I think I have met "Ralph Conner." Indeed, I am sure I have--once
in a canoe on the Red River, once on the Assinaboine, and twice or
thrice on the prairies to the West. That was not the name he gave
me, but, if I am right, it covers one of the most honest and genial
of the strong characters that are fighting the devil and doing good
work for men all over the world. He has seen with his own eyes the
life which he describes in this book, and has himself, for some
years of hard and lonely toil, assisted in the good influences which
he traces among its wild and often hopeless conditions. He writes
with the freshness and accuracy of an eye-witness, with the style
(as I think his readers will allow) of a real artist, and with the
tenderness and hopefulness of a man not only of faith but of
experience, who has seen in fulfillment the ideals for which he
lives.
The life to which he takes us, though far off and very strange to
our tame minds, is the life of our brothers. Into the Northwest of
Canada the young men of Great Britain and Ireland have been pouring
(I was told), sometimes at the rate of 48,000 a year. Our brothers
who left home yesterday--our hearts cannot but follow them. With
these pages Ralph Conner enables our eyes and our minds to follow,
too; nor do I think there is any one who shall read this book and
not find also that his conscience is quickened. There is a warfare
appointed unto man upon earth, and its struggles are nowhere more
intense, nor the victories of the strong, nor the succors brought
to the fallen, more heroic, than on the fields described in this
volume.
The story of the book is true, and chief of the failures in the
making of the book is this, that it is not all the truth. The
light is not bright enough, the shadow is not black enough to give
a true picture of that bit of Western life of which the writer was
some small part. The men of the book are still there in the mines
and lumber camps of the mountains, fighting out that eternal fight
for manhood, strong, clean, God-conquered. And, when the west
winds blow, to the open ear the sounds of battle come, telling the
fortunes of the fight.
Because a man's life is all he has, and because the only hope of
the brave young West lies in its men, this story is told. It may
be that the tragic pity of a broken life may move some to pray, and
that that divine power there is in a single brave heart to summon
forth hope and courage may move some to fight. If so, the tale is
not told in vain.