# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1921_S93
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

92

The Lutheran Pioneer.

along the shore. With oars the Negro continues
upstream until he thinks he can make the opposite
landing by floating down on the current. Finally,
after much grunting, he is ready for us, inviting us
to run on to the flat. Again, in crossing, the same
procedure is followed out— poling, rowing, riding
down on the current. Now for the ascent up the
bank, which is so steep that to ask our car to climb
up the side of a house would be a fair comparison.
However, we have confidence in our Ford, for it can
do almost incredible stunts. And so with a snort of
impatience, after having reached the top, our engine
sets out for Possum Bend, fourteen miles away.

Here we won’t linger longer than to say that on
this occasion also another missionary, Pastor Carter,
laid down his office to give it over into my trust.
The affection with which the people saw their pastor
leave them was touching.

Chapel and School, Possum Bend, Ala.

Vredenburgh, next stop! ‘This was another
jump of about thirty miles. Running into a
shower, we affixed chains and put up storm cur-
tains, but we were spared what we had dreaded —
a terrific Southern downpour. Up steep hills we
tortuously climbed, through deep sand and across
many a creek we raced against time, for it was
getting late. Finally, Vredenburgh hove into sight,
Vredenburgh with its immense piles of waste edg-
ings of lumber burning day and night, fires which
forcibly remind one of the eternal fires of God’s
wrath on lost souls. Here a boy was to meet Pastor
Montgomery to take him out in a buggy to the
three-mile distant chapel. Not finding him on
hand, I had to make the run out. On the way
back through the noisy and squalid Negro quarters
I picked up several Negro boys who were going my
way. How, glad I was that I had done s0, for after
-a few minutes they were of valuable assistance to
me in changing a tire. The remaining six miles to

‘Tinela were made in record time, considering the
poor condition of the “roads.”

And now I was to go through another service.
But my condition! I was covered from head to foot
with a thick layer of dust, my shoes seemed never
to have known a shine, my shirt was spotted with
grease, and my collar—! ‘Then, too, my hair was
disheveled, my face grimy and streaked with sweat,
my hands black as a machinist’s. And my brain, if
one could have taken a peek into it, would have
given a like appearance. I had to ask the people,
who had come out in goodly numbers, to give me
five minutes’ time to clear away the brain-fogs that
had collected there and to gather my thoughts that
had been tumbled and jostled into a veritable rub-
bish-heap during the last lap of the trip. Still,
I enjoyed the service in that little log-cabin, thank-
ful to the Lord that I was being permitted to tell
the old, old story of Jesus and His love to hungry
souls, 7

Happy I tumbled into bed at a friendly house
close by. True, I had gone nearly the limit, being
completely worn out and not having had a thing to
eat since noon. But I “fed” my stomach on a pipe-
ful of tobacco and told it to grumble away while
I slept.

Now I might go on to tell of the big rain that
came up overnight, putting me on edge for fear of
being mud-bound in a village having only one road
as a connecting link with the outside world. I might
describe how in the morning I plowed through the
stickiest of sticky mud to Buena Vista only to be
told there that I had not a chance of continuing on
to my objective—and that, at the very most, not
over five miles away. I might recount my having
to make a roundabout trip of about fifty miles
through “awful” mud, a trip lasting all day long,
to reach the place I was so close to in the morning;
yes, and of abandoning my car and taking to horse-
back to complete the journey. I might again relate
how, for what seemed an eternity, I crawled through
“oceans” of mud and inky darkness to get back to
a hotel, there to scrape the caked mud from hands,
arms, and face, not to speak of clothes and shoes.

.And again I had to console my stomach with a

smoke, knowing that no one would hear its growling
but the bedclothes. Again I was spent beyond my
bodily and mental powers. Let this suffice, however,
lest you be wearied by too much detail.

Kind friend of missions, the Lord has made
men willing to be spent in His work of saving souls
among the Colored people. How much do you spend