The Lumberjack Sky Pilot

by Thomas D. Whittles

"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: