CHAPTER VI. ITINERATING IN THE CAMPS.

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In all parts of northern Minnesota are found the logging camps. The distances traversed by the missionaries in reaching these outposts demand determined purpose, strength of body and love for humanity. The lumberjacks that are in a camp this winter are scattered all through the north with the opening of the next logging season, for there is little to tie a man to one employer in preference to another, and those who received the services of the mission workers one year are ever ready to claim them in their new place of labor. The result of this scattering is that requests come to Mr. Higgins from all parts of the lumber district, asking for the services of the missionaries. The demand is greater than the possibilities of the exchequer and many who ask meet with disappointment. A mission worker is placed over a group of camps, from eight to twenty, and from camp to camp he goes with his tidings of salvation, holding meetings every night in a different camp. The work is strenuous, and he must have a heart warm with the love for souls of men who would willingly, faithfully brave the dangers and privations consequent to the long distances between the camps. It would be hard to find a more devoted set of men than these hardy camp preachers, who set at naught the dangers that they may serve God and assist their fellows.

Rev. Frank E. Higgins is superintendent of the camp work and tries to reach every camp in which any of his workers are laboring. He is constantly on the go, "a sort of walking boss for the Sky Route Co." The scattered flock is loved by the shepherd and he will brave any danger to serve the people he has chosen to reach.

Minnesota's winters are severe. It seldom thaws after November and the thermometer often registers thirty degrees below zero, not seldom reaching a much lower mark. If a strong wind is blowing when the temperature is low the cold penetrates even the warmest furs and pierces the wayfarer with its keen arctic shafts.

Beautiful is the deep mantle of pinery snow. No soot or stain is on the bosom of the earth, only the long stretch of "the white silence." But too often the work of the missionaries is increased by the heavy snows, and the delight of the forest is lost in the heart-breaking labor of the journeys from camp to camp. Put your "turkey" on your back and try the trudge through the deep snows, and see if the romance does not depart as weariness enters the limbs. Step forward in the early morning through the new fallen snow. The north wind is visiting the earth, and his breath is penetrating even the furry clothing. Go on! The camp that ends the journey is only the little distance of ten long, lonely, humanless miles. The pack may be heavy when you start, but before long you are transporting a mountain that has developed from a peak to an endless range of Himalayas. The fun has departed and only the hard spirit of fatigue is your company. Every step is an effort, every blast of the wind reaches the marrow: the exposed face feels like cold onyx, and the wind-inflamed eyes look through frozen lashes for the smoke of the cookshed above the distant trees. The fingertips send to the brain their protest against the numbing cold that stiffens them, and the arms are swinging to aid the frozen blood to reach the pained extremities. Mile after mile, endlessly the trail stretches into the forest; mile after mile the pain and suffering continue; mile after mile the weary feet drag the heavy burden to carry the message of a Savior to the neglected men who, far from civilization, work in the pine forests of the North Star State. At last, yonder above the green sea of Norway lances, the column of smoke rises like a beacon to tell of warmth and food, and the safe companionship of men. The sight of the unconscious smoke acts like a stimulant. At last the view of the crude camp breaks in fulness on your eyes. Moses saw the Promised Land from a distance, but the sight of that collection of log shacks means more to you, tired and almost frozen, than the land beyond muddy Jordan did to the writer of the Pentateuch. It means a chance to rest, to warm—and to the missionary, who is daily making this journey through the frozen forest, a chance to preach the unsearchable riches of the world's Savior. Night after night the missionary holds his meetings, each night in a different camp. The day is spent in passing from one camp to another, for often the camps are far apart and transportation is primitive; it depends on first principles.

During the first three years of Mr. Higgins' work he found that while a man could do much, a man and two dogs could do more. He secured two large St. Bernard dogs and by means of his dog team made the long journey between the camps. The idea of using a dog team is a very practical one. It furnished an easy means of locomotion, the task of stabling was not difficult and the cost of food nothing. When the run was to be made between points on the railway the dogs and sled could easily be placed in the baggage car and be ready for the drive to the camp as soon as the train stopped.

