Within the bounds of my district lived a local preacher, a small, kind-hearted, and pleasant man. He was known for his piety and was considered a good and useful preacher. However, his wife was his complete opposite in nearly every way—except that she was believed to be virtuous. She was high-tempered, domineering, quarrelsome, and fiercely opposed to religion.
She refused to prepare his clothes when he went out to preach and would not allow him to say a blessing at the table or pray with the family. When he tried to pray, she would cause as much disturbance as possible—turning over chairs while he read, sang, or prayed. If nothing else worked, she would even grab a cat and throw it in his face while he was kneeling in prayer.
The poor man was tormented nearly to the point of despair. He had invited several preachers to his home, hoping they could talk to her and calm her down, but it was all in vain. She cursed them to their faces and raged like a madwoman.
He had often urged me to visit, but to be honest, I was reluctant. I felt deep pity for him, as did everyone who knew his situation. But finally, after much insistence, I agreed to go home with him one evening, planning to stay the night.
As soon as we arrived, I could tell she was furious. It was as if the devil himself was in her, as big as an alligator. I made up my mind right then about how I would handle the situation.
After supper, her husband gently said, “Come, wife, stop what you’re doing and let us have prayer.”
At that, she exploded in anger. “I will have none of your praying around me!” she shouted.
I tried to speak to her calmly, reasoning with her, but the more I spoke, the angrier she became. She cursed me bitterly.
At that moment, I put on a stern look and said firmly, “Madam, if you were my wife, I would break you of your bad ways—or I would break your neck.”
“The devil I would!” she shouted. “You’re a fine Christian, aren’t you?” Then she let loose a volley of curses that were almost unbearable.
“Be still,” I said firmly. “We must and will have prayer.”
But she swore we would not.
“If you don’t calm down and behave yourself,” I warned, “I’ll put you out of doors.”
At this, she clenched her fists and swore, “I’m half alligator and half snapping turtle, and it’ll take a better man than you to put me out!”
We were in a small cabin, not far from the open door. Without hesitation, I grabbed her by the arm, swung her around in a circle, and sent her right out the door.
She sprang up, tore at her hair, and cursed with a fury I had rarely seen matched. The door was built strong to keep out hostile Indians, so I shut it tight, barred it, and went to prayer. Though my emotions were hard to describe, I was determined to win this battle or die trying.
Outside, she raged and screamed, but inside, I lifted my voice in a spiritual song, trying to drown her out. The five or six little children, terrified, ran and hid under the beds. Poor things—they were scared nearly to death.
I kept singing, and she kept raging, until finally, she exhausted herself and could hardly catch her breath. At last, she fell silent, then knocked at the door.
“Mr. Cartwright, please let me in,” she said.
“Will you behave yourself if I let you in?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” she answered.
Keeping my guard up, I opened the door, took her by the hand, and led her inside. She sat near the fireplace, drenched in sweat and pale as death.
After a moment, she sighed and said, “Oh, what a fool I am!”
“Yes,” I said, “one of the biggest fools I have ever seen in my life. And now, you must repent of this, or you will surely go to the devil in the end.”
She sat in silence.
Turning to the children, I said, “Come out now. Your mother won’t hurt you.” Then I looked at her husband and said, “Brother C., let us pray again.”
We knelt down, and both of us prayed. This time, she sat quietly, as gentle as a lamb.
And now, dear reader, though this was one of the hardest cases I had ever encountered, I must give glory to God. In less than six months after this battle with the devil, this woman was soundly converted. If ever there was a changed soul, it was hers. As her children grew, I believe all of them found salvation, and the entire family became a happy and godly household. She, who had once been so bold for the cause of the wicked one, became just as fearless in the cause of Christ.
Taken from Chapter 20 of Peter Cartwright's biography.
