The Minute Man of the Frontier Part 8

I took the poor fellow to the saloons, to show them their work. They did not thank me for this; but we found the man, and he was "sent up"

for ninety days.

Soon after this in my visits I found a new family, and I wish I could describe them. The old grandmother, weighing about two hundred pounds, was a sight,--short, stocky, with piercing eyes, and hair as white as wool. She welcomed me in when she heard that I was "the minister," and brought out her hymn-book, and had me sing and pray with her. She belonged to one of the numerous sects in Pennsylvania. She said it was a real treat to her, as she was too fleshy to get to church, and with her advancing years found it hard to walk. I found out afterward, however, that this did not apply to side-shows. From her I learned the young man's history. He had lost his parents when young; but not before they had beaten his senses out, and left him nearly deaf; and he was looked upon as one not "right sharp." Afterwards he was concerned in the murder of an old man, and was sent to State prison for life. He was brother to the old woman's daughter-in-law, an innocent looking body. There were several children, bright as dollars.

The old lady informed me that she had another son in town whom I must visit. I did so; and found him living with his family in a little house (?), the front of which touched the edge of the bank, the back perched on two posts, with a deep ravine behind, where the water ebbed and flowed as the dams were raised and lowered. I made some remarks on the unhealthiness of the location; and the man said, "It's curious, but you can smell it stronger farther off than you can close by!" I thought, what an ill.u.s.tration of the insidious approaches of sin! He was right, so far as the senses were concerned; but his nose had become used to it. I was not surprised to be called soon after to preach a funeral sermon there. One of the daughters, a bright girl of twelve years, had died of malignant diphtheria. It was a piteous sight. We dared not use the church, and the house was too small to turn round in, what with bedsteads, cook-stove, kitchen-table, and coffin. On the hillside, with logs for seats, we held the service.

It was touching to see the mute grief of some of the little ones; one elder sister could with difficulty be restrained from kissing the dead. She was a fine girl in spite of her surroundings, and in her grief, in a moment of confidence, said her uncle had murdered a man down South, and it preyed on her mind; but she was afraid to tell the authorities, for the uncle had threatened to kill her if she told.

This confession was made to the woman she was working for; and though I did not think it unlikely, I treated it as gossip. But with the facts related in the former part of this chapter before me, I have no doubt that she spoke the truth. One murderer has gone to meet the Judge of all the earth; the other is in State prison for life.

The c.o.c.kle and chess are gone; but the wheat (the children) are left,--bright, young, pliant, strong,--what shall we do with them? Let them grow more c.o.c.kle instead of wheat, and chess instead of barley?

Or shall they be of the wheat to be gathered into the Master's garner?

If you desire the latter, pray ye the Lord of the harvest that he will send more laborers into the harvest.

I once saw an old farmer in Canada who offered ten dollars for every thistle that could be found on his hundred acres. I have seen him climb a fence to uproot thistles in his neighbor's field. When asked why he did that extra work, he said, because the seeds would fly over to _his_ farm. Was he not a wise man?

Perhaps no greater danger threatens our Republic to-day than the neglect of the children--millions of school age that are not in school, and in the great cities thousands who cannot find room. Is it any wonder that we have thirty millions of our people not in touch with the church?

XIV.

CHIPS FROM OTHER LOGS.

In the Rev. Harvey Hyde's "Reminiscences of Early Days," occurs the following interesting notes:--

"In the spring of 1842 I made a horseback journey across the State (Michigan), from Allegan to Saginaw, up the Grand River Valley, past where now Lansing boasts its glories, but where then in the dense forests not a human dwelling was to be seen for many miles, on to Fentonville. Coming on Sat.u.r.day night to a lonely Ma.s.sachusetts tavern-keeper, I found a hearty welcome to baked beans and brown bread, and preached on the Sabbath in his barroom to his a.s.sembled neighbors--the first minister ever heard in the neighborhood. Arriving at Saginaw, after a ride for miles through swamps, with from six to ten inches of water, sometimes covered with ice, at the close of a March day I found myself on the east side of the broad river, with not a human being or dwelling in sight, darkness already fallen, and only twinkling lights on the other side. It seemed a cold welcome; but after much shouting and waiting, kind friends appeared. Man and horse were cared for, and two pleasant years were spent there.