In all new work prejudice must be met, and in this respect the mission to the camps was no exception. Some thought it a new species of graft, others desired to be left to the old ways and many had a prejudice due to another form of religion. It is not often that dogs assist in breaking religious prejudices, but Flash and Spark had a large part in assisting the logging camp mission into easy paths. The lumberjacks are passionately fond of animals, and the advent of the dog team made a favorable first impression in almost every camp. The doors of many bunkhouses are secured by a sliding latch, and when pressure is brought to bear against the outside of the door it will open without the raising of the latch. On arriving at the camp in the evening the missionary would drive his team against the door and right into the bunkhouse. The sudden, unexpected arrival immediately created interest, and while the men crowded around the handsome dogs the minister would explain his business and announce the time of meeting. The dogs were protectors as well as workers and at the beginning of this work the faithful animals silenced many a menace.

The dogs were good travelers. Over the rough forest trails they would drag their sled at the rate of six or eight miles an hour and be none the worse for thirty or forty miles. On a journey from Northome to International Falls, Minnesota, the Sky Pilot lost his way on the Little Fork River. When night came on and it was evident that no sheltered lodging could be found the minister and his dogs prepared to camp under the zero sky. A large fire was built around a pine stump and wood collected for the night. The only food Mr. Higgins had with him was a rabbit he had shot, and this was divided between himself and the dogs. It was the only food since breakfast. The sweet green boughs of the pines furnished a bed above the snow and the robes from the sled gave a degree of comfort to the resting place, whose canopy was the frozen dome of heaven. By his side the dogs pressed closely for the warmth. The dark depths of night hung like a spangled sheet above, but nearer than the shades which surrounded the sleeper was the One who never slumbereth.

During the night the howling of the timber wolves awakened the missionary and in the dark circle around him he could see the fireballs of their eyes, while their voices were distinct and near. Arising, the missionary replenished the fire, and when it broke into a cheery blaze the howling of the disappointed wolves grew fainter until the silence of the forest again took up its interrupted reign.

Early the next morning the minister was on his way and soon arrived at the village of Little Forks, where he conducted the first religious service ever held in that place.

On another occasion, when passing from one distant camp to another, Mr. Higgins was overtaken by a severe snowstorm and in a few minutes all sense of direction was lost in the raging blizzard. The dog team wandered from the beaten path into the muskeg and in the swamp they were compelled to spend most of the day. Toward evening the worst of the blizzard had passed and he was able to complete his long and weary journey.

After supper Mr. Higgins went to the barn to feed his dog team, but to his astonishment the dogs refused all food. He had driven them hard and long, so when they refused to eat he naturally thought it was due to overwork and reproached himself for being thoughtless of his friends. Later he went to them again, but they would not touch a morsel of food. With a sore heart the preacher retired to his bed, but his rest was disturbed with dreams of the overdriven dogs. He arose early, and when going towards the barn met the proprietor, whose face was red with anger.

"Is them blank dogs yours?" asked the angry man.

"They are," said the missionary, wondering if the man was going to add to the reproach by telling him that the dogs were dead.

"Then pay for the pork that the brutes chewed up while you were at supper last night. The hungry cannibals swiped half a hog and ate it. I ain't got nothin' but eggs and salt meat to give the boarders today."

While the enraged hotel keeper was narrating his tale of woe a load of anxiety passed from the preacher's mind and before, the proprietor had finished he found his auditor laughing with hearty spirit. Mr. Higgins paid for the meal of the "hungry cannibals," but he remarked in telling it:

"I did not object, for it was the only time I was ever asked to pay their board, and I assure you they earned it while we were trying to find our way in the blizzard."

Snow storms come up suddenly, and when the wind whirls the sheet of fallen flakes, all points of the compass are soon lost even to the well tried woodsman. The description of a blizzard may form an interesting page in fiction, but the experience adds to gray hairs and unending memory.

In January, 1906, Rev. Frank Higgins was crossing Red Lake, when the snow began to fall. The uninterrupted wind, as it swept down the long stretch of ice, caught the loose snow and filled the air with its choking mass. The wooded shore was soon hidden by the veiling snow and all sense of direction had disappeared. Down the twenty miles of the lake the crystal clouds swept with increasing volume. Night was coming on, and yet the darkness could scarcely add to the helplessness of the wanderers.

