I was born at Gorham, Maine, November 26, 1827. My parents, Robert and Eunice Harmon, were for many years residents of the state. In early life they became earnest and devoted members of the Methodist Episcopal Church. In that church they held prominent connections and labored for the conversion of sinners, and to build up the cause of God, for a period of forty years. During this time they had the joy of seeing their children, eight in number, all converted and gathered into the fold of Christ. Their decided advent views, however, led to the separation of the family from the Methodist church in the year 1843.
The Accident
At the age of nine years, an accident happened to me, which was to affect my whole life. In company with my twin sister and one of our schoolmates, I was crossing a common in the city of Portland, ME, when a girl about thirteen years of age, becoming angry at some trifle, followed us, threatening to strike us. Our parents had taught us never to contend with anyone, but if we were in danger of being abused or injured, to hasten home at once. We were doing this with all speed, but the girl followed us as rapidly with a stone in her hand. I turned my head to see how far she was behind us, and as I did so, she threw the stone and it hit me on the nose. I was stunned by the blow, and fell senseless to the ground.
When consciousness returned, I found myself in a merchant's store, my garments covered with blood, which was pouring from my nose and streaming over the floor. A kind stranger offered to take me home in his carriage, but not realizing my weakness, I told him that I preferred to walk rather than soil his carriage. Those present were not aware that my injury was so serious, and allowed me to go; but after walking only a few rods, I grew faint and dizzy. My twin sister and my schoolmate carried me home about one half mile.
I have no recollection of anything further for some time after the accident. My mother said that I noticed nothing, but lay in a stupor for three weeks. No one but herself thought it possible for me to recover; but for some reason she felt that I would live. A kind neighbor, who had been very much interested in my behalf, at one time thought me to be dying. She wished to purchase a burial robe for me, but my mother said, "Not yet;" for something told her that I would not die. The neighbors finally did make the robe but it was never used by me.
When I aroused to consciousness, it seemed to me that I had been asleep. I did not remember the accident, and was ignorant for the cause of my illness. A great cradle had been made for me, and in it I lay for many weeks. As I began to gain a little strength, my curiosity was aroused by overhearing those who came to visit me say, "What a pity!""I should not have known her," etc. I asked for a looking glass, but at first was refused. When I was allowed to have it, I was shocked at the change in my appearance. Every feature of my face seemed altered. The bone of my nose had been broken, and had to be removed; this caused the disfigurement. Friends who visited us looked with pity upon me, and advised my parents to prosecute the father of the girl. But my mother was for peace; she said that if such a course would bring me back my health and natural looks, there would be something gained; but as this was impossible, it was best not to make enemies by following such advice.
Physicians thought that a silver wire might be put in my nose to hold it in shape. This would have been very painful, and they feared it would be of little use, as I had lost so much blood and sustained such a severe shock that my recovery was very doubtful. Even if I revived, it was their opinion that I could live but a short time. I was reduced almost to a skeleton.
At the time of my misfortune, my father was absent in Georgia. When he returned, he embraced my brothers and sisters, and then inquired of me. I, timidly shrinking back, was pointed out by my mother, but my own father did not recognize me. It was hard for him to believe that I was his little Ellen whom he had left only a few months before a healthy, happy child. This cut my feelings deeply, but I tried to appear cheerful, though my heart seemed breaking.
Life a Burden
The thought of carrying my misfortune through life seemed to me insupportable. I could see no pleasure in my existence. I did not wish to live, and yet feared to die, for I was unprepared. When Christian friends visited the family, they would ask my mother if she had talked to me about dying. I overheard this, and it roused me, and I began to pray the Lord to prepare me for death. I desired to become a Christian, and prayed earnestly for the forgiveness of my sins. A peace of mind resulted. I loved every one, and felt desirous that all should have their sins forgiven, and love Jesus as I did.
I well remember one night. The snow was on the ground, and the heavens were lighted up, and the sky looked red and angry and seemed to open and shut, while the snow had the appearance of blood. The neighbors were very much frightened. Mother took me out of bed in her arms, and carried me to the window. I was happy, for I thought Jesus was coming, and I longed to see Him. My heart was full; I clapped my hands for joy, and thought my sufferings were ended. But I was disappointed; the singular appearance faded away from the heavens, and the next morning the sun rose as usual.
A Bitter Lesson
I gained strength very slowly. As I became able to join play with my young friends, I was forced to learn the bitter lesson that one's personal appearance often makes a difference in the treatment he receives from his companions.
Many times in those childhood days I was made to feel my misfortune keenly. My feelings were unusually sensitive, and caused me great unhappiness. Often with wounded pride, mortified and wretched in spirit, I sought a lonely place, and gloomily pondered over the trails I was daily doomed to bear.
The relief of tears was denied me. I could not weep readily, as could my twin sister; though my heart was heavy, and ached as if it were breaking, I could not shed a tear. I often felt that it would greatly relieve me to weep away my sorrow. Sometimes the kindly sympathy of friends banished my gloom, and removed, for a time, the leaden weight that oppressed my heart.
How vain and empty the pleasures of earth looked to me then! How changeable the friendships of my young companions! Yet these little schoolmates were not unlike the majority of the great world's people. A pretty face, a handsome dress, attracts them; but let misfortune take these away, and the fragile friendship grows cold and broken. But when I turned to my Saviour, He comforted me.
