THE SUMMONS TO THE INDIAN WORK--THE DECISION--THE VALEDICTORY SERVICES--
DR. PUNSHON--THE DEPARTURE--LEAVING HAMILTON--ST. CATHERINE'S--MILWAUKEE
CUSTOM-HOUSE DELAYS--MISSISSIPPI--ST. PAUL'S--ON THE PRAIRIES--FRONTIER
SETTLERS--NARROW ESCAPE FROM SHOOTING ONE OF OUR SCHOOL TEACHERS--SIOUX
INDIANS AND THEIR WARS--SAVED BY OUR FLAG--VARIED EXPERIENCES.
Several letters were handed into my study, where I sat at work among my
books.
I was then pastor of a Church in the city of Hamilton. Showers of
blessing had been descending upon us, and over a hundred and forty new
members had but recently been received into the Church. I had availed
myself of the Christmas holidays by getting married, and now was back
again with my beloved, when these letters were handed in. With only one
of them have we at present anything to do. As near as I can remember,
it read as follows:--
"Mission Rooms, Toronto, 1868.
"Reverend Egerton R. Young.
"Dear Brother,--At a large and influential meeting of the Missionary
Committee, held yesterday, it was unanimously decided to ask you to go
as a missionary to the Indian tribes at Norway House, and in the
North-West Territories north of Lake Winnipeg. An early answer
signifying your acceptance of this will much oblige,
"Yours affectionately,
"E. Wood,
"L. Taylor."
I read the letter, and then handed it, without comment, across the table
to Mrs Young--the bride of but a few days--for her perusal. She read
it over carefully, and then, after a quiet moment, as was quite natural,
asked, "What does this mean?"
"I can hardly tell," I replied; "but it is evident that it means a good
deal."
"Have you volunteered to go as a missionary to that far-off land?" she
asked.
"Why, no. Much as I love, and deeply interested as I have ever been in
the missionary work of our Church, I have not made the first move in
this direction. Years ago I used to think I would love to go to a
foreign field, but lately, as the Lord has been so blessing us here in
the home work, and has given us such a glorious revival, I should have
thought it like running away from duty to have volunteered for any other
field."
"Well, here is this letter; what are you going to do about it?"
"That is just what I would like to know," was my answer.
"There is one thing we can do," she said quietly; and we bowed ourselves
in prayer, and "spread the letter before the Lord," and asked for wisdom
to guide us aright in this important matter which had so suddenly come
upon us, and which, if carried out, would completely change all the
plans and purposes which we, the young married couple, in all the
joyousness of our honeymoon, had just been marking out. We earnestly
prayed for Divine light and guidance to be so clearly revealed that we
could not be mistaken as to our duty.
As we arose from our knees, I quietly said to Mrs Young, "Have you any
impression on your mind as to our duty in this matter?"
Her eyes were suffused in tears, but the voice, though low, was firm, as
she replied, "The call has come very unexpectedly, but I think it is
from God, and we will go."
My Church and its kind officials strongly opposed my leaving them,
especially at such a time as this, when, they said, so many new
converts, through my instrumentality, had been brought into the Church.
I consulted my beloved ministerial brethren in the city, and with but
one exception the reply was, "Remain at your present station, where God
has so abundantly blessed your labours." The answer of the one brother
who did not join in with the others has never been forgotten. As it may
do good, I will put it on record. When I showed him the letter, and
asked what I should do in reference to it, he, much to my surprise,
became deeply agitated, and wept like a child. When he could control
his emotions, he said, "For my answer let me give you a little of my
history.
"Years ago, I was very happily situated in the ministry in the Old Land.
I loved my work, my home, and my wife passionately. I had the
confidence and esteem of my people, and thought I was as happy as I
could be this side [of] heaven. One day there came a letter from the
Wesleyan Mission Rooms in London, asking if I would go out as a
missionary to the West Indies. Without consideration, and without
making it a matter of prayer, I at once sent back a positive refusal.