To the Father, who ruleth the rain of summer and the snow of winter, the missionary raised his prayer for help, and what man could not do was done by the leading of the ever-helpful God. He who guideth the stars in their courses led the lost to the wooded shore.

On the shore not a human habitation was to be seen, neither did the minister know the direction to the nearest village. For several hours he wandered in the unbroken forest, and near the low hour of midnight he came to the miserable shack of an Indian squaw. His scanty knowledge of the Indian tongue came into happy use and the lonely inhabitant granted him permission to sleep on the floor until morning came and the blizzard had spent itself.

When the Camp Mission first began to distribute literature, it caused a change in the means of transportation, for there were heavy boxes of old magazines to carry to the camps and horses were needed to haul the loads. Mr. Higgins had noticed that there was little to amuse the men of the camps and nothing helpful for their leisure hours. He therefore wrote to the churches in the state asking them to collect old magazines and ship them to him for distribution. The churches responded and soon he and his helpers were distributing literature to about one hundred camps. From five to seven tons of magazines are distributed in a season. Great good has come from this feature of the work; it gave the mind another channel for vent, the filthy conversation so common in the camps has largely passed away, and through reading the men are less inclined to quarrels. It has been noticed by the logging contractors that even the illiterate find recreation in the illustrations and many a dark hour has been brightened to the men who never read a line.

On going into a camp which he was visiting for the first time, Mr. Higgins held his service and afterwards distributed his magazines. Immediately there was a rush for the reading matter and then for the wannigan to buy lanterns by which to read. In a few minutes the clerk had sold every lantern he had in stock and could have disposed of several more, had they been on hand.

"What are you doing?" asked the cranky clerk when the Sky Pilot entered the office a little later. "Are you trying to turn the bunkshack into a night school? I've sold every lantern in the place and the Jacks are crying like fiends for more." "I've only distributed a few magazines so the boys can read a little improving matter," said the minister.

"Lumberjacks improving their minds?" sarcastically replied "the guy that splashes ink." "This neck of the woods will have a university extension course next, if this thing keeps up."

"You surely don't object to the boys reading?" asked the minister.

"Not at all," said the clerk sulkily, "but you might have remembered that a clerk has lots of time to read and have left a few of your mind-improvers for his use also."

The clerk received his share of the reading matter before the Pilot left the camp.

Often when a box of magazines is brought into the camp the men who have gone to their bunks will arise and greedily come forward to receive their share in the distribution. These magazines are passed from one to another until they are read and reread, or worn out from much handling. Of the lonely lives cheered by them, God only could give the number.

In a warehouse in Akeley, Minnesota, a bundle of magazines addressed to Rev. Frank E. Higgins was waiting for the tote-team to carry it to a neighboring camp. The tote-team driver came in, somewhat the worse for the liquid refreshment he had taken. While looking over the bundles waiting for his load he espied the one addressed to the Rev. Frank E. Higgins. The bundle interested him and he read aloud:

"The Rev. Frank E. Higgins. Say, penpusher, who is this for? Is it for our Frank Higgins, the Sky Pilot?"

"That's the man," replied the clerk.

"The Rev. Frank E. Higgins," read again the driver, "some mistake here, penpusher, the Sky Pilot's no reverend, he's a Christian. That man's no reverend, he's a Christian."

Shouldering the bundle he carried it to the sleigh, still mumbling, "He's no reverend, he's a Christian."

Pertaining to the use of the title "Sky Pilot," a little story is told.

A minister who was going through the camps investigating the work of the mission referred to the various workers as "Sky Pilot Davis," "Sky Pilot Date," and others. He had heard the term used in reference to Mr. Higgins and naturally assumed that it was a title common to all the camp preachers. The push in one of the camps heard him, and turning to the clerk, asked:

"What the devil does he mean by Sky Piloting around that way? You'd think the woods were full of Sky Pilots, while we all know there's only one, that's Higgins."

