The
Bible Student’s unofficial newspaper the St
Paul Enterprise published a letter from Malcom Rutherford to his father in
December 1918.
The
letter shows a family closeness and a fondness for scripture and “the Divine
Plan.” Malcom was obviously in association with the Bible Students because he
had just recently been at a meeting where he heard “Brother Howlett” speak
about the situation. The whole letter is somewhat guarded in tone, since his
father, Joseph F Rutherford was now in prison and the war hysteria that put him
there was still rampant in American society. (Spelling and punctuation are as
the original.)
A
greater part of the letter details how a trip through the Mojave Desert (Death
Valley) nearly ended in disaster. It is extremely detailed, showing Malcom to
have a good command of the English language, but with a tendency common for the
era of using two words where even one was superfluous. It is so detailed, blow
by blow, that he either took detailed notes on the journey, or had an
exceptional memory, or just used “creative license” for some of it.
It
is interesting to note that the letter was dated July 21, 1918, only a month
after JFR was sentenced to twenty years in jail. However, it was not published
until nearly five months later, in the December 10, 1918, issue of the St Paul Enterprise (on page 4). Whether
Malcom’s father, JFR held it back, or whether that was down to the editor of
the St Paul Enterprise, is not known.
What IS known is that Malcolm married Pauline Short on March 28, 1918 in Los
Angeles, and after writing this letter, and having previously requested
exemption from the draft on the grounds of IBSA membership, he accepted
conscription and joined the army on September 10, 1918.
(transcript)
Voices
of the People, or What our Readers Say
These
are Our Readers’ Columns for the Fair, Free and Frank Expression of all Matters
of Spiritual Interest.
TOUCHING
EXRESSIONS OF LOVE.
Thrilling
Experiences Depicted by a Son, and written to Cheer and Lighten Burdens of a
Father.
Los
Angeles, Cal., July 21, 1918.
My
dear Father:
How
strange it seems to be addressing you at present, and still in other ways it
does not seem so much so, because we knew from statements in the Divine Plan
and Word that “all these things must come to pass.” So we sorrow not as others,
surely believing that all these experiences are working out for us a far more
exceeding and eternal weight of glory, and are among the “all things” that work
together for good to those who love God, and who are called according to his
purpose.
We
have received all of your letters, from the beginning of the present situation
to your departure from Washington, and wonderful letters they were, so full of
the spirit of the Master and of submission to His will. Their spirit and your
attitude toward the severe trials you were enduring and expected to endure were
a real inspiration to us, and I can see how, even in the midst of present
afflictions, you and the dear brethren are really happy. Because “greater is He
that is on our part than all that can be against us,” and regardless of what
our loyalty to the Divine Plan leads us into, we surely know that God’s laws
are higher than man’s laws, even as the heavens are higher that the earth. And
with a proper submission to both, we need not fear what man is able to do unto
us, for our Lord has said, “Fear not him who is able to kill the body, but
rather Him that is able to destroy both body and soul; yea, I say, fear
(reverence) ye Him.”
During
the trial various newspaper reports were received and opinions and conjectures
were numerous, but we took no stock in anything that we did not get direct from
you, and then, at last, we learned that there has been a short termination of
the case and that the present situation would result. It must have been a
remarkable witness to all – the spirit manifested by those on trial. Brother
Howlett spoke here last Sunday night and told some of the experiences in the court
room, the departure of the brethren after the sentence to the marshal’s office,
of the meeting there of the families of those convicted, and the subsequent
removal to prison. His remarks made a profound impression on all, and I know we
were not the only ones, because we have seen articles in Eastern papers
commenting in like manner. He told about the journey to Washington and the
kindly attitude manifested by the officers, and that it was the first time in
history that prisoners had been removed to Atlanta without being handcuffed, or
the officers required to use their guns to force submission. It does seem
peculiar that seven brethren were convicted, at noon on the longest day of the
year, when the sun for a moment reached its zenith and waned. Then the dungeon
experience, and the removal to Atlanta on a day when a national celebration was
in progress. From the human standpoint all these incidents may seem ridiculous
and absurd, but to us they mean a great deal, and surely indicate to our minds
that prophecy is being fulfilled, and that when these experiences come about,
then the time of our deliverance is nigh, and we can lift up our heads and
rejoice. In reading some of the prophecies of Jeremiah, many of us are inclined
to think that present conditions parallel his experiences, nad (sic) no doubt
that book contains far more of the Plan that is apparent to the casual reader
and observer.