"From that day," he continued, "everything went wrong with me. Heaven's
smile seemed to have left me. I lost my grip upon my people. My
influence for good over them left me, I could not tell how. My once
happy home was blasted, and in all my trouble I got no sympathy from my
Church or in the community. I had to resign my position, and leave the
place. I fell into darkness, and lost my hold upon God. A few years
ago I came out to this country. God has restored me to the light of His
countenance. The Church has been very sympathetic and indulgent. For
years I have been permitted to labour in her fold, and for this I
rejoice. But," he added, with emphasis, "I long ago came to the resolve
that if ever the Church asked me to go to the West Indies, or to any
other Mission field, I would be careful about sending back an abrupt
refusal."
I pondered over his words and his experience, and talked about them with
my good wife, and we decided to go. Our loving friends were startled at
our resolve, but soon gave us their benedictions, united to tangible
evidences of their regard. A blessed peace filled our souls, and we
longed to be away and at work in the new field which had so suddenly
opened before us.
"Yes, we will go. We may no longer doubt
To give up friends, and home, and every tie,
That binds our heart to thee, our country.
Henceforth, then,
It matters not if storms or sunshine be
Our earthly lot, bitter or sweet our cup.
We only pray, God fit us for the work,
God make us holy, and our spirits nerve
For the stern hour of strife. Let us but know
There is an Arm unseen that holds us up,
An Eye that kindly watches all our path,
Till we our weary pilgrimage have done.
Let us but know we have a Friend that waits
To welcome us to glory, and we joy
To tread that drear and northern wilderness."
The grand valedictory services were held in the old Richmond Street
Church, Toronto, Thursday, May 7th, 1868. The church was crowded, and
the enthusiasm was very great. The honoured President of the Conference
for that year, the Reverend James Elliott, who presided, was the one who
had ordained me a few months before. Many were the speakers. Among
them was the Reverend George McDougall, who already had had a varied
experience of missionary life. He had something to talk about, to which
it was worth listening. The Reverend George Young, also, had much that
was interesting to say, as he was there bidding farewell to his own
Church and to the people, of whom he had long been the beloved pastor.
Dr Punshon, who had just arrived from England, was present, and gave
one of his inimitable magnetic addresses. The memory of his loving,
cheering words abode with us for many a day.
It was also a great joy to us that my honoured father, the Reverend
William Young, was with us on the platform at this impressive farewell
service. For many years he had been one of that heroic band of pioneer
ministers in Canada who had laid so grandly and well the foundations of
the Church which, with others, had contributed so much to the spiritual
development of the country. His benedictions and blessings were among
the prized favours in these eventful hours in our new career.
My father had been intimately acquainted with William Case and James
Evans, and at times had been partially associated with them in Indian
evangelisation. He had faith in the power of the Gospel to save even
Indians, and now rejoiced that he had a son and daughter who had
consecrated themselves to this work.
As a long journey of many hundreds of miles would have to be made by us
after getting beyond cars or steamboats in the Western States, it was
decided that we should take our own horses and canvas-covered waggons
from Ontario with us. We arranged to make Hamilton our starting-point;
and on Monday, the 11th of May, 1868, our little company filed out of
that city towards St. Catherine's, where we were to take passage in a
"propeller" for Milwaukee. Thus our adventurous journey was begun.
The following was our party. First, the Reverend George McDougall, who
for years had been successfully doing the work of a faithful missionary
among the Indians in the distant Saskatchewan country, a thousand miles
north-west of the Red River country. He had come down to Canada for
reinforcements for the work, and had not failed in his efforts to secure
them. As he was an old, experienced Western traveller, he was the guide
of the party.
Next was the Reverend George Young, with his wife and son. Dr Young
had consented to go and begin the work in the Red River Settlement, a
place where Methodism had never before had a footing. Grandly and well
did he succeed in his efforts.
Next came the genial Reverend Peter Campbell, who, with his brave wife
and two little girls, relinquished a pleasant Circuit to go to the
distant Mission field among the Indians of the North-West prairies. We
had also with us two Messrs. Snyders, brothers of Mrs Campbell, who had
consecrated themselves to the work as teachers among the distant Indian
tribes. Several other young men were in our party, and in Dacota we
were joined by "Joe" and "Job," a couple of young Indians.
