Low Twelve

TRUE TO HIS OATH - A LEGEND
OF THE NEW JERSEY COAST

Rev. William Hollinshed is a retired clergy-man of the Presbyterian Church, and at this writing is proprietor of the Bumbrae House, a summer resort about two miles from the little town of Sparta, Sussex County, N. J. I spent the month of June, 1906, at the Burnbrae, and formed a high regard for Mr. Hollinshed's ability and Christian character. He is one of the admirable few whose daily life is in accord with his profession, and whose retirement from active service, because of broken health, does not mean that he has ceased his labors in his Master's vineyard. He is as constant as ever in his works of charity, consolation and self-denial, and is known far and near as an earnest minister of the Gospel.

It was while sitting on the porch of the Bumbrae, as the moon shone over mountain and lake, long after all the other patrons were sunk in slumber, that Mr. Hollinshed gave me, among many interesting experiences, the following:

"I was resident pastor for four years in the Lackawanna Valley, where the Erie, Delaware and Hudson, and the Ontario and Western coal fields are located. My charge was the Forest City Presbyterian Church, six miles north of Carbondale and twenty-three miles from Scranton. The population of the section was about seven thousand. Twenty-five hundred men and boys were employed in the mines, of whom six hundred were English speaking, the others being Poles, Huns, Slavs, etc.

"My troubles came with the great coal strike, when a boycott was placed against the families of the pump runners, engineers and foremen, who were members of my church, and were trying to protect the property of their employers, make it possible for the country to have coal, and to save places for the workmen when the turmoil should end. These faithful employee's were hounded, stoned and fired upon. They were refused meat, bread, milk and clothing, as were their wives and children. Out-of-town merchants were warned not to sell these necessaries to any of the suffering families or to their friends. The only way of satisfying their crying wants was through purchase by me in my own name of what was needed. I did this extensively, and distributed, so far as possible, the articles secretly, though it was inevitable that my action should soon become known. If there ever was a persona non grata, I was that individual.

"We must not censure the local dealers too severely, for had they disregarded the notice served upon them, they would not only have been boycotted, but that fearful agent, dynamite, would have been used against them. Although the woeful situation did not last long, it was long enough for me to give some help to suffering womanhood and helpless children. I wrote to other ministers and a circular was distributed, asking for peace and an observance of the laws. It proved useless, however, for the men were in a desperate mood and a riot followed, which was prevented from becoming a bloody massacre through the arrival of the militia.

"The sight of my members, tried and true, insulted and pelted with chunks of rocks, filled me with righteous indignation. In October I wrote an article, 'A Voice from the Coal Fields,' which was published in the N.Y. Sun. Although I did not localize it, what I said was the simple truth. I was known at once as the author, and the mob became more inflamed than ever. The leaders of the strike replied with 1500 handbills of an inflammatory character, directed against me personally and meant to rouse the passionate hatred of the foreigners. Beyond question it succeeded. I replied with dignity and courtesy, but it was like pouring oil upon the raging flames.

"One morning when I came out of my door I saw a book lying on the porch. Upon examination, I found that it had been shot half through by a revolver bullet, all the leaves had been cut by a razor and four grossly insulting messages were written within. I knew that action would follow these threats, but I was in the path of duty, and was resolved to go forward, content to do the will of the only One to whom I bow the knee.

"A few nights later, just as I had closed my prayer meeting, and was about to pass out of the door to go home, I was confronted by a woman, a member of my church, whose face and manner showed that she brought momentous news. Beckoning me to one side, she said in an excited undertone:

"'MT. Hollinshed, you must not try to go home tonight.'

"'Why not?' I calmly asked, though my heart was beating faster than usual.

"'If you do, you will be killed; Lam telling you the truth.'

"'I don't doubt that, my good woman, but explain; who is your authority?'

"'My husband; he overheard the plot; he was in the next room; he telephoned me ten minutes ago not to lose a second in warning you; I had just time to fling my shawl over my head, and I ran all the way to this place; had I been a few minutes later nothing could have saved you.'

"When she told me this I understood it all. Her husband and I were members of the same Masonic lodge. He remembered his oath, and took his life in his hands when he sent notice by his wife of my intended assassination. His use of the telephone in the circumstances was dangerous, and his wife running through the wintry street was likely to draw attention to her, but neither of the couple hesitated at the risk. I do not mention the name of my loyal brother, for it is not necessary, and possibly might injure him, even at this late day.

"I thanked the woman and told her to assure her husband of my deep gratitude. It would have been imprudent for her and me to be seen together, and I waited until she passed from sight. Then I walked to the barracks and told what I had learned to the captain. He detailed two soldiers to escort me home, which was reached without molestation. The soldiers guarded my house for a week. While this precaution unquestionably saved my life, it did not protect me when on the street. On two occasions the leaders shouted to their followers to 'kill the - preacher,' and they seemed eager to do it. On my way to the post-office one morning, I passed five hundred scowling men, with whom I saw I was certain to have trouble. In returning, a ferocious-looking fellow called me such a vile name that I turned to rebuke him. He was standing in the door of a saloon, and when I walked toward him he laughed and dashed inside.

