I do not remember the name of the person who called me about Hancock's Chapel (an early Methodist chapel visited by Bishop Francis Asbury). For that person and any others who are interested, here is a primary source: Reminiscences of Rev. Henry Boehm (Boehm, Henry. Reminiscences Historical and Biographical of Sixty-Four years in the Ministry. New York: Carlton & Porter, 1865. Copied from microfilm copy on interlibrary loan from UNC-Wilmington.) P. 266: On Tuesday, November 21 [1809], we stayed with William Gassaway, a noble old preacher, universally esteemed. He joined as early as 1788. He was William Capers's first colleague. We had a very severe snow-storm. It was cold and chilly and we reached Waxsaw and put up with Robert Hancock. Almost every prominent Methodist man had a meeting-house named after him; so we had a "Hancock Chapel." On Saturday I preached in this chapel on John xiii, 35, and Brother William Capers followed with a charming exhortation. The bishop [Francis Asbury] preached the next day in the chapel. 'The next day on the south side of the Catawba River, piloted by Brother William Capers, who is a promising young man of about twenty.' So I wrote over fifty years ago. We had a delightful interview with Capers at Robert Hancock's, as well as the privilege of traveling with him many days. William Capers in his autobiography (pp. 113-115) has described what took place at Robert Hancock's and made such honorable mention of Bishop Asbury and his traveling companion that I transcribe it for my work now the writer in his grave: 'At the close of the year 1809 Bishop Asbury passed through my circuit on his way to conference, and it was agreed for me to meet him at Waxsaw (General Jackson's birthplace), and attend him along a somewhat circuitous route to Camden. I met him at the house of that most estimable man and worthy local preacher, Robert Hancock, who had been more than a friend to me, even a father, from the beginning. The bishop was then accompanied by the Rev. Henry Boehm as his traveling companion. . . .This was the last of my itinerant year on the Wateree Circuit; and as I have had quite enough of the disagreeable in my account of it, I will end the chapter with an anecdote of my first night and last night on the trip with the bishop. I met him when a heavy snow had just fallen, and the north-west wind blowing hard made it extremely cold. The snow had not been expected, and our host was out of wood, so that we had to use what had been picked up from under the snow, and was damp and incombustible. Our bed-room was aloft, with a fireplace in it, and plenty of wood; but how to make the wood burn was the question. I had been at work blowing and blowing long before bed-time; till to my mortification, the aged bishop came up, and there was still no fire to warm him. '"O Billy, sugar,'" said he as he approached the fireplace, '"never mind it; give it up; we will get warm in bed. And then stepping to his bed as if to ascertain the certain of it, and lifting the bed-clothes, he continuted, "'Yes, yes, give it up, sugar; blankets are plenty.'" So I gave it up, thinking the play of my pretty strong lungs might disturb his devotions, for he was instantly on his knees. 'Well, thought I, this is too bad. But how for the morning? Bishop Asbury rises at four - two hours before day - and what shall I do for a fire then? No light wood and nothing dry. But it occurred to me the coals put in the midst of the simmering wood might dry it sufficiently to keep fire and prepare it for kindling in the morning; so I gave it up. But then how might I be sure of waking early enough to kindle a fire at four o'clock? My usual hour had been six. And to meet this difficulty I concluded to wrap myself in my overcoat, and lie on the bed without disturbing the bed clothes. In this predicament I was not likely to over sleep myself on so cold a night; but there might be danger of my not knowing which hour it was when I happened to awake. Nap after nap was dreamed away as I lay shivering in the cold, till I thought it must be four o'clock; and then creeping softly to the chimney, and applying the breath of my live bellows, I held my watch to the reluctant coals to see the hour. I had just made it out, when the same soft accents saluted me: '" Go to bed, sugar, it is hardly three o'clock yet.' "This may do for the first night, and the last was as follows: It had rained heavily through the night, and we slept near enough to the shingles for the benefit of the composing power of the pattering upon them. It was past four o'clock and the bishop was away, but 'Billy Sugar' lay fast asleep; so he whispered to Brother Boehm to not disturb me, and the fire was made. They were dressed, had had their devotions, and were at their books before I was awake. This seemed shockingly out of order, and my confusion was complete as, waking and springing out of bed, I saw them sitting before a blazing fire. I could scarcely say good-morning and the bishop, as if he might have been offended by my neglect, pretended not to hear it. Boehm, who knew him better, smiled pleasantly as I whispered in his ear, "Why didn't you wake me?" The bishop seemed to hear this, and closing his book and turning to be with a look of downright mischief, had an anecdote for me. '"I was traveling,"" said he, '" quite lately, and came to a circuit where we had one of our good boys. O he was so good! and the was weather was as cold as it was the other night at Brother Hancock's, and as I was Bishop Asbury, he got up in the bitter cold at three o'clock to make a fire for me; and what do you think? He slept last night till six.'" And he tickled at it as if he might have been a boy himself. And this was that Bishop Asbury whom I have heard called austere, a man confessedly who never shed a tear who seldom laughed. . ."