The tendency of the lumberjack is to give the title to Mr. Higgins alone, although it is occasionally given to the others, but seldom by the old time lumberjacks. Higgins alone is the Sky Pilot to them.

Among the rigid Catholics there is naturally a prejudice against Protestant work, but it seems that the work must be done by Protestants or left undone. A priest could hardly do the work. It would be difficult to go through the forms and ceremonies of Catholicism in the camps. Forms and ceremonies are not successful when interruptions are common and likely to occur at any time.

But Mike Sullivan was no bigot. He could appreciate the idea that all men were striving to please God and hoping to reach the same Heaven.

"This idea of having many churches don't bother me any more," he said. "I think I get the idea. It's like this: these camps around here's all working for one company. O'Brien is push on section nine, Johnson's boss at Camp 2 on fourteen, Kirk is foreman on the north half of twenty-six and White sees to the cuttin' on thirty-six, while every gang is landing its stuff on the same lake and in the spring they'll make the drive together down the river. Gettin' out logs is what they're paid for and the lumber king in Minneapolis foots the bill for the whole works. So what's the use of jawin' if the push in our camp wears a different kind o' shirt than the push on thirty-six. Logs is what the man in Minneapolis wants and he don't care how them different foremen skids the logs so long as they get the stuff to the landing. That's my way of looking at the churches."

Now the work has proved itself, it is much better understood and more highly appreciated by men of all religious persuasions. Many of the Catholics are deeply interested in the progress of the work, for they know that it does not strive to make Protestants of them, but that its end and aim is to lead the lumberjacks to a better life through the simple presentation of Jesus Christ. The result is that all classes and conditions crowd into the place of meeting and give respectful attention to the word of life.

One night at Stewart's camp, out from Blackduck, Minnesota, the meeting was in full swing when two teamsters entered the bunkhouse and took their seats by the fire. It was after eight o'clock, and they had just returned from Blackduck where they had been with their loads. On returning to the camp they learned that the Sky Pilot was holding service and came in supperless to enjoy the meeting. Few of our towns people would forego the pleasures of the table, after the appetite had been sharpened by hours of labor in the keen air of winter, in order to attend a religious service. Such a desire for the gospel on the part of the men fills the missionary with a desire to impart the truth. It is an inspiration to preach to an eager audience.

The toil of the missionary increases with each day. Exposure robs the body of its vitality, the severe temperature and the strong breath of the wind diminish the powers of the men who must endure them, be they ever so strong. The Sky Pilot had been hard at work for several months and the arduous labor had told on his unusual strength. He had taken cold through exposure, but the work was calling and he pushed on to the waiting camps. It was storming and the pack he was carrying grew heavier with every tired step. He thought that the exercise of the journey would in itself work a cure, but the pain increased and the wretchedness was accentuated by the cold. Drearily he plodded on, hoping that some tote-team would come that way and carry him to the camp, but no welcome conveyance appeared. Unable to proceed any further, he at last sat down in the drifted snow to rest. Through the cut over lands the cold wind swept its unobstructed way, chilling the sick man to the marrow. Off in the far north the tall Norways lifted their long arms to heaven, while the blasts of the wind waved them like the grain fields of the treeless prairie. Miles to the southward lay the habitations of men, and yonder in the hiding groves to the north was the camp he was hoping to reach. There was warmth there, and to the sick man the uninviting camp seemed a palace of comfort. If he could only reach the shacks, if he could reach the boys, that was all he asked.

Gathering his remaining strength, he struggled to his feet and pressed slowly towards the goal. At last he entered the uncut timber where the strength of the blast was broken by the trees. On through the untrodden snow he tramped, bent with weariness, worn and pained, pressing on in spite of illness until the smoke of the cookshed showed itself above the hollow in which the buildings were located. There the lumberjacks found him and assisted him to the shelter of the camp, where they tenderly worked to warm and comfort the man who had so often stood between them and death. Everything that they could do for the missionary was gladly done, but they were limited by isolation and the minister was very sick. After supper the men in the bunkhouse discussed the situation:

"The Sky Pilot's a pretty sick man," said the bull cook, "and we ought to do something to help the poor devil." This was rough but affectionate.