These, with the writer and his wife, constituted our party of fifteen or
twenty. At St. Catherine's on the Welland Canal we shipped our outfit,
and took passage on board the steamer _Empire_ for Milwaukee.
The vessel was very much crowded, and there was a good deal of
discomfort. In passing through Lake Michigan we encountered rough
weather, and, as a natural result, sea-sickness assailed the great
majority of our party.
We reached Milwaukee on Sabbath, the 17th of May. We found it then a
lively, wide-awake Americo-German city. There did not seem to be, on
the part of the multitudes whom we met, much respect for the Sabbath.
Business was in full blast in many of the streets, and there were but
few evidences that it was the day of rest. Doubtless there were many
who had not defiled their garments and had not profaned the day, but we
weary travellers had not then time to find them out.
Although we had taken the precaution to bond everything through to the
North-West, and had the American Consular certificate to the effect that
every regulation had been complied with, we were subjected to many
vexatious delays and expenses by the Custom House officials. So delayed
were we that we had to telegraph to head-quarters at Washington about
the matter and soon there came the orders to the over-officious
officials to at once allow us to proceed. Two valuable days, however,
had been lost by their obstructiveness. Why cannot Canada and the
United States, lying side by side, from the Atlantic to the Pacific,
devise some mutually advantageous scheme of reciprocity, by which the
vexatious delays and annoyances and expense of these Custom Houses can
be done away with?
We left Milwaukee for La Crosse on the Mississippi on Tuesday evening at
eight o'clock. At La Crosse we embarked on the steamer _Milwaukee_ for
St. Paul's. These large flat-bottomed steamers are quite an institution
on these western rivers. Drawing but a few inches of water, they glide
over sandbars where the water is very shallow, and, swinging in against
the shore, land and receive passengers and freight where wharves are
unknown, or where, if they existed, they would be liable to be swept
away in the great spring freshets.
The scenery in many places along the upper Mississippi is very fine.
High bold bluffs rise up in wondrous variety and picturesque beauty. In
some places they are composed of naked rock. Others are covered to
their very summit with the richest green. Here, a few years ago, the
war-whoop of the Indians sounded, and the buffalo swarmed around these
Buttes, and quenched their thirst in these waters. Now the shrill
whistle of the steamer disturbs the solitudes, and echoes and re-echoes
with wondrous distinctness among the high bluffs and fertile vales.
"Westward the Star of Empire takes its way."
We arrived at St. Paul's on Thursday forenoon and found it to be a
stirring city, beautifully situated on the eastern side of the
Mississippi. We had several hours of good hard work in getting our
caravan in order, purchasing supplies, and making all final arrangements
for the long journey that was before us. For beyond this the iron horse
had not yet penetrated, and the great surging waves of immigration,
which soon after rolled over into those fertile territories, had as yet
been only little ripples.
Our splendid horses, which had been cooped up in the holds of vessels,
or cramped up in uncomfortable freight cars, were now to have an
opportunity for exercising their limbs, and showing of what mettle they
were made. At 4 PM we filed out of the city. The recollection of that
first ride on the prairie will live on as long as memory holds her
throne. The day was one of those gloriously perfect ones that are but
rarely given us, as if to show what earth must have been before the
Fall. The sky, the air, the landscape--everything seemed in such
harmony and so perfect, that involuntarily I exclaimed, "If God's
footstool is so glorious, what will the throne be?"
We journeyed a few miles, then encamped for the night. We were all in
the best of spirits, and seemed to rejoice that we were getting away
from civilisation, and more and more out into the wilderness, although
for days we were in the vicinity of frontier villages and settlements,
which, however, as we journeyed on, were rapidly diminishing in number.
