John Taylor was born in Faquier County, 1752. When he reached his seventeenth year, having heard William Marshall preach, he became impressed with the worth of eternal things, and began to ask, "what shall I do to be saved?" His distress was pungent and protracted. Considerable alarm was created among his friends in discovering his deep-settled gloom, lest he should be verging toward insanity. They were, little aware of the true cause of his grief, and consequently were unable to prescribe a remedy. His relief came from the Word of God. There he learned that God was, in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing to them their iniquities. Upon this truth he built his hope, and here he found consolation.

     In the quaint but nervous style of Mr. Taylor, we will allow him to relate his exercises substantially in his own words:

"Through the intemperate use of spirits and what is generally connected with that view, my poor father had so far consumed his living, that hard labor was my inevitable lot in my raising. He had moved to Frederick County, back of the Blue Ridge, on the Shenandoah River. Here Mr. William Marshall came, preaching the gospel of the kingdom. At one of his meetings I became alarmed. I was then about seventeen years old, and went to the meeting as I would have gone to a frolic. I had heard of the great effect among the people under his preaching. About midway of his discourse -- for I had not noticed a word he said before -- the truth pierced my soul as quickly and with as much sensibility as an electric shock. In a moment my mind was opened to see the truth of all he said. I felt as if then at the bar of God, and as if condemnation was pronounced against me. It may seem strange, but I instantly loved the very truth that condemned me and the instrument that brought it. I had never felt such an attachment to any human before.

"From that time I felt a peculiarly tender attachment for all I could think truly religious, though it might be an old African; and, had the world been mine, I would have given all to have been like one of them, though with it I were a slave for life. Some things spoken of by Paul are as incredible as this. He often calls God to witness the truth of them.

"At first the attaining of true religion seemed so perfectly out of my reach and so great a thing, that it never could be mine. This heavy doubt sunk me into dark despondency. Perhaps I never attempted to send up a prayer to God of any kind for six months altogether. As I was to be lost at last, I concluded I had better try to enjoy myself, or, at least, to please my companions as best I could. Yet sin was a bitter cup, though I practiced it. So I continued for many days: I seldom heard preaching, and as seldom was in company with religious people, for all my connections held the New Lights, as they were called, in the utmost contempt. This early conviction gradually took deeper root, and sin grew more hateful, so that often when practicing it my guilt would become so heavy on my soul I would be ready to roar out aloud. To prevent my comrades from seeing the effect I would abruptly leave them, and, by myself, bemoan my miserable case. By this kind of compulsion I forsook my companions, and betook myself to reading the Scriptures. When I would think of prayer to God it seemed to me both awful and dangerous; awful for a sinner to approach an infinitely holy God, and dangerous, more, than to omit the duty.

"Thus I worried on, I think, a whole summer. At length I began to think that I had forsaken all my old comrades, and with them all my old vices, and read the Scriptures a good deal. I foolishly concluded that I was much better than before, and that I might now begin to pray; that I was now becoming good enough for the Lord to be pleased with my prayers. I became abundantly pleased that I should get to heaven as well as the Baptists, and make no fuss about it. Thus I had cured all my former sores, and was safe without Jesus Christ.

"Thanks to the good Lord, he did not suffer me to continue there. Joseph and Isaac Redding lived neighbors to my father. Immediately after their conversion they began to preach with great zeal throughout the neighborhood. The purport of their preaching was, 'ye must be born again, or never enter into the kingdom of God.' Under the preaching of the Reddings the poor rags of my own righteousness took fire and burned me to death. Till now, in reading the law, I only understood its external demands; but by the removal of the veil from my heart I discovered the sin of my nature. That law which required truth and holiness in the inward parts condemned me for the sin of my heart. Amendment was out of the question; for everything I could do was like the filthy foundation from which it came. Every spring of my soul seemed now an unclean thing, and my best efforts as filthy rags. My prayers, on which I had much relied, appeared abhorrent both to God and myself. My practical sins, that had been numerous, and many of them of a magnitude that, to this day, I can never forgive, were, in a manner, removed out of my sight by the late survey of this mighty port of ill-bred corruptions, that seemed to swarm through my whole soul.

