Sign up for our free newsletter:

Vigilantes, lawmen, bounty hunters, and posse riders-all astride foam-flecked horses-are credited with taming the old Wild West. Overlooked are the more gentle individuals on iron horses who did more to subdue the lawless West than the glorified gun-toters.

These peacemakers were the missionaries riding railroad chapel cars to areas too remote to establish churches. To people sick of violence and starved for spiritual direction, they were a welcome sight. Many tough hombres who would have refused to be seen in traditional churches seemed to have had no qualms about attending these siderail services.

Inevitably, some holdouts had to be brought to the Lord under false pretenses. Their womenfolk advised them that civil matters required their presence down on the tracks.

"My husband is coming to the meeting tonight," a pioneer woman told a chapel car minister before the service. "So, please start off by singing some railroad songs or he won't stay long enough for us to soften him up."

No subterfuge was needed to bring the women. For them, the chapel cars were literally a "godsend." Not only did they bring clergymen who could conduct weddings, baptisms, and funerals, but they also were the centers for social gatherings. Needing little encouragement, women worked to solicit funds for building churches instead of more saloons.

Whenever word got out that a chapel car was arriving, people came from miles around to watch while the car was diverted to a siding where-courtesy of the railroad-it would remain as long as needed before traveling to the next destination.

"To beat the devil"
Before the Baptists introduced the chapel cars to the West in the early 1890s, their missionaries had always traveled on foot. Colporters (from the French word "colporteurs," meaning those who carry from the neck), carried Bibles, tracts, and other reading materials strung by yokes across their shoulders to wilderness homes.

One of those colporters, Boston Smith, came up with the idea of chapel cars. While ministering in a small Minnesota town, he noticed that the Northern Pacific Railroad left a passenger car on a siding every weekend. Since his congregation was outgrowing any of the town's existing facilities, Reverend Smith asked the railroad authorities if he could use the car for church on Sunday.

To everyone's surprise, the railroad agreed. Church in a railroad car? The sheer novelty of it drew the largest crowd in the town's history.

Smith later wrote: "I dreamed of the day when a missionary car would be built for the purpose of carrying the gospel to communities in the Far West."

Smith would have to wait several years for his dream to come true. But finally, in 1890, with the help of railroad executive Colgate Hoyt and a syndicate headed by John D. Rockefeller, a car christened "Evangel" was built at the Barney & Smith Car Company of Dayton, Ohio.

Measuring 10 feet across and 60 feet long, it seated 100 people and doubled as living quarters for the missionaries. Dedicated May 23, 1891, in Cincinnati, it was transported to Minneapolis where it was furnished by the ladies of the Twin Cities Baptist Churches. From there Evangel began its journey via the Northern Pacific system under Reverend Smith's authority. Smith carried a letter from the railroad's general manager directing all personnel: "You will pass Mr. Boston W. Smith and one attendant with the chapel car 'Evangel' over our lines. You will arrange to take the car on any train he desires; you will sidetrack it wherever he wishes. Make it as pleasant for Mr. Smith as you can."

The Evangel arrived in Oregon in December and immediately became a symbol of good trying to destroy evil. Vandals tried to burn it, pelted it with eggs, and covered it with graffiti. But the vandalism outraged law-abiding citizens, who vowed to protect the car.

Evangel drew such a following, in fact, that additional cars-"Glad Tidings," "Good Will," "Messenger of Peace," "Herald of Hope," and "Grace"-were put into service.

At one stop, the Messenger of Peace caught the attention of a young farm boy. "Now what kind of a car do you reckon that is?" he asked. When he learned it was a church car and that a minister and his wife lived in it, the fellow marveled, "I've seen cattle cars, hog cars, smoking cars, baggage cars, passenger cars, and sleeping cars. But I'll be blessed if I ever saw a car like this. If that don't beat the devil!"

Overhearing the conversation, the young minister appeared at one of the car windows and said, "Yes, that's exactly what the car was built for-to beat the devil."

The Cathedral Car
Francis C. Kelley, president of the Catholic Extension Society, also considered the chapel cars a good way to beat the devil. "If the Baptists can make a success of these cars," he thought to himself while inspecting the Messenger of Peace on display at the 1898 World Exposition in St. Louis, "then the Catholics can do the same."

Father Kelley detailed the benefits of chapel cars in a magazine article: Railroads pulled the cars free of charge; they cost little to maintain; large quantities of literature could be transported; they provided housing for the priests; they were links to areas long neglected; and they could be the catalyst for future permanent churches.

Ambrose Petty, a Detroit businessman, responded. He arranged for the Pullman Company to refurbish a wooden car christened "St. Anthony."

The one and only Episcopal entree into this mode of ministry was the "Cathedral Car," which covered 70,000 square miles by rail in North Dakota. Missionary Bishop William David Walker noted in his journal, the Pullman Palace Car Company built his 60-foot long car in 1890 at a cost of $3,000. Above the windows were the words: "Church of the Advent," and below, in golden characters, "The Cathedral Car of North Dakota."

"Inside it is neatly furnished," he wrote, "with an organ, lectern, bishop's chair, and altar. A double row of chairs seats about 70 people. One end is partitioned off to serve as a robing room, office, and sleeping room." (Thomas Edison donated phonographs, one of his inventions, to each of the chapel cars. Religious music was played for men wanting respite after their work shifts.)

The Cathedral Car did well. "Sometimes there is a number present equivalent to the entire population of a town, plus persons from surrounding areas. The compactness, the dignity, the simple churchly beauty of the car wins approval. Its hearty service, too, reaches the hearts of both men and women.

"My highest comfort is that I have had more men come to me than ever before in my previous experience. Careless men, godless men, reckless men, sinful men. Men who had not attended services for ten, fifteen, or twenty years and who would have scoffed at the idea in the past, have been present again and again. The embarrassment which they would feel about visiting a clergyman in his home or church is wanting in a Chapel Car."

The bishop's simple lifestyle probably accounted for much of his success with rough pioneer men. He cooked his own meals, made his own bed, swept the floor, distributed leaflets, and made the fires. He usually had to play the organ as well. He won the respect of those who saw him as a working man like themselves.

Newspapers and magazines all over the world featured the Cathedral Car. The beginning of World War I brought the demise of the chapel cars. All railroad tracks had to be kept clear for troop movements. New regulations barred the railroads from giving "free rides" to the cars. With more paved roads and automobiles becoming more affordable, it was easier for families to travel longer distances to church.

The chapel cars that had helped open the West to the gospel became history, but the message they delivered continued to tame the hearts of those who heard it.

Condensed from True West (Sept. 1995), © 1995 Mary McKernan. Used with permission.

Last updated: September 10, 1996

	What did you think of this story?
	Please to give us your feedback.

Home  |  People of Faith  |  Stories of Hope  |  Today's Culture
Build Your Faith  |  Laughing Matters  |  Archives  |  Contact Us

				Try an Issue of Today's Christian Free! Name Street Address City/State/Zip E-mail Address No credit card required. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery. Offer valid in U.S. only. Click here for International orders. If you decide you want to keep Today's Christian coming, honor your invoice for just $17.95 and receive five more issues, a full year in all. If not, simply write "cancel" across the invoice and return it. The trial issue is yours to keep, regardless. Give Today's Christian as a gift Buy 1 gift subscription, get 1 FREE!

FREE Newsletter Subscribe to the Today's Christian Newsletter    RSS Feed   RSS Help