Our
experiences during the past weeks have been varied and numerous. In the swirl
of events - new situations and old ones pending, the weeks have seemed more
like months, but in the midst of it all we have tried to be calm, fully
submissive to the Divine Will and endeavoring at all times to seek His
guidance, and so, we with others are going down the stream of time, realizing
what a wonderful time it is in which to live and that subsequent to present
stress, “A better day IS coming.” Present bitter experiences have surely
straightened our faith, caused us to stand by one another all the more and to
sympathize with one another more fully. Surely it is a time when everything
that can be shaken will be shaken, and there is no longer any intermediate
ground. The Scriptures tell us that brethren will hate one another and betray
one another, and we have evidences of this too.
But
in the midst of it all we have been happy, and have not neglected opportunities
to take a little proper pleasure and recreation. On the 4th of July,
Pauline and I, her mother and father, Marguerite and the little fellow, spent
the day in Tujunga Canyon. We left about 9 o’clock in the morning, had a nice
drive up the Arroyo, and after leaving the new concrete highway had only a few
miles to get down into a nice part of the canyon, where we parked the car and
walked a short distance ahead and prepared to spend the day under the shade of
the trees, by the mountain stream, and under the lee of the cliffs. Pauline and
I went in wading, and later tried to walk up the road a piece. It was an
amusing incident. Not being accustomed to going barefoot, the rocks hurt our
feet something fierce, and the ground was so hot that we would run a short
distance and then hurriedly sit down and hold them off the ground, or carry a
bunch of small branches and stand on them. When the sun was beginning to dent
the rock-rimmed skyline, we departed and arrived in Los Angeles in time to go
to Eastlake Park, take a look around, listen to the band, and then return to
our place here and have a few firecrackers and inexpensive fireworks –
reminders of actual childhood days that seem far back in the distance past.
Not
knowing what had been removed from Soda, and being rather handicapped in
sending others up to look at what I did not know for sure was there, we thought
best for me to take a turn up at the first opportunity and make a new
inventory. Last Monday night Pauline and I met Sam in town, got to talking
about the matter, and he stated that he would take us up in his Ford for a very
reasonable sum. There was a lull for a few days on account of waiting to hear
about the stage line decision, so we decided to go in the morning, and at once
hurried preparations to get together a few simple articles of food for the
trip. Tuesday morning at 5:30 saw us starting. At San Bernardino we had
breakfast, went up over the pass, stopped at Victorville for a drink, and went
on to Barstow. Here we loaded up on gas and water, and with Sam at the wheel,
started on our second half of the journey across that 125 miles of desolation.
We found new road signs placed by the U.S. Geological Department, and these
were a welcome contrast to the weather-beaten boards we found over a year ago.
For hours we crawled along over the typical desert road, and sunset found us
climbing the long slope from “Bean Soup” Lake (so named previously) to the
fourth summit on the trip, and about twilight, we reached the junction point
where one road goes north to Cave Springs, and the other goes directly to
Silver Lake. The Silver Lake Road Sam referred to as being like a chute the
chutes, or a roller coaster, on account of its rolling surface, and as the machine
bounced over it intermittently up and down almost without a pause, we thought
the sensation quite similar only it was pretty rough, and we had to hang on. At
8:30 we stopped for supper. Sam and I stretched out on the sand and used the
running board of the car for a table. It was a wonderful night, a soaring half
moon lighting the vast expanse of sand and sage brush, tinging the tips of the
volcanic spurs, and a warm breeze was the only sound that broke the silence. We
figured that we would reach the camp in about four hours from this point. When
we started a half hour later, we all took a drink and Sam poured the remains of
the water into the radiator. We had insisted on taking a 5-gallon can of water,
but Sam thought otherwise, and we did not feel like bossing the job, since it
was not our car. The machine rolled and plunged over the rough road for an hour
or more, and then just beyond a sign, it took a sudden turn and a rapid descent
began, into what appeared in the darkness to be a canyon. The hot blasts of air
that soon struck us indicated that we were headed for a lower level, and worst
of all, we could neither identify nor remember this road. Some distance down we
stopped, turned around in the sand with considerable difficulty and managed to
get back to the summit. Thinking we had taken the wrong road, that the right
one should lead along the summit of the ridge. But back at the starting point
we did find two faint tracks in the sand, and these only ran about 50 feet and
turned back into the course we had already taken, so we knew we would have to
retrace our steps. We did so, and a little farther on, all trace of a road
disappeared and we found ourselves going over sage brush and rocks in a
widening wash that led continually downward. When further progress seemed
impossible, we stopped for the night. Pauline stayed in the machine, Sam slept
on the ground a short distance away, and I laid down alongside the machine. It
was a hot night and no cover was needed. Then dark clouds arose to blot out the
radiant track of the moon, shadows deepened in the canyon, and soon only the
stars appeared in the vast vault above, and through the sage brush a strong
wind howled mournfully. Having slept little or none, Pauline and I were
stirring before sunrise, and looking down the wash which seems to stretch away
into the interminable distance, we were surprised to see a man approaching. It
was Sam. Being concerned as to where we were, and in an endeavor to find a
road, he had wandered down the wash during the night, and unable to find his
way back to the machine, had laid down and slept where he was and retraced his
course at daybreak. We were terribly thirsty, but there was no water, and very
little in the radiator. In a further endeavor to get our bearings, we went down
the wash, climbed one of the ragged cliffs and anxiously searched that vast,
silent void of desert and mountain for landmarks. Conjectures as to the
location of Silver Lake and Soda were numerous, and at last we practically
admitted that we were lost. Then the sun rose and the temperature changed from
a sultry heat to a fierce blast that increased every moment. Sam suggested to
drain the water out of the radiator into the canteen and start over the range
and try to find our destination. This idea was abandoned and we determined to
make an effort to get back to the summit. So we packed up, took a mouthful of
the dirty water out of the radiator, and then the machine began its climb up
the wash to the summit, and over the rolling course back to the signs and the
junction point previously mentioned. I am sure three people never watched as
carefully as we did for any road that might lead off from the one we were
retracing, but none appeared. At the junction point we held another parley.