"Should you ask what these corruptions were, I could only state their outlines: as spiritual ignorance, unlawful desires, hardness of heart, above all, unbelief, and all these generating their thousands, while my inability was such that I could not master any of these thousands. My first thoughts under this new discovery were, that my day was past; that time had been when I might have been saved, but now it was too late; and that I was given up of God to a hard heart and reprobate mind. Under these embarrassments I labored for many months. I ate no pleasant food, and enjoyed not one night's rest. My father's family took the alarm that I had gone beside myself, and, to tell the truth, I was driven to my wit's end, believing that I was sure to be lost as if I was then in hell. I was often on my knees crying for mercy, if, perhaps, it might be obtained.

"At length a new thought struck me, that was more distressing than all before, that I never had a day of grace; and though some quarrel with God about election, it had a very different effect upon me. I shall never forget where I was when this thought struck me. I was chopping fire-wood in the cap of a tree, and a deep snow on the ground, more than fifty years ago. Under this thought I was stricken with a tremor, as was Belshazzar when the hand-writing was on the wall. The axe dropped from my hands. I fell on my knees, not to ask mercy, but to acknowledge God's justice in my condemnation. For about one month I do not know that I willingly asked for mercy, though I was often on my knees, both day and night. The purport of my addresses was a confession of the justness of my doom. No spasm could more affect the body than these awful thoughts alternately affected my soul. My conclusion was that no one ever saw and felt what I did till just before God cut him off. A lonesome mountain, where nobody lived, was in full view of my father's house. There I intended to roam the balance of my wretched life. In what mode vengeance was to overtake me, whether by the violence of my own hands or by other means, I knew not. Such were my impressions; and perhaps no criminal ever went to execution with more agony of mind than I went to that fatal mountain. As it began to grow dark, in passing under an overhanging rock, it occurred to me to fall on my knees and acknowledge, what I had often done, the justice of God in this awful sentence. On my knees, I began to whisper something like this: 'Thy throne, O God, shall remain unsullied and unimpeached when thy wrath is inflicted upon me.' While thus speaking, my thoughts took a new and pleasing turn on the subject of salvation: that the great grace of Jesus Christ has extended to cases desperate as mine; that Christ-despisers and Christ-killers had been saved by this glorious Saviour. I saw the fullness of the grace of Christ, but I could not call it mine. The effect of that view was a sweet peace and calm of mind, such as I had never felt before.

"The mere possibility of salvation was to me like life from the dead; for I had long thought, for reasons stated above, that salvation for me was not possible. What I met at the hanging rock, small as it may appear, was so great to me that I changed my resolution as to dying in the mountain or continuing there all night. I returned home a new man thus far. The style of my prayer was changed. I now began to cry for mercy, as the great grace in Christ had brought possible salvation to such a wretched sinner as myself. I believe I shall never forget the hanging rock while I live, nor even in heaven."

     This narrative is thus quoted not to intimate that all these deep agitations of mind are essential to Christian experience. This was not his design. He knew and felt that they originated in defective views of the plan of salvation. The salvation he sought was nigh him, even at first; and was compelled, after all his struggles, to come to Jesus, helpless, unworthy, and joyfully to confide in him as his only hope. Speaking of the blind man to whom Jesus restored sight, he said:

"Though I neither saw nor heard anything, I began to feel as if the Saviour were talking to me, in company with the blind man; and when he answered, 'Lord, I believe,' and he worshiped him, the very language of my soul was expressed, and if I did not speak, my heart repeated it over and over: 'Lord, I believe;' 'Lord, I believe.' My soul so ran in the same way, and I understood more of Jesus Christ in one moment than I had learned in all my life before. I considered him as both Lord and Christ; that he was the proper object of worship; and that it was no robbery to think of him as on equality with the Father. The heavenly joy and peace exceeds my expressions."