After several days' travelling we encamped on the western side of the
Mississippi, near where the thriving town of Clear Water now stands. As
some of our carts and travelling equipage had begun to show signs of
weakness, it was thought prudent to give everything a thorough
overhauling ere we pushed out from this point, as beyond this there was
no place where assistance could be obtained. We had in our encampment
eight tents, fourteen horses, and from fifteen to twenty persons,
counting big and little, whites and Indians. Whenever we camped our
horses were turned loose in the luxuriant prairie grass, the only
precaution taken being to "hobble" them, as the work of tying their
forefeet together is called. It seemed a little cruel at first, and
some of our spirited horses resented it, and struggled a good deal
against it as an infringement on their liberties. But they soon became
used to it, and it served the good purpose we had in view--namely, that
of keeping them from straying far away from the camp during the night.
At one place, where we were obliged to stop for a few days to repair
broken axle-trees, I passed through an adventure that will not soon be
forgotten. Some friendly settlers came to our camp, and gave us the
unpleasant information, that a number of notorious horse-thieves were
prowling around, and it would be advisable for us to keep a sharp look-
out on our splendid Canadian horses. As there was an isolated barn
about half a mile or so from the camp, that had been put up by a settler
who would not require it until harvest, we obtained permission to use it
as a place in which to keep our horses during the nights while we were
detained in the settlement. Two of our party were detailed each night
to act as a guard. One evening, as Dr Young's son George and I, who
had been selected for this duty, were about starting from the camp for
our post, I overheard our old veteran guide, the Reverend George
McDougall, say, in a bantering sort of way, "Pretty guards they are!
Why, some of my Indian boys could go and steal every horse from them
without the slightest trouble."
Stung to the quick by the remark, I replied, "Mr McDougall, I think I
have the best horse in the company; but if you or any of your Indians
can steal him out of that barn between sundown and sunrise, you may keep
him!"
We tethered the horses in a line, and fastened securely all the doors
but the large front one. We arranged our seats where we were partially
concealed, but where we could see our horses, and could command every
door with our rifles. In quiet tones we chatted about various things,
until about one o'clock, when all became hushed and still. The novelty
of the situation impressed me, and, sitting there in the darkness, I
could not help contrasting my present position with the one I had
occupied a few weeks before. Then the pastor of a city Church, in the
midst of a blessed revival, surrounded by all the comforts of
civilisation; now out here in Minnesota, in this barn, sitting on a
bundle of prairie grass through the long hours of night with a breech-
loading rifle in hand, guarding a number of horses from a band of horse-
thieves.
"Hush! what is that?"
A hand is surely on the door feeling for the wooden latch. We mentally
say, "You have made too much noise, Mr Thief, for your purpose, and you
are discovered." Soon the door opened a little. As it was a beautiful
starlight night, the form of a tall man was plainly visible in the
opening. Covering him with my rifle, and about to fire, quick as a
flash came the thought, "Better be sure that that man is a horse-thief,
or is intent on evil, ere you fire; for it is at any time a serious
thing to send a soul so suddenly into eternity." So keeping my rifle to
my shoulder, I shouted out, "Who's there?"
"Why, it's only your friend Matthew," said our tall friend, as he came
stumbling along in the darkness; "queer if you don't know me by this
time."
As the thought came to me of how near I had been to sending him into the
other world, a strange feeling of faintness came over me, and, flinging
my rifle from me, I sank back trembling like a leaf.
Meanwhile the good-natured fellow, little knowing the risk he had run,
and not seeing the effect his thoughtless action had produced on me,
talked on, saying that as it was so hot and close over at the tents that
he could not sleep there, he thought he would come over and stop with us
in the barn.
There was considerable excitement, and some strong words were uttered at
the camp next morning at his breach of orders and narrow escape, since
instructions had been given to all that none should, under any
consideration, go near the barn while it was being guarded.
