Father of all! in every age,
In every clime adored,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord.
--_Alexander Pope_.
Some hypercritical person, and possibly some sincere soul, may ask:
"Did such revival do any permanent good? Does not the so-near savage
easily backslide?" To this may be given this partial reply: It depends
somewhat on the sort of white folks there are in the immediate
vicinity. As elsewhere stated in these pages, the pale face has been
the great undoer of the red man. "Civilization" in some garbs is worse
than savagery. The white skin has been the password for some awful
systems of debauchery among the aborigines of America. An Indian
speaker, and chief of police of one of the Indian reservations of
Oregon, said at the Second World's Christian Citizenship Conference in
Portland, 1913: "Before the white man came the Indian had no jails or
locks on their doors. The white man brought whisky; there is now need
of both jails and locks."
About three years after the meeting at Fort Hall, where the
three-cornered sermon was delivered, Mr. Roosevelt made a visit to the
West. Major A. F. Caldwell, Agent of Indian Affairs at Fort Hall, told
the fourteen hundred red natives that if they would turn out in their
handsomest manner, he would give them all a "big eat" after the visit.
Promptly on the day designated the famous rough rider and the desert
riders were in evidence, the latter in abundance. They went far out
along the railway to meet the train, and then galloped their wiry,
pintoed ponies along by the side of the car, performing many feats of
daring horsemanship, throwing themselves from the flying bronchos and
remounting without a pause, and other stunts which they invented.
After the "pageant had fled" the expectant and hungry Indians were
herded into a large vacant lot in Pocatello, where all sorts of
provisions had been collected for the feast. I was anxious to see
them, and so were many other equally bold and possibly a wee bit
impolite people, for when they had assembled a great crowd of curious
white folks was there gazing.
The Young Men's Christian Association secretary and I overlooked the
scene from a hotel whose wall formed one side of the enclosure where
the long tables of loose planks were laid. All was hurry, bustle, and
confusion, not much unlike what everyone has witnessed at the ordinary
picnic.
The Christians and the non-Christians had divided as though not of the
same tribe or blood. These had their tables on one side, those on the
opposite. When all was ready the savage part of the divided company
fell to with vim, vigor, and haste, just as white people often do at
outdoor dinners; but see the others! After all had been carefully
spread, odorous cans of tempting viands opened, and everything
adjusted, the hungry horde was seated. A low word of attention was
given by some one; every head was bowed, quiet was absolute, and Billy
George in guttural tones said something the Lord of all could
understand. When he was through these also fell to with an
unmistakable zest and the day ended merrily for the Indians and
profitably for some of the onlookers.
This Billy George was crippled by the bullets of some of the
reservation Indians who did not like his progressive ways. He had lost
one leg for this reason. One night, as he was fastening up his
animals, he stooped to lift one of the bars of his corral. Just as he
raised himself, a shot that was doubtless meant for his lowered head
struck his leg and it had to be amputated.
On the night of his conversion, when he had raised his hand high as he
could reach, he in the after meeting mimicked the white folks who had
slowly and with many side-lookings so slightly moved their hands
upward. He said, "Huh, white folks heap scared, do this way;" and he
imitated them grotesquely.
Often when leaving his teepee for the hills in order to haul his
winter wood, he would go to the home of Miss F----, the missionary,
and tell her he was going away, and at the same time asking her to be
sure to care for his squaw and papooses if he did not return; for,
said he, "Bad Injun ketchy me some day; no liky me; you savy me liky
whity man."
So fair of mind was he, and so humanely progressive, that the
government had chosen him as one of the men before whom petty cases
among the tribe were taken. If he could not solve the problems, they
were then carried to the Agent; then on up if not there adjusted.
When the Presbyterian Missionary Board assisted these Christians to
build a neat house of worship it was, and still is, known far and near
as Billy George's Church.