Black Rock - Ralph Connor (books to read to increase intelligence txt) 📗
- Author: Ralph Connor
- Performer: -
Book online «Black Rock - Ralph Connor (books to read to increase intelligence txt) 📗». Author Ralph Connor
The minister went on. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you this, men, it all came over me with a rush; but it is true, every word, and not a word will I take back. And, what’s more, I can tell you this, what He did for me He can do for any man, and it doesn’t make any difference what’s behind him, and’—leaning slightly forward, and with a little thrill of pathos vibrating in his voice—‘O boys, why don’t you give Him a chance at you? Without Him you’ll never be the men you want to be, and you’ll never get the better of that that’s keeping some of you now from going back home. You know you’ll never go back till you’re the men you want to be.’ Then, lifting up his face and throwing back his head, he said, as if to himself, ‘Jesus! He shall save His people from their sins,’ and then, ‘Let us pray.’
Graeme leaned forward with his face in his hands; Baptiste and Blaney dropped on their knees; Sandy, the Campbells, and some others, stood up. Old man Nelson held his eyes steadily on the minister.
Only once before had I seen that look on a human face. A young fellow had broken through the ice on the river at home, and as the black water was dragging his fingers one by one from the slippery edges, there came over his face that same look. I used to wake up for many a night after in a sweat of horror, seeing the white face with its parting lips, and its piteous, dumb appeal, and the black water slowly sucking it down.
Nelson’s face brought it all back; but during the prayer the face changed, and seemed to settle into resolve of some sort, stern, almost gloomy, as of a man with his last chance before him.
After the prayer Mr. Craig invited the men to a Christmas dinner next day in Black Rock. ‘And because you are an independent lot, we’ll charge you half a dollar for dinner and the evening show.’ Then leaving a bundle of magazines and illustrated papers on the table—a godsend to the men—he said good-bye and went out.
I was to go with the minister, so I jumped into the sleigh first, and waited while he said good-bye to Graeme, who had been hard hit by the whole service, and seemed to want to say something. I heard Mr. Craig say cheerfully and confidently, ‘It’s a true bill: try Him.’
Sandy, who had been steadying Dandy while that interesting broncho was attempting with great success to balance himself on his hind legs, came to say good-bye. ‘Come and see me first thing, Sandy.’
‘Ay! I know; I’ll see ye, Mr. Craig,’ said Sandy earnestly, as Dandy dashed off at a full gallop across the clearing and over the bridge, steadying down when he reached the hill.
‘Steady, you idiot!’
This was to Dandy, who had taken a sudden side spring into the deep snow, almost upsetting us. A man stepped out from the shadow. It was old man Nelson. He came straight to the sleigh, and, ignoring my presence completely, said—
‘Mr. Craig, are you dead sure of this? Will it work?’
‘Do you mean,’ said Craig, taking him up promptly, ‘can Jesus Christ save you from your sins and make a man of you?’
The old man nodded, keeping his hungry eyes on the other’s face.
‘Well, here’s His message to you: “The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.”’
‘To me? To me?’ said the old man eagerly.
‘Listen; this, too, is His Word: “Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out.” That’s for you, for here you are, coming.’
‘You don’t know me, Mr. Craig. I left my baby fifteen years ago because—’
‘Stop!’ said the minister. ‘Don’t tell me, at least not tonight; perhaps never. Tell Him who knows it all now, and who never betrays a secret. Have it out with Him. Don’t be afraid to trust Him.’
Nelson looked at him, with his face quivering, and said in a husky voice, ‘If this is no good, it’s hell for me.’
‘If it is no good,’ replied Craig, almost sternly, ‘it’s hell for all of us.’
The old man straightened himself up, looked up at the stars, then back at Mr. Craig, then at me, and, drawing a deep breath, said, ‘I’ll try Him.’ As he was turning away the minister touched him on the arm, and said quietly, ‘Keep an eye on Sandy to-morrow.’
Nelson nodded, and we went on; but before we took the next turn I looked back and saw what brought a lump into my throat. It was old man Nelson on his knees in the snow, with his hands spread upward to the stars, and I wondered if there was any One above the stars, and nearer than the stars, who could see. And then the trees hid him from my sight
Many strange Christmas Days have I seen, but that wild Black Rock Christmas stands out strangest of all. While I was revelling in my delicious second morning sleep, just awake enough to enjoy it, Mr. Craig came abruptly, announcing breakfast and adding, ‘Hope you are in good shape, for we have our work before us this day.’
‘Hello!’ I replied, still half asleep, and anxious to hide from the minister that I was trying to gain a few more moments of snoozing delight, ‘what’s abroad?’.
‘The devil,’ he answered shortly, and with such emphasis that I sat bolt upright, looking anxiously about.