At another place in Minnesota we came across a party who were restoring
their homes, and "building up their waste places" desolated by the
terrible Sioux wars of but a short time before. As they had nearly all
of them suffered by that fearful struggle, they were very bitter in
their feelings towards the Indians, completely ignoring the fact that
the whites were to blame for that last sanguinary outbreak, in which
nine hundred lives were lost, and a section of country larger than some
of the New England States was laid desolate. It is now an undisputed
fact that the greed and dishonesty of the Indian agents of the United
States caused that terrible war of 1863. The principal agent received
600,000 dollars in gold from the Government, which belonged to the
Indians, and was to be paid to Little Crow and the other chiefs and
members of the tribe. The agent took advantage of the premium on gold,
which in those days was very high, and exchanged the gold for
greenbacks, and with these paid the Indians, putting the enormous
difference in his own pocket. When the payments began, Little Crow, who
knew what he had a right to according to the Treaty, said, "Gold dollars
worth more than paper dollars. You pay us gold." The agent refused,
and the war followed. This is only one instance out of scores, in which
the greed and selfishness of a few have plunged the country into war,
causing the loss of hundreds of lives and millions of treasure.
In addition to this, these same unprincipled agents, with their hired
accomplices and subsidised press, in order to hide the enormity of their
crimes, and to divert attention from themselves and their crookedness,
systematically and incessantly misrepresent and vilify the Indian
character.
"Stay and be our minister," said some of these settlers to me in one
place. "We'll secure for you a good location, and will help you get in
some crops, and will do the best we can to make you comfortable."
When they saw we were all proof against their appeals, they changed
their tactics, and one exclaimed, "You'll never get through the Indian
country north with those fine horses and all that fine truck you have."
"O yes, we will," said Mr McDougall; "we have a little flag that will
carry us in safety through any Indian tribe in America."
They doubted the assertion very much, but we found it to be literally
true, at all events as regarded the Sioux; for when, a few days later,
we met them, our Union Jack fluttering from the whip-stalk caused them
to fling their guns in the grass, and come crowding round us with
extended hands, saying, through those who understood their language,
that they were glad to see and shake hands with the subjects of the
"Great Mother" across the waters.
When we, in our journey north, reached their country, and saw them
coming down upon us, at Mr McDougall's orders we stowed away our rifles
and revolvers inside of our waggons, and met them as friends, unarmed
and fearless. They smoked the pipe of peace with those of our party who
could use the weed, and others drank tea with the rest of us. As we
were in profound ignorance of their language, and they of ours, some of
us had not much conversation with them beyond what could be carried on
by a few signs. But, through Mr McDougall and our own Indians, they
assured us of their friendship.
We pitched our tents, hobbled our horses and turned them loose, as
usual. We cooked our evening meals, said our prayers, unrolled our
camp-beds, and lay down to rest without earthly sentinels or guards
around us, although the camp-fires of these so-called "treacherous and
bloodthirsty" Sioux could be seen in the distance, and we knew their
sharp eyes were upon us. Yet we lay down and slept in peace, and arose
in safety. Nothing was disturbed or stolen.
So much for a clean record of honourable dealing with a people who,
while quick to resent when provoked, are mindful of kindnesses received,
and are as faithful to their promises and treaty obligations, as are any
other of the races of the world.
We were thirty days in making the trip from St. Paul's to the Red River
settlement. We had to ford a large number of bridgeless streams. Some
of them took us three or four days to get our whole party across. We
not unfrequently had some of our waggons stuck in the quicksands, or so
sunk in the quagmires that the combined strength of all the men of our
party was required to get them out. Often the ladies of our company,
with shoes and stockings off, would be seen bravely wading across wide
streams, where now in luxurious comfort, in parlour cars, travellers are
whirled along at the rate of forty miles an hour. They were a cheerful,
brave band of pioneers.
The weather, on the whole, was pleasant, but we had some drenching rain-
storms; and then the spirits of some of the party went down, and they
wondered whatever possessed them to leave their happy homes for such
exile and wretchedness as this. There was one fearful, tornado-like
storm that assailed us when we were encamped for the night on the
western bank of Red River. Tents were instantly blown down. Heavy
waggons were driven before it, and for a time confusion reigned supreme.
Fortunately nobody was hurt, and most of the things blown away were
recovered the next day.
Our Sabbaths were days of quiet rest and delightful communion with God.
Together we worshipped Him Who dwelleth not in temples made with hands.
Many were the precious communions we had with Him Who had been our
Comforter and our Refuge under other circumstances, and Who, having now
called us to this new work and novel life, was sweetly fulfilling in us
the blessed promise: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the
world."