"My nearest ministerial neighbor of any denomination was twenty-five miles off on one side, and as far as the North Pole on the other. To a funeral or a wedding a fifteen-mile ride was a frequent occurrence.

Many scenes come back to memory, some provocative of sadness, some of mirth. We were raising the frame of our new church-building one Monday afternoon, when a stranger came with a call to ride twenty-five miles alone through an unknown wood-road without a clearing for sixteen miles, to cross the Kalamazoo River by ferry at midnight, with the ferryman asleep on the other bank, and the mosquitoes abundant and hungry--to preach, and commit to the grave the bodies of eight men, women, and children who had been drowned on the Sabbath by the upsetting of a pleasure-boat. Such a sight have my eyes never looked upon, where all felt that G.o.d had rebuked their Sabbath-breaking. This was near Lake Michigan.

"Pa.s.sing across the State, exchanging one Sabbath with Rev. O. S.

Thompson of St. Clair, after retiring to rest for the night, I was aroused by a cry from Mrs. Thompson; and descending with speed, found that, hearing steps on her piazza, she had discovered the door ajar, and a huge bear confronting her on the outside. She slammed the door in his face, and cried for help. I looked outside, examined the pig-pen, to find all safe; no bear was visible. Returning to bed again, I was dropping to sleep, when a more startling shriek called me to look out of the window; and I saw the bear just leaping the fence, and making for the woods. This time he had placed his paws on the window at Mrs. Thompson's bedside, and was looking her in the face; and the prints of his muddy feet remained there many days. On the following Monday we were greeted by a bride and groom, who, with their friends, had crossed the river from Canada to get married. One being a Catholic, and the other a Protestant, the priest would not marry them without a fee of five dollars, which they thought too much. I married them, and received the munificent sum of seventy-five cents.

"I have had too sorrowful proof that prayers, even from the pulpit, are not always answered. On one occasion our house of wors.h.i.+p was borrowed for a funeral by another denomination. Going late, I slipped in behind the leader at prayer as quietly as possible, to hear the pet.i.tion that 'G.o.d would make the minister of this church a perfect gentleman, and surround his church with a halo of _cheveau-de-frise_.'

The first I am sure was not answered; I am not sure about the others.

"Of personal hair-breadth escapes from sudden death my wife kept a record until she got to fifteenthly, and then stopped. Twice from drowning, twice from being run over by a loaded wagon, the last time the hind wheel stopping exactly at my head, but utterly spoiling my best silk hat, and showing the blessing of a good stout head."

The place where this man reined up his horse in the swamp, and had to call for a ferry, and where neither dwelling nor human being was in sight, is to-day for twenty miles almost a continuous city along the river bank. Everything is changed except the black flies and mosquitoes, which are as numerous as ever. Now, one other thing, and a curious fact too. You might dig all day and not find a worm to bait your hook, where to-day a spadeful of earth has worms enough to last the day; and this is true of all new countries. I have sent thirty-five miles for a pint of worms--all the way from St. Ignace to Petoskey; and however much the worms may have had to do with the vegetable mould of the earth, it is only where human beings live that the common angle-worm is found.

The incident of the wedding calls to mind one I heard of by a justice of the peace, a rough drinking-man, who before the advent of our minute-man performed all the marriage ceremonies. A young couple found him at the saloon. His first question was, "Want to be married?"--"Yes."-- "Married, two dollars, please,--nuff said."

A few miles above this place the first minister who went in was so frightened the next morning that he took to his heels, leaving his valise behind. The landlady, a Roman Catholic, put the boys up to pretend they were going to shoot him, and so fired their revolvers over his head; he felt it was no place for him, and away he went.

Indeed, it was as well for him that he did go; for often, after they were drunk, what was commenced in fun ended in real earnest. However, I will say this for the frontiersman, rough as he often is, he respects a true man, but is quick to show profound contempt for any man of the "Miss Nancy" order.

Ireland is not the only country that suffers from absentee landlords.

The difference in the lumber-camps is often determined by the foreman.

I have known places where the owners of a large tract of land were clergymen, and the foreman was an infidel. His camp was a fearful place on Christmas Eve. Twelve gallons of whiskey worked the men up until they acted like demons. In the morning men were found with fingers and thumbs bitten off, eyes gouged out, and in some few cases maimed for life. In other places I have known a good foreman or boss to hitch up the teams and bring enough men down on Sunday evening to half fill the little mission church.

