The Minute Man on the FrontierPuddefoot, William George
History
The Minute Man on the Frontier
Puddefoot, William George
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Missions -- West (U.S.)
Our country is to have a rank growth of something. Rich in the blood
of many nationalities, with freedom well-nigh to license, what will
the harvest be if left without spiritual husbandry? Dr. Mulhall's
"Dictionary of Statistics" tells us how the crop looks now. The ratio
of murders to each million inhabitants has stood as follows in the
countries named: England, 711; Ireland, 883; France, 796; Germany,
837; and the United States, 2,460. Only Italy and Spain exceed us. Do
we wonder why the foreigner is worse here than at home? The answer is
easy. He has left the restraints of a watchful government; our liberty
is for him license. On the frontier he is exposed to the worst
influences, and for years has no religious instruction nor even
example. Is it strange that death reaps such a harvest? The sowers go
forth to sow. In due time that seed ripens to the harvest.
The _Police Gazette_ is sowing dragon's teeth most diligently. The log
shanties of the lumbermen are often papered with them. Nice primers
these for "young America"! Sober Maine sends streams of polluted
literature out here, with cheap chromo attachments, and the
Sunday-school lesson in them for an opiate. The infidel lecturer is
sowing his seed on the fruitful soil of runaway guilt. The callow
scientist is dropping seed long since _dropped_ in another way by real
scientists. The whole country is sown with newspapers of all grades,
and the crop is coming up. What shall the harvest be?
"Be not deceived, whatsoever a nation soweth, that shall it also
reap."
In a very large number of new settlements all the above agencies are
in active operation before the missionary arrives; and, oh, what a
field he finds! The farmer on the new farm cannot use the drill and
improved implements for the uneven places and stumps, but must needs
sow by hand, and sometimes between the log piles, a little here and a
little there, and then, between times, spend his strength
underbrushing.
So the missionary starts without a church building, choir, organ, or
even a membership, his pulpit a box in a vacant store, or in a
schoolhouse or railway depot, or some rude log house of the settler;
his audience is gathered from the four corners of the earth--
representatives of a dozen sects, backsliders in abundance, and
those who have run away from the light of civilized life. Many among
the latter have broken their marriage vows, and are now living in
unlawful wedlock.
I remember once preaching on this evil to an audience of less than
twenty, and was surprised at the close of the meeting to hear a woman
say, "Did you know you gave Mrs. ---- an awful crack on the knuckles
to-day?"
I said, "No!"
"Well, ye did, ye know."
Mentioning the circumstance with surprise to another, I received for
an answer, "Well, she needn't say nothin'; she's in the same boat
herself!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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