The Minute Man of the Frontier Part 10

XVIII.

A SUNDAY ON SUGAR ISLAND.

Sugar Island is about twelve miles from Sault Ste. Marie. It is twenty-four miles long and from three to twelve wide. Its shape is somewhat like an irregularly formed pear. Seven-tenths of its people are Roman Catholic; quite a number of them came from Hudson's Bay, and what others call a terrible winter is to them quite mild.

One Scotchman, who lived there thirty years, had never seen a locomotive or been on board of a steamboat, although numbers of the latter might be seen daily pa.s.sing his house all summer long,--little tugs drawing logs, and the great steamers of the Canadian Pacific Railway, with their powerful engines, and lighted by electricity. He came by way of Hudson's Bay, which accounts for his never having seen a locomotive; and he rather prided himself on never having been on board a steamboat. Like many of the trappers of an early day, he married an Indian woman. Quite a number of the descendants of these old pioneers live on the island. Some of them formed part of Brother Scurr's membership and congregation; one of them was a deacon, and a good one too.

But now for our journey. It was eight miles to our first appointment, and we went by water. Mrs. Scurr and the two children, with a little maid, made up our company, so that our boat was well filled. My hands, not used to rowing, soon gave out, and Brother Scurr had to do nearly all of that work. It was a hot, bright morning in the latter part of June--a lovely day--and we soon pa.s.sed down the river into Lake George, and after two hours' steady pulling, made a landing opposite a log house just vacated by the settlers for one more convenient.

This was our sanctuary for the morning. Here we found a mixed company--settlers from Canada, "the States," Chippewas, etc., men, women, and children. Some of them came four, five, and eight miles; some in boats, some on foot. One old Indian was there who did not know a word of English, but sat listening as intently as if he took it all in.

After the sermon, nearly all present partook of the Lord's Supper.

There were not so many there as usual; for one of the friends had just lost a little child by diphtheria, and two more lay sick; and such is the difficulty of communication that it was buried before Brother Scurr had heard of its death. This kept many away.

We now took to our boat again, and, after rowing three miles, thought we espied a beautiful place to dine; but we had reckoned without our host. Mosquitoes and their cousins, the black flies, were holding their annual camp-meeting, and about the time we landed were in the midst of a praise service. It was at once broken up on our arrival; and, without even waiting for an invitation, they joined in our repast. This was considerably shortened, under the circ.u.mstances, and we were glad to take to the water again. A word about the insect world in this region. They are very different from those farther south, being as active in the daytime as in the night. Perhaps, because of shorter seasons, they have to be at it all the time to get in their work.

Another good pull at the oar and a little help from the wind brought us to our second stage, the Indian village. On the hillside stood the schoolhouse where we were to preach. The view from this spot was lovely. Lake George lay flashing in the sunshine, and beyond the great hills stretched as far as the eye could reach, and seemed in the distance to fold one over the other, like purple clouds, until both seemed mingled into one.

We had a somewhat different audience this time, only four white men being present; but all could understand English, except our old Indian friend of the morning, who was again present, and for whose benefit the chief's son arose after I was through, and interpreted the whole discourse, save a little part which he said he condensed as the time was short. I was both astonished and delighted. The people told me he could do so with a sermon an hour long, without a break. Most of the company, as a rule, understand both languages, and keep up a keen watch for mistakes. It is a wonderful feat. The man's gestures were perfect; he was a natural orator. I asked him if he did not find it much harder to follow some men than others. He said, "Ough! Some go big way round before they come to it; they awful hard to follow."

We took leave of our Indian friends with mingled feelings of hope as to what they might be, and of pity for what they were.

I noticed a lot of new fence-rails around the fields on the Canada side, and remarked that the people were industrious. "Oh, yes," said our brother; "because they burnt their fences last winter for firing."

Sure enough; what is the use of a fence in winter except to burn? And then the wood is well seasoned. One church over there bought nearly all the members of the other with flour and pork; and if you ask an Indian in that region to-day to unite with your church, he says, "How much flour you give me to join?" That's business.

But it was getting late, and we had four miles' rowing yet before us.

After a good hour's pull at the oars we reached the parsonage, just as the sun was setting in purple and gold behind the blue hills of Algoma. And there, as we sat watching the deepening twilight, brother Scurr told me some of the trials of missionary life in that region.

Often walking miles through the wet gra.s.s and low places, in the spring and fall, standing in his wet shoes while preaching, and then returning--in the winter on snow-shoes, following the trail (for there are no roads); in the summer, when the weather permits, by boat. When the snow was deep, and the wind was howling around his house, he had to leave his sick wife to keep his appointments miles away, and was almost afraid to enter the house on his return, for fear she had left him alone with his little ones in the wilderness. It was twelve miles to the nearest doctor on the mainland; and the only congenial companion for his wife was the missionary's wife on the Canadian side, a mile and a half away. This good sister knew something of the shady side of a missionary wife's life, as she lay for weeks hovering between life and death.