"Whiskey's a good thing for one that's ailin'," suggested one. "Whiskey?" remarked another, "what's the use of talking about whiskey in this camp? You know that Sweeny's tongue has been hanging out for a week and that's proof there isn't a drop in the camp."

Various remedies were suggested but they were not to be found. The men were discouraged in their helplessness.

"We ought to do something for him," said a Christian sawyer, "we can't give him any medicine for we haven't it, but I'll tell you boys, we can pray for the man that is always praying for us."

The men were silent for a moment, then a driver said, "I guess it's the only thing we can do, but we've never logged much on that land. You start the deal, Johnson, for you're onto that game more than the rest of the push. You say it aloud, Johnson, and we'll sort of keep you company."

Reverently the men stood with bowed heads while the Christian lumberjack led in a rude prayer, and silently the men, who prayed not for themselves, joined in the petition for the man who "was always praying for them."

That night when the missionary heard of the praying lumberjacks he thanked God and wept himself to sleep. The morning brought a brighter day to the men, for they heard that their prayers had been answered,—the Sky Pilot was on the way to recovery.

Whiskey, the Wheel and Women are the Three Fates of the woodsmen. If the lumberjacks could be separated from these the chances for lifting them to a higher level would be increased. Whiskey is the worst of them and leads to the others. For self protection the proprietors and contractors of the camps are compelled to watch that no liquor enters; with its introduction trouble begins and a reduced output of logs is the result. Yet in spite of the care exercised by respectable foremen, it makes its way into the camp, being carried by the tote-teams, the bootlegger, and the men when returning from the neighboring towns. Men with strong appetites generally find a way to satisfy their desires. The camp may be miles from civilization, but the curse of Olympic gods and depraved men makes its way into the inaccessible places. Where a camp is near a village alcohol is easy to obtain, and Sunday, being a day of rest, is likely to be a day of carousing and shame.

There were several camps near Island Lake, and on the Sunday that Frank Higgins visited the camps there the boys had been "tanking up" with squirrel whiskey from early morn. At the afternoon meeting the spirit of whiskey showed itself in many disturbances. One intoxicated man was worse than the others and was finally thrown out of the bunkhouse by the minister, and after that things went smoothly.

Later in the day the missionary was in the village of Island Lake and while talking to a friend, the lumberjack he had ejected from the camp came staggering up. The campman was accompanied by a score of his mates who were also under the influence of liquor.

"Are you the blank preacher that fired me out of the camp?" asked the man of the sudden exit. There was passion in his tone and he was evidently anxious for a row.

"I am the man," replied the brawny preacher, drawing himself up and advancing toward the lumberjack, "what have you to say against it?"

The drunken man looked at the minister as steadily as his unsteady legs would allow him, and suddenly changed his mind about the intended row.


THE SKY PILOT TAKING A MAN TO THE HOSPITAL

"Not a word, preacher, not a word. I ain't got a word to say against it. Preacher, don't you ever think I want to say anything against it. I just wanted to know if you was the man, that's all. You're all right, preacher, you're all right. 'Twas a blank good throw. I ain't got nothin' against it."

Turning to the other lumberjacks, Mr. Higgins said:

"Boys, did you ever know Higgins to do you a bad turn? Can you show me where I have not tried to help you? Yet for the sport of the thing you try to get this poor, drunken fellow to cause trouble, just for a moment's laughter. Is that a proper return?"

The men made no answer, but shame rested on many a winter beaten cheek. That night in a nearby camp almost every man of them came to the preacher after the meeting.

"Forget it, Pilot," said the spokesman, "We're ashamed of the way we came at you, but you know it wasn't us, it was Whiskey. That's your only enemy in these woods. Say you'll forget it and shake."