"By this time fifty rioters had closed around me. I faced them and told them to do their work. I preferred to die a martyr to American principles rather than live a craven and coward. The fact that it was broad daylight and we were on the main street made the mob hesitate, and I reached home unharmed.

"The nervous strain lasting through five months was too much for me. On the next Sabbath morning I was stricken with paralysis while in the pulpit. What a proof it was of the reign of terror in that region, that not a physician could be found with enough courage to come to my assistance! I speedily recovered and remained two years longer at Forest City, myself and my church-members subject all the time to the boycott. The outside world can form no idea of those awful times. When the boy of a workman was borne through the streets to the grave, it was between jeering crowds, who shouted, 'Good! good!' clapped their hands, and called out the most shocking insults. It was almost impossible to get singers or pall-bearers. School-teachers were discharged because they had brothers or fathers at work. Free Masons were too frightened to attend lodge meetings when their route led through any of the by streets, and it seemed at times as if no man was safe unless he meekly bowed to the will of the lawbreakers. I was no agitator, and never when in the pulpit defended corporations or attacked the Union. I did what I could to help the starving families of the strikers, collecting money, clothing and food, which I divided at the risk of my life impartially among those in need of them."

It was on another evening that Mr. Hollinshed related the following incident. While in pleasing contrast to his turbulent experience in the coal regions, it illustrates none the less touchingly the beautiful spirit of Free Masonry:

At the time referred to a prosperous cloth merchant of southern England lost his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached. Ruth, a daughter nine years old, in whom his love centered, could not dispel the gloom and depression of the father, whose decline in health became so marked that his physician told him that only a long sea voyage, with its change of scene and manner of living, would save his life. He reluctantly consented to sail to America. It was in midsummer, and his intention was to return home for the Christmas holidays. He embarked from Liverpool for New York, and almost immediately experienced an improvement in health and strength. When within a day's sail of land a dense fog settled over the vessel. A furious easterly gale set in the captain lost his bearings, and hardly had the lead been cast when the ship was dashed upon the outer bar. This was before the establishment of that blessed institution of life saving along our ocean and lake coasts. The vessel was rapidly pounded to pieces. Nearly all were washed from the wreck and drowned. When all hope was lost, the father lashed his child to a plank. He had no thought that either would be saved, but he uttered a prayer that the body of his child might be found by some fisherman and given Christian burial. He pinned a little golden emblem, the square and compass, to her shawl, and had just time to kiss her good-by when the billows swept her from his sight.

A fearful crash followed, and the parent became unconscious. When his senses returned, he found himself in the cabin of a vessel bound for New Orleans. He had been rescued at break of day when the fog lifted. Upon his arrival at the Southern city he read the accounts of a shipwreck in the newspapers, with the statement of the loss of all on board. He used every possible means to gain tidings of his lost daughter, but in vain, and when he finally sailed for England he was firmly persuaded that she had perished and would never be seen by him again in this world.

Five years later business called the parent once more to the United States. He had a vague hope that he might be able to learn something of lost Ruth, and that it should become his sad privilege to place her remains beside those of his revered wife. He knew the vicinity of the wreck, but when he visited it and made inquiries was not able to glean the slightest information. At the inn in New Jersey he learned that two of the guests were Free Masons, who had come thither as representatives to the Grand Lodge, which was about to convene in that town. Having made himself known as a member of the order, the father was invited to attend the session. He did so, and when the routine business was finished he was invited by the Grand Master to make some remarks. He complied, speaking glowingly of the success and prosperity of Masonry in England, after which he told the purpose of his visit to that part of New Jersey. He gave a graphic account of his shipwreck, the loss of his only child, and said that the prayer of his life was that he might find her grave and be able to carry the remains to his home in England.

While relating his affecting story the Englishman did not notice that the tyler was excused for a brief while, and that all the brethren showed a peculiar interest in his words. Recess was declared shortly after. A group gathered around the visitor and feelingly expressed their sympathy. He was in the midst of conversation, when suddenly a young woman was ushered into the lodge room, looked wildly round for a moment and then rushed to the astounded visitor, exclaiming:

"My father! my father!"

Before he could rally from his bewilderment, her arms were round his neck and she was sobbing with joy. Then he recognized her as indeed his lost Ruth, and every eye in the room was filled with tears at the touching meeting between child and parent, who had for years thought each other dead.

When something like quiet was restored, the tyler in a trembling voice said to the visitor:

"This is the saddest and happiest night of my life, for I lose and you gain a daughter. I am a fisherman, and on that eventful day was repairing my nets, near the inlet, when the waves tossed a plank to shore near me. I saw the unconscious child and the square and compass pinned to her clothing. She was alive; and carrying her tenderly to my home, she speedily recovered under the care and loving attention of my wife. The Masonic emblem did not save her life, but it drew me more closely to her. I yield her to you with an overflowing heart; take her, but may I not claim that the happy daughter has gained a new mother and two fathers?"

"Indeed you may; you shall be her second parents as long as you live."