One touching little incident brother Scurr told me that deeply affected me. One dark night Deacon John Sebastian came and told him his daughter, a fine girl of some sixteen years of age, was dying, and wished to see him. The mother was a Roman Catholic; but the daughter, who attended our church with her father, had accepted Christ for her Saviour, and now desired to partake of the Lord's Supper with us ere she departed. There in the farmhouse at midnight the little company, with the mother joining, partook of the sacrament. All church distinctions were forgotten, as the Protestant father and Catholic mother sat with clasped hands, and with tear-bedimmed eyes saw their loved one go into the silent land. I left the next morning, promising to call again as soon as I could, and some time to hold meetings with them when the men were at home from fishing in the winter.

I attended the dedication of a new church at Alba costing a little over $1,000, all paid or provided for, $137 being raised on the night of dedication, in sums from two cents, given by a little girl, up to ten dollars, the highest sum given that night by one person. All our people in the rural districts are very poor, but often generous and self-denying. I know of one good mother in Israel who went without her new print dress for the summer in order to give the dollar to the minister at Conference. Think of that dollar dress, my good sisters, when you are perplexed about whether you shall have yours cut bias, or gored, or Mother Hubbard style, or--well, I don't know much about styles; but "think on these things."

XIX.

THE NEEDS OF THE MINUTE-MAN.

The needs of the minute-man are as great as his field. If the army sent its minute-men to the front as poorly equipped for battle as our army of minute-men often are, it would be defeated. The man needs, besides a home, a library and good literature up to date. Religious papers a year or two old make good reading, and biographies of good men are very stimulating. A full set of Parkman's works would be of inestimable value in keeping up his courage and helping his faith. The smaller the field, the greater the need of good reading; for on the frontier you miss the society of the city, and its ministers'

meetings, and the great dailies, and all the rush of modern life that is so stimulating. And yet you find men of all conditions and mental stature. A man who can get up two good sermons a week that will feed the varied types that he will meet at church needs to be a genius.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A MINUTE MAN'S PARSONAGE.

_Page 190._]

When a man has access to all the great reviews, to fine libraries, public and private, and has the stimulation that comes from constant intercourse with others, besides an income that will allow him to buy the best books, when his services begin with forty-five minutes of liturgy and song, backed with a fine pipe-organ, when he enjoys two or three months vacation into the bargain, he must be a very small specimen of a man if he cannot write a thirty-minute sermon; but when all a man's books can be put on one shelf, when his salary barely keeps the pot boiling, and he has fifty-two Sundays to fill, year in and year out, it is no wonder that short pastorates are the rule. When a man reaches his new field with no better start than many have,--the majority without a college training, and some without even a high-school education,--it is not long before some of his parish will be asking a superintendent or presiding elder whether he cannot send them a good man. "Our man here," he says, "is good, but he can't preach for shucks." The new man comes, and in three months he is in the same boat. And another comes; and after a little there is as much money spent for the sustaining of these families as would keep a good man.

So it goes on, year after year. Sectarian jealousies and sectarian strivings are as bad for the spiritual development of a country as saloons. So that we find to-day, in little towns of two thousand inhabitants, ten or eleven churches, all of them little starveling things, "No one so poor to do them reverence;" while the real frontier work is left with thousands of churchless parishes.

If a man properly fitted out for his field could go at first, it would often stop the multiplication of little sects whose chief article of faith is some wretched little b.u.t.ton-hook-and-eye or feet-washing ceremony. In the beginning, such is the weakness of the new community, a union church is inevitable, there not being enough of a kind to go around; and nothing but a lack of Christianity will break that church up.

For an example, here is a superintendent with a field a thousand miles by four hundred. He hears that a new town is started up in the mountains, a hundred and fifty miles from the railway. The stage is the only means of reaching it; no stopping on the road but twenty minutes for meals. After a tedious journey he reaches the place, and finds the usual conditions,--saloons, gambling-houses by the score, houses of every description in the process of erection.

He goes up to the hotel man, and asks whether he can procure a place for preaching. He is given the schoolhouse. He announces preaching service, and begins. The people crowd the little building; they sit or stand outside. Here are members of a dozen sects, and a solitary feet-washer feeling lonely enough. The work crowds him; and he wires to headquarters at New York,--a strange telegram,--"For the love of G.o.d, send me a man." Just as the telegram arrives, a man who has just come from England steps into the office. He is examined, and asked whether he would like to go beyond the Rocky Mountains. He is the right stuff. "Anywhere," is the answer; and as fast as limited express can take him he hurries to the new field. He finds a great crowd outside the schoolhouse, a revival going on, and he has hard work to reach the minister. A church is organized, and it is to be a union church. What a calamity to have the brethren living together in unity!

To have Christ's prayer answered that they may be one! It's dreadful.

But never mind; the Devil, in the shape of sect that holds its deformity higher than Christ, soon makes an end of that; so that the real-estate agent advertises good water, good schools, and good churches.

The only way I see out of this anti-christian warfare is to send a well-balanced, well-paid man to start with. In the case just stated, the man was a good one, and held the fort, and managed skilfully his united flock.

