paper advertisement for some kind of soap, while the real article was
burning up. I could not but think how like the worldling he
was--intent upon his body and minor things while his soul was in
danger; and also how like is the frantic mismanagement at the breaking
out of a fire to the sudden call of death to a man in his sins. To add
to the misery of these houseless people during this intense cold,
diphtheria was carrying off its victims, so that the schools were
closed for the second time that winter. These things were used readily
as excuses by those who did not wish to attend the meetings. Yet the
skating-rink was in full blast. But with all these impediments, the
conversions in the meetings, and the quickening of the church to more
active life, more than repaid for all the trouble and disappointment.
We often hear of "the drink curse" in these places, and it is not
exaggerated; but there is one crime in these new towns of the north
that to my mind is worse, and a greater barrier to the conversion of
men and women. It is licentiousness. One little place not far from
where I was preaching boasts of not having a single family in it that
is not living openly in this sin. Although this is the worst I ever
heard of, it is too true that our woods towns are thus honeycombed.
About the only hope the missionary has in many cases is in the
children, even though he begins, as did one pastor that I know of,
with two besides his own. He started his school in a deserted log
shanty where it grew to be forty strong, and in spite of obstacles it
grew. It was hard work sometimes, when the instinct of the boy would
show itself in the pleasures of insect hunting with a pin along the
log seats. Yet there the missionary's wife sat and taught. They soon
had a nice church, paid for within the year.
I did not expect to find within six miles of a large city such a state
of things as existed in Peter Cartwright's time in Michigan, but I
did; and lest I should be called unfair, I will say I found there a
few of the excellent of the earth.
Let me describe the meeting-place. It was in an old hall, the floor
humped up in the middle; there was an old cook-stove to warm it, while
a few lanterns hung among faded pine boughs gave out a dim light. A
few seats without backs completed the furniture. Here it was that a
good brother, while preaching, had the front and rear wheels of his
buggy changed, making rough riding over roads none too smooth at their
best. Another from the Y. M. C. A. rooms of the neighboring city had
his buffalo robes stolen and every buckle of the harness undone while
he was conducting services.
Knowing these things, I was not surprised at finding a rough old Roman
Catholic Irishman trying to make a disturbance; but a kind word or two
won him over to good behavior. Much less tractable were the young
roughs, who reap all the vices of the city near by, and get none of
its virtues. I had to tell them of the rough places I had seen, and
that this was the first place I had been where the young men did not
know enough to behave themselves in church. Promising without fail to
arrest the first one that made a disturbance, I secured quiet. Of
course I had to make friends with them afterwards and shake hands. Oh,
how hard it is to preach the gospel after talking law in that fashion;
but, friends, think how much it is needed. As a little bit of bright
for so black a setting, let me say, that on the second night some kind
friends substituted a box-stove for the cook-stove, lamps for
lanterns, and an organ to help in the praise.
XIII.
COCKLE, CHESS, AND WHEAT.
Rather a strange heading! I know it; but I have lost an hour trying to
think of a better; and is not society composed (figuratively speaking)
of cockle, chess, and wheat? In old settled parts and in cities we see
society like wheat in the bulk. The plump grain is on top, but there
are cockle and chess at the bottom. On the frontier the wheat is
spread on the barn floor, and the chess and cockle are more plainly
seen. As the fanning-mill lets the wheat drop near it and the lighter
grains fly off, so in the great fanning-mill of the world, the good
are in clusters in the towns and settled country, while the cockle and
chess are scattered all over the borders. Of course in screenings,
there is always considerable real wheat, though the grains are small.
Under proper cultivation, however, these will produce good wheat.
These little grains among the screenings are the children, and they
are the missionaries' hope.
In my pastoral work I have met with all kinds of humanity,--here a man
living a hermit life, in a little shanty without floor or windows, his
face as yellow as gold, from opium; there an old man doing chores in a
camp, who had been a preacher for twenty-five years; here a graduate
from an Eastern college, cashier of a bank a little while ago, now
scaling lumber when not drunk; occasionally one of God's little ones,
striving to let his light shine o'er the bad deeds of a naughty world.
It was my custom for nearly a year to preach on a week-night in a
little village near my home, sometimes to a houseful, oftener to a
handful. Few or many, I noticed one man always there; no matter how
stormy or how dark the night, I would find him among the first
arrivals. He lived farther from the meeting than I, and it was not a
pleasant walk at any time. One was always liable to meet a gang of
drunken river-men spoiling for a fight; and there was a trestle bridge
eighty rods in length to walk over, and the ties in winter were often
covered with snow and ice.
Then after reaching the schoolhouse the prospect was not enchanting;
windows broken, snow on the seats, the room lighted sometimes with
nothing but lanterns, one being hung under the stove-pipe. Under these
circumstances I became very much interested in the young man. He never
spoke unless he was spoken to, and then his answers were short, and
not over bright; but as he became a regular attendant on all the means
of grace,--Sunday-school, prayer-meetings, and the preaching of the
Word,--I strove to bring him to a knowledge of the truth, and was much
pleased one evening to see him rise for prayers. As he showed by his
life and conversation that he had met with a change (he had been a
drunkard), he was admitted into the church, and some time after was
appointed sexton.
One night, on my way to prayer-meeting, I saw a dark object near the
church which looked suspicious. On investigation it proved to be our
sexton, with his face terribly disfigured, and nearly blind. Some
drunken ruffian had caught him coming out of the church, and,
mistaking him for another man, had beaten him and left him half dead.
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 illustration 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 cockle 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 cockle 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 Saturday night to a lonely Massachusetts
tavern-keeper, I found a hearty welcome to baked beans and brown
bread, and preached on the Sabbath in his barroom to his assembled
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 God had rebuked their Sabbath-breaking. This
was near Lake Michigan.
"Passing 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 worship 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
petition that 'God 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-class library, and
suitable amusements 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
compassing 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-fashioned 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 pushing 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 shell, 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.