There ought to be in all the lumber-camps a first-cla.s.s library, and suitable amus.e.m.e.nts for the men; for when a few days of wet weather come together, there is nothing to hold them, and away they go in companies of six, seven, and a dozen, and meet with others from all directions, making for the village and the saloons; and then rioting and drunkenness make a pandemonium of a place not altogether heavenly to start with. I have known men who were religious who had to retire to the forest to pray, or be subjected to the outrageous conduct of their fellow workmen.

One man whom I knew kicked his wife out-of-doors because she objected to having dances in their home. She was his second wife, and was about to become a mother, but died, leaving her little one to the tender mercies of a brutal father. I remember preaching a rather harsh sermon at the funeral; but some years after I found the sermon had a mission.

I met the man some hundreds of miles north. When he saw me he said he had never forgotten the sermon, and added, to my surprise, that he was a Christian now, and living with his first wife!

How men can lead such lives, involving the misery of others, and often compa.s.sing their death, and afterwards live happily, I cannot understand, except for the fact that often for generations these people have been out of the reach of Christian civilization, and so far as morals are concerned have been practically heathen. Yet, after all, I am not sure but that, in the day of judgment, they will be judged less harshly than those who have neglected to send the gospel to them.

XV.

A TRIP IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN.

I had been exploring nearly every part of the Upper Peninsula where there was any chance of an opening for Christian work; had visited thirteen churches, and held meetings with most of them; had a few conversions and two baptisms. I found the villages and towns on the Chicago and North-Western Railway nearly all supplied. There was one place with 1,500 people, and another with 2,000. The former had a Baptist church with about twenty members, and a Methodist Episcopal with about fifteen. The Baptists were building. The rest were more or less Lutheran, Catholic, and Nothingarian.

Surely there is need of mission work here, _but_--There are large new-fas.h.i.+oned mills here, with forty years' cutting ahead of them at the rate of fifty million feet of lumber per year. I had excellent audiences here and at Thompson, six miles away, where there was no church. Between these two places is Perryville, with 200 people and no church. Both are lumbering-towns.

Another town of importance is Iron Mountain, which then had 2,000 people; two Methodist churches, one Swedish, the other English-speaking.

The place was alive with men and full of sin. Where are the right men to send to such places? If one sits in his study and consults statistics, they are plenty; but when you come down to actual facts, they are not to be found. "The Christian League of Connecticut" has much truth in it, but not all the truth. Without doubt their unwise distribution has much to do with "the lack of ministers;" but it is still a lamentable fact that the laborers _are_ few. Not with us alone. The oft-repeated saying that "the Methodist church has a place for every man, and a man for every church," is to be taken with a grain of salt. I meet men every week who tell me they have five, seven, nine, and even eleven charges. We have a thousand just such places.

Now, if churches will put up with the fifth, seventh, ninth, or eleventh part of a man, they can have "a church for every minister, and a minister for every church." This unchristian way of pus.h.i.+ng and scrambling in our little villages goes a long way to explain the dearth of men on the frontier; and the seizing on "strategic points"

in a new country often presents a sad spectacle.

I was much perplexed about one place. Our minister was the first on the ground; the people voted for a union church and for him; yet two other churches organized. When I visited the place I found our brother with a parsonage half built. There was nothing but the bare studding inside--no plaster, winter coming on, and his little ones coughing with colds caught by the exposure. Then, to crown all, the house was found to be on the wrong lot, which brought the building to a stand-still; after that two other denominations rushed up a building--one only a sh.e.l.l, but dedicated. There was only a handful of hearers, and our minister preached more than two-thirds of the sermons there. We had the best people with us; and yet it was plain to me there was one church more than there ought to be. Had we not been first there, and things as they were, I should say, "Arise, let us go hence!"

I am constantly asked, "When are you going to send us a man?" and we have places where there is only one minister for two villages. Ah, if the pastors hanging around our city centres only knew how the people flock to hear the Word in these new places, surely they would say, "Here am I, Lord; send me."

In one place I went to, there were two women who walked eight miles to hear the sermon. One of them was the only praying person for miles around, and for some years back the only one to conduct a funeral service, to pray, or to preach. At this place there was an old lady who came nine miles every Sunday on foot, and sometimes carried her grandchild. Think of that, you city girls in French-heeled boots! In another place of two hundred people, where there was no church, a little babe died. The mother was a Swede, only a little while out.