There was no water to drink, the machine had only enough to go a few miles
farther, we had been on the only road pointing to Silver Lake and could not
find it. The last resort was to go in search of Cave Springs, five miles north.
Then the machine made another desperate effort to get through the sandy road,
and two miles up on the Cave Springs road we came across the remains of an
abandoned mine. Sam thought sure the direction was right for Silver Lake and
had identified landmarks up to that point, but the mine threw us off, and there
was no water in sight.
Two
miles farther we came to the head of another canyon, and the road leading down
to this, or rather what had been a road before it was washed out, was so rocky
and steep that to descend it seemed almost impossible, and Sam stated that with
the water in the radiator nearly gone, if we ever got down, we could never get
out again. He suggested that we fill the canteen with what was left and try
that direction for Silver Lake. But weakened from loss of sleep, no water, and
in the terrible glare and heat, Pauline and I did not feel equal to it, and we
knew that Silver Lake lay some miles distant, in some direction, provided we
could ever find it. To retrace our steps to any known spring was over 30 miles.
If we went down the canyon wth the machine and found no water, we could not get
out, so I think at heart we felt we were up against it in every way, and in the
midst of the awful desolation and silence, I am inclined to think some dark
pictures arose in our minds. Something had to be done, and at last, resigned to
our fate, whatever it might be, we started in the machine down that winding,
dangerous road into a narrow, rock-ribbed canyon. A mile and a half, or more,
down the canyon, at a turn in the road, some willow trees came into view, and
as we approached some doves flew out. “That means there’s water near,” said
Sam, and we hardly whether to grasp it as a hope or not, because we knew what
it meant if we did not find the springs. A short distance ahead I jumped out
and started on the run for what appeared to be a spring walled in. It was
simply a shelter, but arund another turn a sign appeared, and before I reached
it I noticed the direction it pointed, and very plainly the sign, “Cave
Springs.” The silence of that barren, rocky cavern was rent with a volley of
whoops and a concentrated rush in the direction of the sign; and there in a
niche in the rocks was a nice cool spring. The surface was covered with bird
feathers and bits of sage brush, but by brushing this aside we could get clean
water, and it seemed comparatively pure. The surroundings were quite unusal. It
was a little rock cavern, not over a hundred feet long, very irregular, and in
an easterly direction we could look down a long slope into the southern end of
Death Valley – a weird, glistening, blinding patch of sand and alkali, a
thousand feet or more below, bordered on the eastern side by the hazy, purple
tinged mountains of the Panamint Range. On the south side of the cavern we
found numerous holes in the conglomerate rock, remains of stone houses, or
rather small rooms that had doubtless sheltered prospectors in the long ago,
and one little dug-out, resembling a prospect hole, afforded shade and rest
even in the hottest part of the day. It was just about noon when we arrived,
and the sun blazed and scorched like an oven, but in the shade of the rocks we
rested, ate a good lunch, had plenty of water to drink, and without much
comment realized that perhaps the finding of the water prevented a desert
tragedy, because Silver Lake is far south of Death Valley, and had we not found
the spring and gone in that direction, I would not care to imagine the
consequences. We poured the contents of our 5-gallon can into the fuel tank and
filled this with water. Our vacuum bottle which had contained buttermilk on the
way out, was also filled to say nothing of ourselves, and when it came to
stocking up there was no limitation. Feeling now that we were prepared for a
siege, we bade farewell to our oasis and the terrible valley below and began
that fierce climb out. With the motor racing on lowfgear the machine grabbed
and plunged and fought its way to the top of the canyon over the rocks and
shade that just about tore the tires to pieces. Then we went back to the
junction point, and seeing nothing else to do, again went back over the road
that we had retraced – the only one indicated by the signs as being the Silver
Lake route. Every foot of it was watched carefully for a road leading south,
which we were sure was the right direction. Then we gave up entirely and quit
conjecturing, and with an outburst of laughter Sam and I admitted that we were
sure “horned.” Here another situation presented itself. We had been over this
road, down the canyon the night before – twice – had been to the place where
the road disappeared entirely. What was the use of going back there again. And
if we did go and could not find Silver Lake, we would not have enough gasoline
to get back to Barstow. We went as far as we dared – to the summit of the
canyon, and here Sam and I climbed out to one of the nearby rocky points in a
final attempt to get our bearings. And there, far ahead and below, beyond where
we had stopped, stretching away across the sand waste like a tiny yellow
thread, a road appeared, topped the distant sand dune, turned south, and beyond
that and between two mountains, we made out what we determined to be Silver
Lake. Still another range remained to be crossed.