     Hearing that the church of which James Ireland was pastor would meet to receive members, he went with the determination of uniting himself with the people of God. He found the house crowded to overflowing, and was unable to obtain entrance, but stood at the window and listened to the relation which a number gave of the Divine goodness to them. While there, he was the subject of violent temptation. The suggestion came with great power, that all his religious impressions were a delusion, and that all with whom he was present were deceived. He was inclined to give way to universal skepticism. Returning from meeting in this state of mind, he knew not what to do or whiter to flee. In the pleasures of sin he could find no enjoyment, and yet, concerning the truths of revelation, his mind was enveloped in darkness and doubt. He retired to a deep and lonely glen, far away from human habitation, and, as the shades of night came on, he found himself surrounded with so many testimonials of the Divine existence and glory in the spangled firmament above him, and in all the works of His hand, that the righteousness and justice of His law became more evident than ever. Again he felt the heaviness of that guilt which he had contracted, and his need of the gospel remedy. The adaptedness of this plan to his ruined condition rushed upon his mind. The words of Christ to Thomas, "Reach hither thy finger," etc., were made the subject of profitable and consoling reflections. With Thomas he was enabled to say, "My Lord and my God." He returned from his hiding-place, willing to tell what the Lord had done for his soul, and shortly after was baptized by James Ireland. He joined the Happy Creek Church.

     Mr. Taylor came forth from the doubt and perplexity in which he had so long remained, not only with a joyous elasticity of mind, but with a hearty purpose to live to God. The necessities of the times, as well as a sense of obligation to his Almighty Deliverer, prompted him to consider the question of entering the ministry. He says:

"I was now in my twentieth year. I found the church no place of ease to me, for, among other distresses, I felt a new one occurred. I soon began to feel great anxieties to communicate what I felt and knew of Christ to my fellow-men. This was to me a great source of perplexity on account of my unprepared ness for so great a work. Joseph Redding soon moved to South Carolina. Isaac Redding holding meetings in the neighborhood, it came on as a thing of course, to give him some aid, so that, in a few months, I became a public speaker. My conclusion was, that I could live nowhere but with Joseph Redding. The next winter I traveled to South Carolina, to live there, or have him return with me. We returned in the spring, and the church called me to preach. Why the church did this is yet a wonder to me; for, though I was twenty years old, I was only a fit associate for mill or school-boys. My lack of information filled me with dismay. My boyhood was such, even in stature, that it seemed to forbid me to address grown people.

"About four years after I began to preach, I was ordained as an itinerant minister. The Presbytery that officiated were Lewis Craig, John Picket, John Koontz, Joseph Redding, and Theodorick Noel. In those days I had three gospel fathers: William Marshall, the instrument of my awakening and conversion; James Ireland, who baptized me, and under whose pastoral care I lived some time; and Joseph Redding, with whom I traveled nearly ten years."

     With Joseph Redding Mr. Taylor was intimately associated. These two servants of Christ, with apostolic zeal and courage, carried the sound of salvation into regions it had never reached. They were two of the most daring spirits of that age. Very frequently their journeys were extended beyond the Blue Ridge more than two hundred miles. This was then a thinly settled country. In these western excursions they were received with open arms. They were not, like their eastern brethren, subject to the opposing rage of the established church; but they were not without trials. Most of their journeys were performed on foot, over a rugged and almost unbroken wilderness; and they were continually in danger of falling a prey to the savage barbarities of the Indians, as they passed on from fort to fort. The good hand of the Lord alone preserved them. In hunger and thirst, in watchfulness and weariness, did Mr. Taylor go forth to preach the gospel. He could say: --

"In these mountains let me labor;
In these forests let me tell
How he died, the blessed Saviour,
To redeem a world from hell."

