SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG
THE haze of Indian summer hangs over the prairies of Montana as they
flaunt their golden flowers. There could be no more perfect days than
these for a journey with Brother Van through the great state. One might
almost call it his parish, so closely has he been associated with the
settlement and growth of vast stretches of its territory. He shall be
our guide as we visit the widely scattered villages and thriving towns,
where he is eagerly welcomed by men, women, and children of all faiths
and of none. There are no strangers to Great Heart of the Indians.
Brother Van greets every one he meets with the Indians’ guttural
“Oi-Oi-Oi,” meaning “How do you do!” When we ask why he always uses the
expression, he replies, “Oh, just to show that I’m a friendly Indian.”
We start our trip at Fort Benton, where, in a well kept park, stand
the ruins of the old fort, a crumbling relic of days forever past.
The stockade is gone and only a blockhouse remains. It is carefully
guarded, for inside are precious relics of the past. Let us stand on
the very spot where Brother Van celebrated his first Fourth of July
in Montana by eating a dinner of jerked buffalo meat. Our eyes sweep
the horizon and we try to imagine the scenes of former days when over
those flashing waters of the Missouri came bull-boats or birch canoes,
bringing precious furs to the Northwest Fur Company’s post.
In the town itself we pass the site of the old mud saloon where, on
that far-away Sunday, the tenderfoot missionary preached to a curious
throng. What of the church life of to-day? We spend a Sabbath in the
historic town and go to the old mother church. It is a small building,
simple in style, but we enter it in a spirit of reverence. Repairs are
in progress; with his own hands the minister, a college and seminary
graduate, has painted the woodwork and papered the walls. He has been
aided in the evenings by the earnest men of his congregation.
The days of the Northwest Fur Company seem very remote when the new
generation, with a small group from the older one, kneel to receive
Holy Communion. The life of the trapper and trader, starved and godless,
seems a haunting and an impossible dream. Yet the pastor has his
problems. His church must be enlarged and modernized to meet the social
demands of the little city. He must find means for providing recreation
and wholesome entertainment in connection with the church, so that the
people of the community may not have to depend for their amusement on
the cheap “movie” theater with its sensuous appeals. He must travel
far out on the wide prairie to care for the ranchers who are setting up
homes in these lands that under new methods of cultivation are proving
to be far more fruitful than it was once considered possible for them
to be.
The scout-missionary is still keen about first churches, and we
accompany him on a visit to a little town near Fort Benton. We go to
the schoolhouse. We are early; so we will play janitor. The bell is
to be rung. The songbooks are to be distributed. Brother Van does not
preach this time, but his influence is felt all through the service. He
stands in the closing moments and urges upon the people a new loyalty
to Jesus Christ and a new loyalty to the church as the center of their
common life. All who will so pledge are asked to come and take him by
the hand, and every man, woman, and child in the little group comes
forward. Among them are three soldiers, guards in the uncertain days
of war of the big bridge which swings over the Teton River at the
outskirts of the town.
One of Brother Van’s churches is in process of building in this town.
You may smile at its dimensions. It has one main room and a basement
which is to be cut up into smaller social rooms.
“Well, Brother Van, when is it to be finished?” he is asked.
“Don’t know, Sister!”
“Why not finish it right away?”
“I’d love to, but not one cent of debt is to be placed on this or on
any other church I have anything to do with.”
“But, can these few people build this church?”
“They can and will, with the help of the Board of Home Missions.”
“Ah, if people only knew the need of home missions, we would not have
to see these churches which we try to put in the new centers struggle
and languish as they do,” he adds.
“Why try to have a church so soon, then?”
“Ah, Sister, that is the point. We must claim these new towns for our
Christ. The devil has his agents at work in the saloon and dance halls.
Why should we give up to him?”
In that distant time when Brother Van made his first visit to the
Indian agency, he traveled in an army post wagon. As we seek the
Blackfeet Indians, we travel with him on a railroad train. His vivid
stories of the towns through which we pass make us realize how much the
frontier owes to missionary influence. Brother Van gets off at every
station to look around.