Back
at the machine a further discussion was held. Out in that land of mirages and
treacherous canyons, we might be off. If we went down there and did not find
our town, we would not get back on account of gasoline, and there was a grave
danger of the tires giving out at any time, and if they did, it was simply
impossible to go over the rough passages on the rim. But we finally agreed to
it, and for the fifth time went over that stretch leading down into the wash,
and there, not over 20 feet from where we had stopped during the night, we
found a faint trace of a road. Quite a bit of it had been wiped out entirely,
and this had thrown us off. This new course led down to the wash and finally
into the long stretch across the valley, and holding on with both hands and our
breath for fear the tires would let go any minute, we went after it. An hour
and a half later we circled the rim of the sand dune and dropped down into
Silver Lake, got a drink of soda, some food, and just at dark pulled into camp.
It was a hot night. Sam and I went in the pool in an endeavor to cool off. We
slept on cots out on the screen porch, where the hot wind nearly blew us to
pieces. In the morning we made the rounds, looked over the place, posted signs,
inspected the wagon, took a last look and at 2 o’clock started on the homeward
trip.
At
Silver Lake we again stocked on eats, gasolone and water, and the next big
proposition was to get across that valley and up the wash without the tires
failing. Out of the Silver Lake the sand was so deep that not even the bloomin’
Ford would pull it, and Pauline and I had to push the outfit. But we got back –
to the summit, the roller coaster country too, and at dark reached our
calculated destination – Garlick Springs, where we camped for the night. Here,
on the road, is a nice spring, a little corral, a watering trough, and a little
shack that is visited occasionally by its owner. We had a little campfire,
fried some bacon and had a simple meal. And then we lay with our faces to the
sky, with its myriads of bright stars and the soaring moon; there in the heart
of the desert where the grim mountains watched like silent specters and the
cool night breeze swept down to lull us to sleep. There in the midst of the
elements that God made and glorified, far from the haunts of human
institutions, selfishness and strife, what a contrast it seemed, and I know
that little experience led us all to a greater appreciation of one another and
particularly the One whose power hath for so long blessed us and who surely led
us on, over the desolate places where death lurked, and where dangers lured.
Somehow it reminded me of the journey of life – the desert experiences as well
as the bright spots along the way, and of the power ever near, supreme yet
silent as the elements, watching, guiding, keeping guard over us. It brought to
mind the beautiful words of the Psalmist: “O Lord, thou hast searched me, and
known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my
thoughts afar off. Thou compasseth my path and my lying down, and are
acquainted with all my ways. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither
shall flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I
make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me
and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me,
even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee;
but the night shineth as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike
unto thee.”
The
following morning we arose, rather glad to stir ourselves because the last
hours were rather cold, and packed our stuff again for the last lap of the
journey. Without a mishap we reached Barstow, then on to Victorville, down the
pass, and at 7:30 arrived at Los Angeles. Thus ended the most interesting,
rough and dangerous trip we have ever taken. The few photographs I am enclosing
may be of interest to you.
Mother
states she hopes to be in Atlanta soon, and that she will be permitted to see
you occasionally. I wish this might be my privilege also, but for the present
this seems impossible. Perhaps in the course of events and the outworking of
Divine Providence we may see each other face to face, but even if this is not
possible, then we are resigned to whatever the situation may be, knowing that a
greater purpose is being accomplished.
“Lord,
tho hast been our dwelling place in all generation. Before the mountains were
brought forth, or even thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from
everlasting to everlasting thou art God. So teach us to number our days that we
may apply our hearts unto wisdom, and let the beauty of the Lord our God be
upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our
hands establish thou it. There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any
plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee,
to keep thee in all thy ways. Peace I leave with you, my peace give I unto you,
let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Now unto him that is
able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence
of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and
majesty and dominion and power, both now and forever.”
With
a special prayer for your comfort, blessing and guidance, and a like expression
of love and sympathy for all of the dear brethren with you in bonds, I am, as
ever,
Your
most devoted son,
MALCOLM
RUTHERFORD