     As illustrative of the trials and exposures of this pioneer missionary, we extract a passage from his own account of these early labors:

"After ranging through the large County of Hampshire a year or two, we contemplated passing the Alleghany Mountains to the back settlements on Monongahela River. Our destination was Tygarts Valley. This valley was estimated at fifty miles long, and newly settled by about one hundred families. I found but one Baptist, a woman; but I thought her a precious Christian. This tour was in the middle of winter, and snow knee-deep. The distance from one settlement to the other was about fifty miles. The track was such that it took two days to get there; of course we camped out one night in the deep snow. For the first time we saw people living in a fort. We then set out for Greenbrier. The next June, I concluded to take a more extended tour. Monongahela River has five large branches; these were all peopled. Our first stop was at Ghent River, where a little settlement of Baptists was found. Here we worshiped awhile. All the settlements in the great glades, a space of sixty miles, had been broken up by the Indians. The next place was about thirty miles, bearing down toward Red Stone, where was a considerable settlement of people, and a small Baptist church, which had been constituted by John Corbley. After this, Mr. Corbley's family was killed by Indians. The house was filled with people who came to hear preaching.

"Thence we crossed over the Main River, and ranged up the main bank, where we had some happy meetings. From this settlement it was a day's ride to Buchanon River, where I think preaching had never been. The people were either forted or huddled together in block-houses. These poor creatures would risk all they had, and their lives also, that they might get together to hear preaching. There we had several meetings, and the people were much affected. From Buchanon, one day's ride, through gloomy forests, brought us to Tygarts River. The next winter, dreary indeed, I visited all these settlements again."

     Another tour is thus referred to:

"It was thirty miles from the upper house in the valley to the first house in the Greenbrier settlement, and over a tremendous mountain that divided the two rivers. The track was very dull; I was a stranger to the way, and without company. The river was from twenty to thirty yards wide where I set out, to the source of which I had to travel before I ascended the mountain. The river was so blocked up with ice that it seemed impossible for a borrowed, bare-footed horse to cross it. I thought of going back, but concluded to push on. I took my wrappers from my legs, and placed my horse's fore-feet in the middle of them, and tied them around his legs with my garters. But I could not get him to take a step on the ice. My only remedy was to lead him to some little steep bank two or three feet high, and suddenly push him on the ice, and then lead him across. This was often repeated, for we had to cross the river nearly twenty times. The cold was so intense that it was doubtful if my ears and hands would not freeze. I reached the house at sundown."

     A volume might be filled with a reference to his exposures and sufferings in his numerous journeys over the Blue Mountains and Alleghany Glades. No difficulties hindered, no dangers affrighted, if he might preach in these sparsely-settled regions the Word of Life. On one occasion he remained in a stupor for several days, after wading swollen streams and becoming nearly benumbed by the severity of the cold. At another time in crossing the Glades his horse escaped, and carrying on his back his saddle and bags, he wandered for nearly forty hours without food, spending one night in this exposed condition. His horse was never found.

     "Taylor was not imprisoned as were many of his brethren in Eastern Virginia. But he was not free from persecution. He speaks of the 'rage of mobs' with which he was assaulted, and 'open contradiction while preaching.' On one occasion, 'armed with instruments of death, twenty young men approached him and his friends in the midst of their worship, beating some and driving the others from the place.'"

     The labors of this indefatigable man were not confined to these frontier settlements. He says:

"The apparent call for constant traveling bore with great weight upon my mind, though with much misgiving of heart arising from my own inadequacy. I not only kept up my range with Redding in the backwoods, but below the Blue Ridge on each side of the Rappahannock River, where I became acquainted with several of the laborious servants of the Lord: as Theodorick Noel, Lewis Lunsford, Nathaniel Sanders, all the Craigs, George Eve, Thomas Ammons, John Leland, John Shakleford, John Picket, and many others, all of whom, from my soul, I preferred to myself."

     In one of these visits to the Northern Neck, he speaks of a great revival of religion through that country, during which Lewis Lunsford and others had been baptized. He says:

"In every direction there was such a call for preaching day and night, that it required the best of lungs in the speaker to bear the service. Though the nights were short, the houses would not hold the people. I have known the preacher stand in the yard, the bright moonlight such that without a candle hundreds would remain and listen to the gospel. Respectable young ladies would walk ten miles on those pleasant sandy roads, rather than miss the happy night-meetings. Perhaps our modern young ladies, who love carnal pleasure, novels, and theatres more than they love the worship of God, may blame them as imprudent; but God has decided already in their favor, and against these daughters of Diana and Venus. This revival spread over a great part of the Northern Neck, and many hundreds were baptized."

