At night great fires were built on either side of the pavilion and in front an area a hundred feet square was cleared and covered with straw, on which the congregation sat and listened in rapt attention to his powerful exhortations. What he said had a holy influence and burned its way into the hearts of the most hardened of his hearers. After he had been talking many began to weep softly, then rose to their feet and with eyes and hands upraised towards heaven prayed in a low voice for forgiveness; the more excitable, or as some said, those who most needed pardon, walked down the aisle, which was roped off through the center, to a small space just in front of the pavilion and were there taken with “the jerks.” A man known as Red Jenkins, one of the toughest and most notorious characters in that section of the state, and who had been tried several times for murder (the charge was killing and robbing travelers who stopped at his station), but had never been convicted—though each jury, had it been in their power, would have rendered the Scotch verdict—had for several years been badly crippled by rheumatism and hobbled about from settlement to settlement on crutches. On the first night of the pavilion meetings he staggered forward and was seized by violent paroxysms, at the end of which he lay as one dead. Calvin Campbell came down from the platform, tossed Jenkins’ crutches into the fire and lifting the man laid him on the floor of the pavilion. In a little while he arose, and walking down the aisle, resumed his former seat. When told about his crutches he replied: “I do not need them now; my body was bent and shriveled to accommodate a crooked, shrunken soul.” Another night, just as the meeting was beginning, a young girl running behind the pavilion, fearful that some one would take her seat near her mother, was jostled and thrown into the edge of one of the fires. Her homespun dress blazed up, and enveloped in the flames she ran to the edge of the pavilion, where she was caught by Calvin Campbell and wrapped in the folds of his great coat. He laid her as one dead on the floor. The crowd began to gather around, but he said: “Take your seats, the girl is not dead, but has swooned. While she lies thus, we will ask God, who shields innocence from harm and who takes care of his lambs, to make her whole.” While all stood in silent, prayerful reverence, he asked God to restore the girl sound in body and cleansed of sin to her mother. All, even the wicked and curious, joined in this prayer. When it was finished, without so much as looking towards the girl, he began the regular service with song; and as there were less than a dozen books among them, he read the lines aloud. At its close the girl sat up, wrapped about in the great coat and smiled at her mother. Turning to her he said: “Little one, keep the coat about you and go sit with your mother.”