Would you believe it, there was not a man at the funeral! Women nailed the little coffin-lid down, and women prayed, read the Scriptures, and lowered the little babe into a grave half filled with water.

In another new settlement I visited, they were so far from railway or stage that they buried a man in a coffin made of two flour-barrels, and performed the funeral rites as best they could. But these people have great hearts--bigger than their houses. When a brother minister was trying to find a place for me to stay, a man said, "Let him come with me."--"Have you room?"--"Lots of it." So I went. In a little clearing I found the most primitive log house I ever saw; but the "lots of room"--that was out-of-doors. The man and his wife told me that when they came there it was raining; so they stripped some bark from a tree, and, leaning it against a fallen log, they crept underneath; and for three days it rained. The fourth being Sunday and a fine day, the settlers mocked them for not building. On Monday and Tuesday it rained again; "but we were real comfortable; weren't we, Mary?" said the man.

Then he and Mary built the house together. There was only one room and one bed; but they took off the top of the bedding, and put one tick on the floor. "That's for me," I thought. Not a bit of it. I was to have the place of honor. So, hanging some sheets on strings stretched across the room, they soon part.i.tioned off the bed for me. Then, after reading and prayers, the man said, "Now, any time you are ready for bed, Elder, you can take that bed." But how to get there? First I went out and gave them a chance; but they did not take it. I thought perhaps they would go and give me a chance; but they did not. So I began to disrobe. I took a long while taking off coat and vest; then slowly came the collar and neck-tie; next came off my boots and stockings. Now, I thought, they will surely step out; but no; they talked and laughed away like two children. Slipping behind the sheet, and fancying I was in another room, I balanced myself as well as I could on the feather bed, and managed to get off the rest of my clothes, got into bed, and lay looking at the moonbeams as they glanced through the c.h.i.n.ks of the logs, and thinking of New England with her silk bed-quilts and bath-rooms, till, as I mused, sleep weighed down my drowsy eyelids, and New England mansions and Michigan log huts melted into one, and they both became one Bethel with the angels of G.o.d ascending and descending.

I visited Lake Linden, and found the people ready for organization as soon as they could have a pastor. A brother had just left for this field; and I thought it safe to say that we should have a self-supporting church there at no distant day. We did. While staying there a man came after me to baptize two children. I went, and one would think he had been suddenly transferred to Germany. Great preparations had been made. I noticed a large bowl of lemons cut up, and the old ladies in their best attire. I was requested to give them a baptismal certificate, and to sign the witnesses' names, as they said that was done by the minister. It was a delicate way of telling me they could not write.

But that was not the strangest part of the ceremony. The father and mother stood behind the witnesses, the latter being two men and two women. The women held the children until all was ready, then handed them to the men, who held them during baptism. I preached to them a short sermon of five minutes or so, and then, when I had written the certificate, each witness deposited a dollar on the table. The father was about to hand me five dollars; but I made him give four of it to the children. They would not take a cent of the witness money; that would be "bad luck," they said. It was a new experience to me. The people had no Bible in the house. As I had left mine at the village, I had to use what I had in my heart. Here again, I thought, what work for a colporteur?

A great work might be done by one or two men who could travel all the time with Bibles and other good books, and preach where the opportunity offered. We might not see the result, but it would be just as certain; and though the people might not stay here, they will be somewhere. There are many places where neither railway, steamboat, nor stage ever reaches, and yet the people have made and are making homes there. They went up the rivers on rafts, and worked their way through the wilderness piecemeal. Missionary Thurston carried his parlor stove slung on a pole between himself and another man.

At one place, while preaching, I noticed a man fairly glaring at me.

At first I thought he was an intensely earnest Christian, but he "had a devil." After meeting he told the people, "If that man talks like that to-night, I'll answer him right out in meeting." He came, and behaved himself. Some time after he had to leave town on account of a stabbing-affray, and I lost sight of him for a while. Long after I was in another place, one hundred and twenty miles away; and while talking with our missionary there, I saw a man coming from a choir-practice. I said, "Is that their minister?"

"No; he is our new school-teacher."

"Why," I said, "that is the very man I was talking to you about, who was so wroth with the sermon."