“See that church house,” he exclaims proudly, for he always calls it
that. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
It is small and in need of paint. Compared, however, to the saloon
building in which he had probably held the first service, it is
beautiful.
Illustration: GREAT HEART WITH A BLACKFOOT BROTHER AND HIS FAMILY
“Browning! Browning!” calls the conductor. Nothing here but a small
station.
“This way, Brother Van,” calls a voice from the starlit darkness, and
soon we are on our way to the Indian reservation and the parsonage home
of Rev. A. W. Hammer, the cowboy preacher. A cheerful welcome awaits
us in the little prairie home. Here in the shadow of the snow-clad
mountains is symbolized the Montana dreamed about by the boy from
Gettysburg. A home has been established. A trained preacher ministers
to the Indians.
On the following morning we find spread out before us a scene of
rich beauty as we look across the fields from which the grain has been
harvested. All the members of the household gather in front of the
cottage where there stands a straight mountain pine, carefully trimmed
and braced. From a home-made cabinet the oldest daughter has taken a
carefully folded bundle, and now at her bidding it is fastened to the
ropes swaying from the pine tree. A steady pull brings Old Glory up
to catch the breeze while the shining mountains seem to smile approval.
The son places his hat over his heart, while Brother Van, his head
bared, his face transfigured, sings, “O say can you see by the dawn’s
early light” and girlish voices catch up the refrain. No flag raising
in the presence of statesmen and of armies could be more impressive.
Here one sees the loyal soul of the west laid bare. This is the America
that the forces of the Christian church, the Christian home, and the
Christian school are building on the vast plains and through the
mountain valleys of the younger states.
The drive to the church in a lumber wagon is a novel experience, and we
understand why fur overcoats are called “life preservers,” for the air
gives a foretaste of the winter’s cold. The congregation of Indians,
plainsmen, business men, and college graduates gathers. The Indians
interest us the most. These are the adopted brothers of Great Heart.
These are the people whom William Van Orsdel loved before he had seen
them and whom he had left the old Gettysburg home to serve. He has seen
disease, ignorance, and intemperance threatening to wipe out the race,
and he has had to give a large part of his energy to teaching a better
way of life to the white man who is so largely responsible for the
conditions that exist; but he has persevered in finding ways to help
his red brothers.
In the United States there are now three hundred and thirty-six
thousand Indians; nearly one third of these are unchurched. There are
many who have no opportunity to know the living God, yet they were
the first Americans. Their loyalty was proved when nine thousand young
braves entered the army and navy to fight for a world democracy, and
one third of those entered the service through enlistment. These wards
of the nation, though driven back from wide prairie to reservations,
have been taught trades and agriculture. Twenty million dollars
worth of Liberty Bonds were bought by Indians. The war has given the
Indian an opportunity to show his fine qualities of manhood, and to
demonstrate his fitness for those privileges of citizenship which have
been denied him. Hereafter, too, this native American will be a citizen
of the world. “They have learned to step to the drum-beat of democracy,”
says Hon. Cato Sells, “and they will come out of the conflict an
element of real and progressive strength in our National life.” Like
many others who have fought abroad, they will ask the churches and
schools to put into practise the principles that they defended “over
there.”
The teachers to succeed Brother Van, Mr. Hammer, and all of that host
of devoted workers who have given their whole lives for the building of
a Christian civilization in the west must come from the young people of
the church. Young men and young women of the new generation must have
a vision clear enough to see the beckoning hands that point the way
to great unfinished tasks. The high purpose of the boy from Gettysburg
must fill other lives that will take up the new tasks, as hard as the
old, perhaps harder, which the changing times have brought to Montana.
Leaving the Indians, we find ourselves on the railroad and bound
for the new frontier. The monotony of the prairie is only relieved
by homes and schoolhouses but these appear at intervals as we travel.