     The ministry of this itinerant was greatly blessed; several churches were founded, mainly under his influence. In 1783, he found it, as he believed, his duty to seek a support in the fertile fields of the West, as, notwithstanding his toils in Virginia, the churches contributed but little to provide for his necessities. One year previous to this he was chosen pastor of the church he first joined. When he removed he settled in what is now called Woodford County, then comparatively a wilderness. He was well qualified to labor as a pioneer, having learned , by his previous hazards in Virginia, to endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. "Often single-handed," says a brother who knew him well, "did he occupy this wide-spread region. He itinerated for ten years with much credit to himself and profit to the cause. He had a fine constitution and much bodily strength; was as bold as a lion, yet meek as a lamb. In preaching he attempted nothing but scriptural plainness. The weapons of his warfare were wielded with much power. No man knew better than he how to reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with all long-suffering and doctrine. When he used the rod of correction all were made to tremble. The Lord wrought glorious things by him. The Elkhorn Association soon increased to the number of thirty-four churches. This was the best organized body of Baptists in all the Western country. In 1800, more than three thousand souls were added to them."

     The same hardships borne in Virginia were endured in his new Western home. He located in the wilderness in the midst of hostile Indians, preaching as often as possible to the scattered families around him. He says:

"We had to pack corn forty miles, and send a mile to grind, at a hand-mill, before we could get bread. As to meat, it must come from the woods. Soon after I settled in my little cabin, sixteen feet square, with no floor but the natural earth, without bedstead, table, or stools, I found that an old buck had his lodge a few hundred steps from my cabin, among the nettles, high as a man's shoulders, and interlocked with pea vines. Those nettles the next winter we found very useful in getting the lint, and, with the help of buffalo wool, made good clothing for our people. I went many mornings, hoping to get a shot at this buck, but had not the skill to get hold of him; at length I got a fire at him, and accidentally shot him through the heart. This was a greater treat to my family than the largest bullock I have ever killed since, for he was large and very fat."

     Speaking of a single day's work, which seemed extraordinary, he says:

"I name this day's work that it may be accounted for how I have cleared nearly four hundred acres of land in the heavy forest of Kentucky, besides making other improvements."

     Having married in Virginia an interesting lady, and now beginning to have a family, he thus found it necessary, in this early settlement in a new country, to toil laboriously with his own hands for their support.

     "John Taylor was one of the most efficient preachers; his judicious zeal, strong faith, and remarkable industry, qualified him to be useful to many souls. He was always cheerful, yet solemn, and willing to preach when requested. His whole demeanor, at home and abroad, was uniformly Christian-like. The labors of his ministry extended from the Kentucky River to the Ohio. It was his custom to visit six or eight Associations every year. His great skill in discipline and faithfulness in preaching endeared him to all the followers of Christ."

     This testimony is borne by one of his surviving coadjutors in Kentucky. Nor is it to be considered as the extravagant eulogy of a particular friend. From other sources this statement is ascertained to be true. Says the same brother:

"He was, however, only a man, for, in the latter part of his life, he opposed missionary operations."

     There is reason to believe that this opposition was the result of ignorance. He had failed to make himself acquainted with the design, plans, and success of the mission enterprise. His ignorance was indeed culpable, for it was his duty to examine well the claims of these measures. Had he, with unprejudiced mind, contemplated the condition of the heathen world, in connection with the mandate of the ascended Saviour; had he known what almost incredible success has attended the efforts of God's people in foreign lands, his pious heart would doubtless have rejoiced with unutterable joy, and his whole influence been given to the cause.

     That this is true, will be evident from the allusion to this subject by another brother:

"I mentioned to him," says he, "in 1830, that I wished some conversation concerning the pamphlet he had written against missions; when the aged saint replied: 'Oh never mind that thing; let it sleep in silence;'" so that there is reason for believing he regretted he had ever written so unadvisedly against the mission cause.

