On one occasion he had been called to the justice court to plead for a woodsman who was charged with being drunk and disorderly. The preacher asked the justice to make the sentence as light as possible and to allow the man to go after giving him a reprimand. The judge was an old friend of the missionary, and at the time of the trial could hardly be called sober. Often he would appear in his office the worse for liquor and dispense justice to the petty offenders. In spite of his failing, the justice had a shrewd sense of right and a great respect for the dignity of his office.
After hearing the plea that Mr. Higgins made for the lumberjack the judge decided to reprimand the man and dismiss the case. He tried to sober himself that the dignity of the law might not suffer through the weakness of the dispenser. He knew that the office called for erect deportment, so the bench straightened his figure and impressively began the reprimand:
"W-whiskey is-s a bad thing. It ma-akes a f-fool of an h-honest man and a d-d—n f-fool of a f-fool. It s-shouldn't be used by l-lumberjacks; t-they belong to the l-last c-class already. It ma-akes a f-fool of every man t-that touches it. If you don't believe it, j-just l-look at the j-judge who has the p-power of sentencing you. See w-what w-whiskey has done for him. B-because of my f-friend Higgins I'll let y-you off this t-time, but remember the j-judge and let w-whiskey alone. Dis-dismissed."
The example was a good one. Even Solomon could not have chosen a more timely illustration, for the judge vividly set forth in his own person what whiskey could do for a man, and the woodsman appreciated the force of the advice. Taking the missionary with him, the lumberjack went to the hotel and drew off his shoes. From the toes of the shoes he extracted a roll of bills containing one hundred and fifty dollars.
"If those blood suckers, who made me drunk, had known I had this, they would have robbed me of it the same as they did of the rest and I wouldn't have a cent now. Well, Pilot, I'm through with it. By God's help, this is the last."
The man went to North Dakota and settled on a farm. Today he is the proud owner of three hundred and twenty acres, and is prospering.
The writer is only trying to pen a brief picture of the field as it presents itself to the missionary. No man can give a full description of the wide privilege that is open to the minister in these places where the lumberjacks congregate. He is required to perform varying duties whether they are related to the minister's calling or not. Often, in the regular ministrations, elements are introduced that suggest the burlesque rather than the solemn services common to the ministry, as the following incident will illustrate:
It was the last day of the drive and the riverpigs were coming into town after their labors on the lakes and rivers. The town was reaping its harvest—at least the saloons and other evils were. As the Rev. Frank E. Higgins walked the street, he was approached by a drunken riverpig.
"Say, Pilot," he began, "one of our crew fell off a log, pulled the hole in after him and is at the coffin shop ready for the boneyard. We uns want him planted like a decent Christian; he wa'n't no squaw man or Indian. See to the trimmings, will you? Do the job up right if you have to buy out every wannigan in town. Are you on, Pilot? When you're ready call for us at Blank's saloon, for we want to go with you to Jim's bunking place."
The driver left him and entered Blank's saloon to report progress to the boys and the minister proceeded to the undertaker's establishment to make the necessary arrangements for the funeral. He ordered a plain pine coffin, and after procuring a dray for a hearse, drove up to Blank's saloon for the boys.