Occasionally we pass small towns clustering around grain elevators,
which show the new day of agriculture. We come at last to the end of
our journey to the new section and from the small station we drive to
a settler’s shack on a claim. Surely tales of frontier life have been
exaggerated, for here are warmth, blooming plants, books, and papers.
The homesteader is a retired preacher.
“We must get the surveyor while you are here, Brother Van, and mark up
that lot for the church,” says our host.
“A church out on this prairie!” we exclaim.
“Yes, do you see yonder that grain elevator and a few buildings?
That is a new town starting and we must have a church. A saloon and a
pool-room are there already. The storekeeper has given us a lot for the
church,” he explains.
This is a wise merchant who realized that the new town would not be fit
for his family unless the church was the central interest. With pick
and compass we go; Brother Van steps off the distance, and the faithful
pick finds the marker.
“The corner-stone will be right here,” says the master of ceremonies.
The spade is stuck into the rich soil while the people cheer; but
Brother Van is silent; his latest church is being started. He is
anxious that the children of the new town shall have a chance of a
Christian education. The government will see to the schoolhouses, but
the responsibility of the churches rests on Brother Van and his aids,
even on you and me.
We continue our sight-seeing tour of Montana and reach Helena at a
time when the city is thronged with visitors to the Fair. Yonder is
the Capitol, and in friendly nearness is a smaller building; it is
Montana Wesleyan University where college is opening. Brother Van has
a tumultuous greeting. The Board of Trustees has just declared for a
fifty-thousand-dollar enlargement of the institution. The students and
President Sweetland are riotously happy. Visitors make speeches in the
chapel. One man does not need the well-chosen introductory speech from
the new president. He is not allowed to finish it.
“Who’s all right?” sings out a yell-leader.
“Brother Van! Brother Van!” comes roaring back from the eager crowd.
No mention is made by the pioneer of his part in the enterprise which
has made the Christian education of these eager students possible. When
he finishes speaking, a demand is made: “A song! A song!” So he sings
“Diamonds in the Rough” for them. Then we hasten to a meeting of the
Board of Trustees, and arrive in time, for Brother Van is never late
for an engagement.
“Now, let’s go to the Fair!” he says. To go to the Montana State Fair
with Brother Van is to become almost as much a center of interest as
the prize pumpkin or the heaviest sheaf of wheat. The hold the man has
on the people of the state begins to dawn on you.
“Hello, Van, old scout.”
“Why, Brother Van, how is the church at ――――?”
“Isn’t this Brother Van?” ask children, shyly, as we pass.
Out in the enclosure a flag is to be raised. They send a messenger to
Brother Van to say that he is wanted to offer the prayer. After the
prayer, Governor Stewart is introduced, and the heart of the Eastern
visitor is stirred to hear from him how great a part this new state
took in the great world struggle for democracy; how great an outpouring
of its wealth there was for the needs of the government and for the
relief of suffering; and how large a number of the boys from these
thinly peopled plains left their homes to take their places in the
ranks of the armies of freedom.
It is a short drive over to the once owl-haunted, coyote-inhabited
building, which for a time seemed to be Brother Van’s mistake.
Children’s voices call a glad greeting, for now it is the Montana
Deaconess School. Out on the campus is an old building which the boys
have fitted up, and which they dignify by the name of “gym.” Class
work which meets the regular school standards is done in this home,
but that is only a part of its work. The development of strong, helpful
Christian character is the great task to which the earnest teachers who
labor here are devoting themselves.
Now we visit the Capitol, a beautiful building of which the young
state is justly proud. We go directly to the Governor’s suite and find
a delegation of citizens there waiting to consult him. The attendant
smiles on one member of our party and then disappears. We resign
ourselves for a long wait, but immediately the messenger returns.
“The Governor will see you, Brother Van,” he says. We then have the
privilege of listening to a conference between the pioneer missionary
and modern Montana’s chief man of affairs.
It is near Helena that Last Chance Gulch is situated and the city still
presents the problems of a mining center. In the old days the miners
came without families. They lived the hard, rough life of the pioneers.
Many were only adventurers. They gambled, and even killed for the lure
of gold. Yet it was they who found and developed the mines which have
furnished so large a share of Montana’s wealth――and that of the nation.
Not only gold, but silver, copper, lead, coal, and iron are found.
Especially rich are the fields of copper, and since 1892, Montana has
been the leading state in the production of this metal. Great smelting
and refining plants costing millions of dollars have been established
around which thriving cities have quickly grown. In the maze of
stacks, mills, ore-dumps, tracks, and surrounding streets filled with
the cottages of the laborers, the visitor who has been to the new
settlements on the plains and to the reservations sees a different
Montana――not that of the rancher and the Indians but that of the
industrial worker.
We have an enthusiastic guide when we travel through the mining regions
with Brother Van. He keeps the spirit of the pioneer. While his work
has led him more among the Indians and the plainsmen, he sees the great
needs that have arisen with the growth of the industrial centers. He
is eager that the Christian forces of America undertake new tasks of
helpfulness for the men who toil underground and in the mills, and for
their families.
Illustration: Copyright, Brown Brothers.
A COPPER MINE AT BUTTE
A new America must be won in the restless, throbbing
centers of industrial life.
It is in Butte that we find the heart of the great copper region of
Montana. From the hill north of the city, ore to the value of a million
and a half dollars has been taken. When Brother Van made his first
visit there he found but fifty residents. Not only is it now a busy
city of forty thousand inhabitants, but the character of the community
has entirely changed. The settlers of that period were of American
birth and parentage. To-day the great majority of the miners are from
distant countries. The pioneers of the days of Brother Van’s young
manhood lived the hearty open life of the wind-swept plains; the
newcomers from Europe must toil in the dark mine shafts or amid the
dust and roar of the mills and smelters.
Coming as these workers do for the most part from southern and
eastern Europe, differing greatly in customs and in language from the
older population, they must be given special guidance, if they are to
find the real America of their dreams. They will attain the kind of
citizenship which will make them able to take a really helpful place in
the life of the country only as we interpret Christian ideals for them.
It was for these ideals of democratic brotherhood that the young men of
America went abroad and for which thousands of them gave their lives.
Is America now to show to those who have come as strangers to us, and
who do such a large share of the hard work of our country, that these
ideals of democratic brotherhood are being put into practise for the
benefit of all?
Brother Van found a frontier region when he stepped ashore from the
river boat at Fort Benton on that July morning in 1872. He threw
himself into the life about him, and his years of service have brought
friendship and hope and courage to lonely men and women and to aspiring
young people all over a great commonwealth. Cowboy, Indian, and miner
have welcomed his help, for, as they put it, he “prayed lucky.” There
is need to-day――there will always be a need――for the same ministry that
Brother Van has been carrying on in his founding of new churches, and
in his friendly visiting in lonely homes, and in his preaching anywhere
and everywhere the word of cheer and of faith that his whole life
taught. And as a part of the same great task to which he has devoted
all his years, Brother Van will tell you that there is need for another
kind of scouting to-day in the land of the shining mountains.
This vast development of modern industry calls for new and varied
kinds of service. The thrill of adventure is there, although it may be
different from that which was found in the early days of the frontier,
and the joy of conquest remains. The winning of a new America is yet to
be achieved in many of those restless, throbbing centers of industrial
life where men have not yet learned how to bring the spirit of Christ
into their daily toil; where home life is narrow and harsh; where
growing boys and girls are shut out from the opportunities for
recreation and for training, that a preparation for healthy, capable
citizenship demands.
As we leave Brother Van looking out over the wide plains of his beloved
Montana and gazing at the great black masses of the mills and mines
with the dismal clusters of miners’ cottages around them, we know what
he is thinking about. It is of the new scouts who will come to occupy
these frontiers of modern industrial and community life for the Master.
And we know that only those who are worthy to be called Great Heart
will be able to carry on in the new age of world democracy the tasks
that have been so well begun in the old days of the opening West.
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