‘Oh! no need for alarm. He’s not after you particularly—at least not to-day,’ said Craig, with a shadow of a smile. ‘But he is going about in good style, I can tell you.’
By this time I was quite awake. ‘Well, what particular style does His Majesty affect this morning?’
He pulled out a showbill. ‘Peculiarly gaudy and effective, is it not?’
The items announced were sufficiently attractive. The ‘Frisco Opera Company were to produce the ‘screaming farce,’ ‘The Gay and Giddy Dude’; after which there was to be a ‘Grand Ball,’ during which the ‘Kalifornia Female Kickers’ were to do some fancy figures; the whole to be followed by a ‘big supper’ with ‘two free drinks to every man and one to the lady,’ and all for the insignificant sum of two dollars.
‘Can’t you go one better?’ I said.
He looked inquiringly and a little disgustedly at me.
‘What can you do against free drinks and a dance, not to speak of the “High Kickers”?’ he groaned.
‘No!’ he continued; ‘it’s a clean beat for us today. The miners and lumbermen will have in their pockets ten thousand dollars, and every dollar burning a hole; and Slavin and his gang will get most of it. But,’ he added, ‘you must have breakfast. You’ll find a tub in the kitchen; don’t be afraid to splash. It is the best I have to offer you.’
The tub sounded inviting, and before many minutes had passed I was in a delightful glow, the effect of cold water and a rough towel, and that consciousness of virtue that comes to a man who has had courage to face his cold bath on a winter morning.
The breakfast was laid with fine taste. A diminutive pine-tree, in a pot hung round with wintergreen, stood in the centre of the table.
‘Well, now, this looks good; porridge, beefsteak, potatoes, toast, and marmalade.’
‘I hope you will enjoy it all.’
There was not much talk over our meal. Mr. Craig was evidently preoccupied, and as blue as his politeness would allow him. Slavin’s victory weighed upon his spirits. Finally he burst out, ‘Look here! I can’t, I won’t stand it; something must be done. Last Christmas this town was for two weeks, as one of the miners said, “a little suburb of hell.” It was something too awful. And at the end of it all one young fellow was found dead in his shack, and twenty or more crawled back to the camps, leaving their three months’ pay with Slavin and his suckers.
‘I won’t stand it, I say.’ He turned fiercely on me. ‘What’s to be done?’
This rather took me aback, for I had troubled myself with nothing of this sort in my life before, being fully occupied in keeping myself out of difficulty, and allowing others the same privilege. So I ventured the consolation that he had done his part, and that a spree more or less would not make much difference to these men. But the next moment I wished I had been slower in speech, for he swiftly faced me, and his words came like a torrent.
‘God forgive you that heartless word! Do you know—? But no; you don’t know what you are saying. You don’t know that these men have been clambering for dear life out of a fearful pit for three months past, and doing good climbing too, poor chaps. You don’t think that some of them have wives, most of them mothers and sisters, in the east or across the sea, for whose sake they are slaving here; the miners hoping to save enough to bring their families to this homeless place, the rest to make enough to go back with credit. Why, there’s Nixon, miner, splendid chap; has been here for two years, and drawing the highest pay. Twice he has been in sight of his heaven, for he can’t speak of his wife and babies without breaking up, and twice that slick son of the devil—that’s Scripture, mind you—Slavin, got him, and “rolled” him, as the boys say. He went back to the mines broken in body and in heart. He says this is his third and last chance. If Slavin gets him, his wife and babies will never see him on earth or in heaven. There is Sandy, too, and the rest. And,’ he added, in a lower tone, and with the curious little thrill of pathos in his voice, ‘this is the day the Saviour came to the world.’ He paused, and then with a little sad smile, ‘But I don’t want to abuse you.’
‘Do, I enjoy it, I’m a beast, a selfish beast’; for somehow his intense, blazing earnestness made me feel uncomfortably small.
‘What have we to offer?’ I demanded.
‘Wait till I have got these things cleared away, and my housekeeping done.’
I pressed my services upon him, somewhat feebly, I own, for I can’t bear dishwater; but he rejected my offer.
‘I don’t like trusting my china to the hands of a tender-foot.’
‘Quite right, though your china would prove an excellent means of defence at long range.’ It was delf, a quarter of an inch thick. So I smoked while he washed up, swept, dusted, and arranged the room.
After the room was ordered to his taste, we proceeded to hold council. He could offer dinner, magic lantern, music. ‘We can fill in time for two hours, but,’ he added gloomily, ‘we can’t beat the dance and the “High Kickers.”’
‘Have you nothing new or startling?’
He shook his head.
‘No kind of show? Dog show? Snake charmer?’
‘Slavin has a monopoly of the snakes.’
Then he added hesitatingly, ‘There was an old Punch-and-Judy chap here last year, but he died. Whisky again.’
‘What happened to his show?’
‘The Black
Comments (0)