"Thanks, boys, I have already. Give me your hands." The pastorate has its trials, as every minister knows, but for unbounded variety of the unexpected the camp missionary has the city man far in the rear. Church quarrels have bounds, but where are the limits of the quarrels of the lumberjacks? From words they readily pass to blows and in a moment's flight blood-shed results. In February of this year the writer received a letter from Mr. Higgins, describing a railway trip. A portion is appended:

"I recently left Deer River on the Itasca Logging Railroad for Fourtown, and experienced the worst trip it was ever my lot to take. The car was crowded with lumberjacks, few of whom were sober. The woodsmen had over twenty quarts of Deer River squirrel whiskey, and in a short time things were moving at a terrific rate. You may call it a tempest in a teapot, but never have I seen anything like the affair; no human tongue could describe the sight. The Irish, the Swedes and the Glengarry Scotch were filled with whiskey, and every man was out for blood, and blood they had,—an abundance of it. An old time lumberjack said that in all his days in the woods he has yet to see the equal of the scene. "I took a hand in trying to keep the boys in order and although I succeeded in preventing three fights, the conditions were soon beyond me, for it was impossible, even for a traveling missionary, to be in more than one part of the car at the same time and the performance was more than a three ring affair.

"When matters got to this pace I had to content myself with taking a hand only when it seemed that permanent injury would be done to the participants. One old man, very much under the influence of liquor, had his face battered beyond recognition. I pulled off the chastiser, but did not succeed in releasing the old man before one of his eyes had been closed and the mouth and face were covered with blood. No sooner had the champion of this affair been separated from the old man than another lumberjack was at the bully and the bully was taking the same medicine he had so liberally given to the old fellow. This second scrap placed another patient on my hands.

"When we came to the different camps and the men began to get off the train, I had to literally drag them through the snow away from the track, so they would not be killed, for many of them were too drunk and excited to realize the danger.

"I hope I shall never see such a condition again. Was it not Paul who said, 'I have fought with beasts at Ephesus.' I had a like experience on that logging train. A sober woodsman who saw the fight of the drunken lumberjacks said, 'Pilot, why do you continue to work among such men?' and I made answer, 'Because my Master died to save such.' This is to me a sufficient answer. The conditions need changing, and the only thing that will bring about a change is the Gospel."

In the sleigh of the Sky Pilot antiseptic bandages and a few medicines are carried. Through them he is able to relieve the wounded and assist the sick. His sleigh is often converted into an ambulance and men who have met with accidents are carried to the nearest hospital for treatment. If the accident is severe he visits the wounded to give cheer and hope. There, in the hospital, the men have time to think of eternal things, and the comfort of Christ is often the stimulus of the recovering and the solace of the dying. When death is approaching, the last letters are written and assurance of decent interment is given. The poor lumberjack may have no money to meet the expense, but the minister makes all arrangements for the funeral and after the body is entombed he goes back to the camp and tells the boys of their comrade's request for Christian burial. The campmen pay back every cent the Sky Pilot has expended.

"Tell the boys that in this hour Jesus Christ brought his strong salvation to me," said a dying man. "Ask them to trust him."

When the missionary goes back to the camp with such a message from the dead the interest is profound. Coming from one of themselves it seems more real than if it were the message of the preacher. When the testimony comes from their own mates they are more receptive to the gentle Gospel of the Cross. Often in death a lumberjack, by his message to the foresters, has accomplished more than in his years of life.

While speaking of this itinerating work we must add a paragraph concerning the homesteaders. In this forest region is much land that is open to settlement. The little cabins of the homesteaders, who have taken up claims, are seen in many parts of the forest, and the small clearings tell of man's presence. When the settlers hear that Rev. Frank E. Higgins is to hold services in a neighboring camp they are often found at the bunkhouse meetings. Mr. Higgins is practically the only pastor who visits the scattered peasantry; he conducts their marriage ceremonies, baptizes their children and speaks the last words over their dead. Into these homes he alone comes bearing spiritual tidings. Some of these homesteaders work their farms in summer and in the winter help out the scanty increase of the little fields by working in the logging camps. So in passing the new homes he leaves the literature, "speaks a good word for Jesus Christ," adds a sentence of comfort and passes along the trail,—like a true servant of him who was gladly received by the common people because he went about doing good. "Go ye into the highways and hedges," said the Nazarene.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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