There are times when the best men will fail, as they do in business.

The place promises great growth, and peters out; but in these small towns, where the growth will never be large, your faithful man often does a mighty work. His flock are constantly moving away, but new ones are constantly coming; and so his church is helping to fill others miles away, and it will not be until he is translated that we shall see how grand a man he was.

I remember one man with his wife and family presenting himself one day to the Superintendent of Missions. He had just left a pretty little rose-covered parsonage in England. The only place open was a very cold and hard field. The forests had been destroyed by fire. The climate was intense, either summer or winter; but he said, "I will go. I do not want to be a candidate."

And off he went with his family. In the winter his bedroom was often so cold that the thermometer registered 20 below zero; and in spite of a big stove, the temperature was at zero in mid-day near the door and windows. One of his little ones born there was carried in blankets to be baptized in the little church when it was 2 below zero. I used to send this man small sums of money that were given me by kind friends. All the money promised on this field from three churches was twenty dollars a year, and part of that paid in potatoes. The last five dollars I sent him came back. He said he felt it would not be right to take it, as he had just accepted a call to a Presbyterian church. He felt almost like making an apology for doing so, as he said, "My boys are growing up, and they can get so little schooling here that I am going to move where they can at least get an education." And then he was going to have seven hundred dollars a year. I sent the money back, saying that, as he was moving, he would probably need it. The answer that came said he had just spent his last two cents for a postage-stamp when the five dollars came.

I suppose there are at least ten thousand minute-men on the field to-day, working under the different home missionary societies. Most of them have wives, and with their children will make an army of fifty thousand strong, the average of whose salaries will not exceed five hundred dollars per year. And on this small sum your minute-man must feed, clothe, and educate his family; and how much can he possibly use to feed his own mind?--the man who ought to be able to stand in the front ranks at all times, in order to gain the respect of the community in which he should be the leader in all good works.

XX.

THE MINUTE-MAN IN THE MINER'S CAMP.

When the first minute-men went to the Pacific slope, they had a long and dangerous voyage by sea round Cape Horn; and on their arrival they had to live in a tent, pay a dollar a pound for hay, and a dollar apiece for potatoes and onions. To-day it is a very different thing to reach the mining-camps. No matter how high the mountains are, your train can climb them, doubling on itself, crossing or recrossing; or when the way is too steep, cogging its way up.

Not long since I sat in a nicely furnished room taking my dinner. My host was talking through a telephone to a man miles away, and then, with a good-by, came back to the table. I said, "That is a great contrast with your first days here." He laughed, and said, "Yes. The boats came up to where there are now great blocks of buildings; and when I preached on Sunday afternoon, I always had a bull and a bear fight to contend with around the corner. I remember one time," he said, "when the bull broke loose, and ran down the street past where I was preaching. I saw at a glance that I must close the meeting, and so p.r.o.nounced the benediction; when I opened my eyes not a living soul was in sight except my wife."

At another time he approached two miners who were at work; and he told them he was building a little church, and thought they might like to help. "Yes," said one of them, "you ain't the first man that's been around here a-beggin' fer a orphan asylum. You git!" And as this was accompanied with a loaded revolver levelled at him, he obeyed. They were good men, but thought he was a gambler, as he had on a black suit. When they afterwards found out that he was all right, they helped him. Gambling in all mining-camps was the common amus.e.m.e.nt.

Some little camps had scarcely anything in sight but gambling-saloons, all licensed.

This has continued even as late as July, 1895. The first preacher in Deadwood stood on a box preaching when all around him were saloons, gambling-houses, and worse. He was listened to by many in spite of the turmoil all around him, and the collection was of gold-dust. It was accidentally spilled on the ground, when some good-hearted miner washed it out for him. The good man was shot the next day as he was going over the divide to preach in Lead City. The miners had nothing to do with it; but they not only got up a generous collection, but sent East and helped the man's family.

Often a preacher has his chapel over a saloon where the audience can hear the sharp click of the billiard-b.a.l.l.s, the rattle of the dice, and the profanity of the crowd below. One day a man who was rapidly killing himself with drink recited in a voice so that all in the little church could hear him:--

"There is a spirit above, There is a spirit below, A spirit of joy, A spirit of woe.

The spirit above Is the spirit divine, The spirit below Is the spirit of wine."

It was hard work under such circ.u.mstances to hold an audience. From the room where the man preached twelve saloons were in sight, and the audience could hear the blasting from the mines beneath them. The communion had to be held at night, as the deacons were in the mine all day. And yet those that did come were in earnest, I think. The very deviltry and awfulness of sin drove some men to a better life who under other conditions would never have gone to church. Many men were hanged for stealing horses, very few for killing a man; while many a would-be suicide has been saved by the efforts of a true-hearted minute-man. No one but a genuine lover of his kind can do much good among the miners. In no place is a man weighed quicker. The miners are a splendid lot to work with, and none more gallant and respectful to a good woman in the world.