     He removed several times, but at length settled near Frankfort, where he spent the remnant of his days. There he ended a long, useful, and happy life. At the time of his death he was in quite a joyful state of mind. It was his desire to depart and be with Christ. His removal took place in 1833, having reached his eighty-first year.

     We close this sketch with an interesting quotation from a work he published, entitled History of Ten Churches.

"The greatest encouragement I have found is from the Bible. There I saw the whole will of God, in point of both opinion and practice. What I saw in this heaven-born book as the voice of God and it was the invaluable guide of my whole man. To this I appeal in all controversy, and by this I expect to be judged at the last day.

"Of all the outward religious duties in which I have ever been employed as to conscious satisfaction, baptism takes the lead, and in that blessed work three different days exceed. The first was the evening after I was baptized; the second was the same day, fifty years after my baptism, when I baptized a number of people; lastly, on my birth-day, when I was seventy years old, I baptized eighteen people. I suppose I have gone into the water hundreds of times to baptize others, and in every case, a sweet peace of conscience attended me."

     It is thought well to insert a few brief extracts, written by him on various subjects, as expressive of his views, and illustrative of his plain, strong, blunt style.

"A barren ministry. -- Can anything be more plain, that the calls and invitations of the gospel are to be addressed to all mankind? To me, it is evident that nothing but a cold, cramped, disobedient heart could object to it; and the preacher who does not practice it, I know what o'clock it is with his soul; I consider him an apostate from the gospel spirit. I take the opportunity of confessing my own apostasy in this case. Of the fifty-four years of my ministry two-thirds at least I have been too destitute of that tenderness of spirit that becomes the gospel; and just in proportion to the coldness and barrenness of my soul have I neglected to invite sinners to repent of their sins and come to Christ. With shame before the Lord I confess apostasy from a gospel spirit. In those days I would be as busy as ever, (for I was never considered a lazy man,) but it would be about trifles: as, whether Adam was a natural or a spiritual man; when he was first made; whether he died a moral or spiritual death; when he first sinned; whether God's election was so definite that it could not be added to or taken from; whether regeneration and the new birth were different or the same thing; and many of poor trifles of the same kind.

"The tongue. -- The Saviour says, the good man, out of the good treasure of his heart, bringeth forth good things, and the evil man, out of the treasure of his heart, bringeth forth evil things. The way these good or evil things are brought forth is by the use of abuse of the tongue. A house of merchandise hangs out part of its wares that passengers may see what is in the shop. The tongue is an expression of what is in the man, and is the landing-port of all the cargo of the heart, whether the lading be good or bad, for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. Please examine what kind of lading is discharged at tongue-port by you.

"Tenderness toward the brethren. -- I have spoken of Christ's people as the apple of his eye. How tender a member is the eye, and especially the apple of it. Let us always touch each other with tenderness, being mindful that when we attempt to take a mote from a brother's eye we should first get the beam from our own. While, with a silken cloth, my friend proposes to wipe the mote from my eye, let me take it kindly. As in that case the eye always gives its aid, by the flowing tear, to remove the mote from its painful location, so when my brother comes to me in the letter and spirit of the eighteenth of Matthew, let me feel his touch as with a soft hand, and with a melting heart and flowing tears let me aid him to remove the incumbrance.

"Useless professors. -- The man that gives place to the devil so as to be nothing in the church, though nominally a member, is what the devil has made him, a mere cipher there. A hundred such would not make a church; a thousands ciphers will not make thye number one. Every way they turn they seem to be nothing. There is more trouble to get them to fill their seats in the church than their services are worth.

"The work of the Spirit. -- The word of faith, or the Scriptures, will ultimately overcome the world. The whole book of God is a birth of the spirit, for holy men of old spake as they were moved by the Holy Spirit. I consider every good sermon, exhortation, or prayer to God, a birth of the spirit; the bringing forth of those gifts the spirit bestowed on His church for the benefit of mankind."

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[From James B. Taylor, Virginia Baptist Ministers, 1859, pp. 225-238. Scanned and formatted by Jim Duvall.]

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