and in his desperation he throws himself prostrate upon the earth, he smites his breast in an agony of spirit, he cries out with all the energy of his soul, "Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner!" And then comes the wrestling with the angels of the Lord; hours—perchance whole days—of deep contrition, of earnest longing, of pitiful pleading, until at last the crisis is past, his heart is changed, his soul regenerated, his faith grounded on the Rock of Ages, and despair gives place to gladness. With some this gladness is overpowering, uncontrollable, and manifested in a fashion that verges on ranting and borders on the ridiculous; with others it is deep and quiet—in truth, a joy that is unspeakable because so full of glory.

Night and Morning.

At 10 o'clock the bell at the preachers' stand broke in upon the jargon of prayer and hymn, commanding dispersal and silence. But it was quite midnight before the camp was silent, the meetings in many of the tents being continued until their participants were literally used up and forced to seek repose. One by one they were brought to an end, until at last the only scene of attraction was a group of a dozen zealous brethren who sat upon a long table at one of the eating booths, and sang hymn after hymn, as if there was no end to the catalogue, and no such thing as striking bottom in the wells of joy which had been opened in their hearts.

At five o'clock in the morning the harsh and unmelodious notes of the old broken-down and used-up bell which sounded the orders of the day were again heard, and the camp was soon astir. A large number gave their faces a mere touch of water, and made their way unkempt to one of the larger tents in which a prayer-meeting was to commence forthwith, but the greater number by far were disposed to go about the labors of the Sabbath with more deliberation. "Come ye to the Waters," and bring your small change with you. Water is scarce—most abominably scarce. Several wells have been sunk within the limits of the camp, but the valley of Baca, before the rain came and filled the pools, could not have stood more in need of this indispensable element. At every hour of the day the water-carts have been driving into the camp, bringing the liquid by the barrel from the brooks and creeks around about, and still there is a scarcity. Back of the camp, at the distance of a quarter of a mile or so, runs a small stream, the banks of which were speedily lined with men and women performing their ablutions. Some were fortunate possessors of tin basins, and fared comparatively well, but many were without any such appliances, and made the best of it by stooping down by the side of the rivulet and using a common and very inconvenient cover. Just beyond this stream are a couple of springs the fee-simple of which belongs to a couple of land sharks who guard them night and day. They drive a thriving trade, dispensing their scarce commodity at three cents per bucket, two cents per pitcher, and one cent per drink. Frequently during the day the genius of the fountain would keep a dozen thirsty creatures waiting for a sip while he dived down into the ample pockets of his trousers among the nickels and coppers to fish out the change for a twenty-five cent note, and when his dull arithmetic had figured out the problem, he would hand over a cup full of water with one hand and twenty-four cents with the other. And all the while the songs of praise were rising from the adjacent woods, in mockery of this Sabbath money-changing.

The Daily Routine,

as announced in the placards which greet you at every turn, demands family prayer at 6 o'clock, breakfast at half-past 6, prayer-meeting at the stand at 8, preaching at 10, dinner at half-past 12, preaching again at half-past 2, supper at half-past 5, a third sermon at 7, and, as already noted, lights out and quiet at 10. Soon after the eight o'clock meeting was organized this morning, the screeching of a locomotive whistle was heard, and such as had more of curiosity for seeing the new comers than of interest in the religious services wended their way to the entrance to the encampment.

"No Sunday Trains."

The rules of the camp prohibit the stopping of trains on Sunday at the station just opposite, and consequently all who wished to drop down from the city on the Sabbath were obliged to alight at Barnsboro, and from that point tramp through the heat and dust a mile and a half to the woods. But despite this ordeal, they came by the hundreds, the head of the procession being far into the camp while the tail end was still at the station. In the evening, when the up train was due at Barnsboro, there was a vast multitude at that place, eager for the fray over the seats. Almost instantaneously thirteen empty cars were densely packed, and the twelve cars which had left Cape May comfortably filled were as quickly crowded to the suffocating point.

The Camp in General.

As I have already said, the crowd in attendance during the day was swollen to about ten thousand. As the preaching is in progress almost every seat, even upon the outer limits of the circle, is occupied, while nearer the stand the jam is literally impenetrable. Then around this congregation sways a great string of promenaders, so thickly stowed that you go not as you wish, but as you must. Still without this ring is a great concourse scattered among the tents, and hanging around the outskirts, and peace and order reign over all. But the heat is stifling, and a great cloud of dust rests upon the scene, making it, altogether, the very consummation of discomfort. To-day, as a matter of course, is the big day of the meeting. To-morrow and during the remainder of the week there will be fewer people in attendance, and such pleasure, social and religious, as can be garnered at an old-fashioned Jersey camp-meeting will be reaped in abundance.