Efforts for an Education
My health seemed to be hopelessly impaired. For two years I could not breathe through my nose. I was able to attend school but little; for it seemed impossible for me to study and to retain what I learned. The same girl who was the cause of my misfortune, was appointed monitor by our teacher, and it was among her duties to assist me in my writing and other lessons. She always seemed sincerely sorry for the great injury she had done me, although I was careful not to remind her of it. She was tender and patient with me, and seemed sad and thoughtful as she saw me laboring under serious disadvantages to get an education. As I endeavored to bend my mind to my studies, the letters on the page would run together, great drops of perspiration would stand on my brow, and a faintness and dizziness would come over me. I had a serious cough, and my whole system seemed debilitated.
My hand trembled so that I made but little progress in writing, and could get no farther than the simple copies in coarse hand. It was not until I began to have visions that I could write so anyone could read it. One day the impression came to me as strong as if some one had spoken it, "Write, write your experiences." I took up a pen, and found my hand perfectly steady, and from that day to this it has never failed me. The other hand has given out so that I could not use it, but this one never has.
Before my nose was broken, I had a clear and resonant voice and enjoyed reading. In school the teacher would often ask me to read the lesson for the rest to repeat, and many times I was called downstairs to the primary room to read their lesson to the little children. I could not understand why I was never called on in this way.
Years afterward, as my husband and I were riding on the cars, I was reading him an article he had written, and we were correcting it. Before long a lady touched me, saying, "Are you Ellen Harmon?"
"Yes, but how did you know me?" I replied.
"Why," she said, "I knew you by your voice. I attended school on Brackett Street in Portland, and you used to come and read our lessons to us. We could understand them better when you read than when any one else did."
But years after my nose was broken I could not breathe through it, and was obliged to learn to speak and sing with the use of abdominal muscles. This, I have since learned, is the correct method of using the voice, as it relieves the throat from any strain in either speaking or singing.
One time my husband's eldest brother John was visiting us, and he asked me to sing. "Won't you sing that hymn, 'When Faint and Weary Toiling?'" he said
"Can't you sing it, Ellen?" my husband said.
"I don't know but I can, if you will unite with me," I answered.
So he did, and we sang. Brother John looked at me very earnestly, and finally, when we had finished, he said, "Where did you get that voice? I never heard anything like it."
When I was only about eleven years old, I heard a minister read the account of Peter's imprisonment, as recorded in the Book of Acts; and he read in so impressive a manner that the details of the story and all their reality seemed to be passing before my eyes. So deep was the impression made upon my mind that I have never forgotten it. When, a few years afterward, I was speaking in general meetings, I met this man again; and at the close of my discourse he asked, "How did you get that wonderful voice?" I told him that the Lord had given it to me. (When I began my public labors I had no voice, except when I stood before the congregation to speak. At other times I could not speak above a whisper.) "And," I added, "I have often thought of what you said to the people when some one asked you how you became a minister. You told them that your friends said you could never be a minister, because you could not speak properly; but you went away by yourself, and talked to the trees in the woods; and then when driving oxen, you would talk to them just as if you were in a meeting. 'This,' you said, 'is the way I learned to speak in public.'"
My teachers advised me to leave school, and not pursue my studies further until my health should improve.
Three years later I made another effort to obtain an education, by entering a seminary for young ladies in Portland. But on attempting to resume my studies, my health again failed, and it became apparent that if I remained in school, it would be at the expense of my life. It was the hardest struggle of my young days to yield to my feebleness, and decide that I must give up my studies, and relinquish the cherished hope of gaining an education. I did not attend school after I was twelve years old.
My ambition to become a scholar had been very great, and when I pondered over my disappointed hopes, and the thought I was to be an invalid for life, I was unreconciled to my lot, and at times murmured against the providence of God in thus afflicting me. The future stretched out before me dark and cheerless.
Had I opened my mind to my mother, she might have instructed, soothed, and encouraged me; but I concealed my troubled feeling from my family and friends, fearing that they could not understand me. The happy confidence in my Saviour's love that I had enjoyed during my illness was gone. My prospect of worldly enjoyment was blighted, and heaven seemed closed against me.
After I struggled with this unreconciled spirit for days, the tempter came in a new guise, and increased my distress by condemning me for having allowed such rebellious thought to take possession of my mind. My conscience was perplexed, and I knew no way to extricate myself from the labyrinth in which I was wondering.
At times my sense of guilt and responsibility to God lay so heavy upon my soul that I could not sleep, but lay awake for hours, thinking of my lost condition and what was best for me to do. The consequence of my unfortunate accident again assumed gigantic proportions in my mind. I seemed to be cut off from all chance of earthly happiness, and doomed to continual disappointment and mortification. Even the tender sympathy of my friends pained me, for my pride rebelled against being in a condition to excite their pity.
I had the highest reverence for ministers of the gospel and for all Christians, but felt that they were so far removed from me, so much nobler and purer than I was, that I dared not approach them on the subject that engrossed my thoughts. Religion seemed too holy and sacred for me to obtain. I was ashamed to reveal the lost and wretched condition of my heart. No one conversed with me on the subject of my soul's salvation, and no one prayed with me. So I locked my secret agony within my heart, and did not seek the advice of experienced Christians as I should have done.