"Give me of your bark, O Birch tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift canoe for sailing.
"Thus the Birch canoe was builded
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
All its mystery and its magic,
All the brightness of the birch tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch trees supple sinews;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily."
We left for Oxford Mission on the 8th of September. The distance is
over two hundred miles, through the wildest country imaginable. We did
not see a house--with the exception of those built by the beavers--from
the time we left our Mission home until we reached our destination. We
paddled through a bewildering variety of picturesque lakes, rivers, and
creeks. When no storms or fierce head-winds impeded us, we were able to
make fifty or sixty miles a day. When night overtook us, we camped on
the shore. Sometimes it was very pleasant and romantic. At other
times, when storms raged and we were drenched with the rain so
thoroughly that for days we had not a dry stitch upon us, it was not
quite so agreeable.
We generally began our day's journey very early in the morning, if the
weather was at all favourable, and paddled on as rapidly as possible,
since we knew not when head-winds might arise and stop our progress.
The Oxford route is a very diversified one. There are lakes, large and
small, across which we had to paddle. In some of them, when the wind
was favourable, our Indians improvised a sail out of one of our
blankets. Lashing it to a couple of oars, they lifted it up in the
favouring wind, and thus very rapidly did we speed on our way.
At times we were in broad beautiful rivers, and then paddling along in
little narrow creeks amidst the reeds and rushes. We passed over, or,
as they say in that country, "made" nine portages around picturesque
falls or rapids. In these portages one of the Indians carried the canoe
on his head. The other made a great load of the bedding and provisions,
all of which he carried on his back. My load consisted of the two guns,
ammunition, two kettles, the bag containing my changes of raiment, and a
package of books for the Indians we were to visit. How the Indians
could run so quickly through the portages was to me a marvel. Often the
path was but a narrow ledge of rock against the side of the great
granite cliff. At other times it was through the quaking bog or
treacherous muskeg. To them it seemed to make no difference. On they
went with their heavy loads at that swinging Indian stride which soon
left me far behind. On some of my canoe trips the portages were several
miles long, and through regions so wild that there was nothing to
indicate to me the right direction. When we were making them, I used to
follow on as long as I knew I was in the right way. When I lost the
trail, I at once stopped and patiently waited until one of my faithful
men, having carried his load safely to the end, would come back for me.
Quickly picking up my load, he would hurry off, and even then,
unencumbered as I was, it was often as much as I could do to keep up
with him.
Oxford Lake is one of the most beautiful and picturesque lakes I ever
saw. It is between twenty and thirty miles long and several miles wide.
It is studded with islands of every imaginable variety. Its waters are
almost as transparent as the clear, fresh air above it. When no breath
ripples its surface, one can look down into its crystal depths and see,
many feet below, the great fish quietly moving about.
To visit the Indians who fish in its waters, and hunt upon its shores, I
once brought one of our Missionary Secretaries, the eloquent Reverend
Lachlin Taylor, DD. The trip down had not been one of the most
pleasant. The rains had drenched him, and the mosquitoes had plagued
him with such persistency, that he loudly bemoaned his lot in being
found in a country that was cursed with such abominable animals.
One night I heard him muttering between his efforts to get them out of
his tent, where he declared they were attacking him in battalions:--
"They throng the air, and darken heaven,
And curse this Western land."
However, when we reached Oxford Lake, the mosquitoes left us for a time.
The sun came out in splendour, and we had some days of rarest beauty.
The good doctor regained his spirits, and laughed when I rallied him on
some of his strong expressions about the country, and told him that I
hoped, as the result of his experience, he, as all Missionary
Secretaries ought, would have a good deal of sympathy for the
Missionaries who live in such regions for years together.
We camped for the night on one of the most picturesque points. We had
two canoes, and to man them four Indians from our Norway House Mission.
As the doctor was an enthusiastic fisherman, he decided that we must
stop there during the forenoon, while he tried his hand. His first haul
was a splendid pike over two feet long. Great was his excitement as his
success was assured. Eloquence poured from him; we were flooded with
it. The Indians looked on in amazement while he talked of the beauties
of the lake and islands, of the water and the sky.
"Wait a moment, doctor," I said. "I can add to the wild beauty of the
place something that will please your artistic eye."
I requested two fine-looking Indians to launch one of the canoes, and to
quietly paddle out to the edge of an island which abruptly rose from the
deep, clear waters before us, the top of which had on it a number of
splendid spruce and balsams, massed together in natural beauty. I
directed the men to drop over the side of the canoe a long fishing line,
and then, posing them in striking attitudes in harmony with the place, I
asked them to keep perfectly still until every ripple made by their
canoe had died away.
I confess I was entranced by the loveliness of the sight. The
reflections of the canoe and men, and of the islands and rocks, were as
vivid as the actual realities. So clear and transparent was the water,
that where it and the air met there seemed but a narrow thread between
the two elements. Not a breath of air stirred, not a ripple moved. It
was one of those sights which come to us but seldom in a lifetime, where
everything is in perfect unison, and God gives us glimpses of what this
world, His footstool, must have been before sin entered.
"Doctor," I said quietly, for my heart was full of the Doxology, "tell
me what you think of that vision."
Standing up, with a great rock beneath his feet, in a voice of
suppressed emotion he began. Quietly at first he spoke, but soon he was
carried away with his own eloquence:--
"I know well the lochs of my own beloved Scotland, for in many of them I
have rowed and fished. I have visited all the famed lakes of Ireland,
and have rowed on those in the Lake counties of England. I have
travelled far and oft on our great American lakes, and have seen Tahoe,
in all its crystal beauty. I have rowed on the Bosphorus, and travelled
in a felucca on the Nile. I have lingered in the gondola on the canals
of Venice, and have traced Rob Roy's canoe in the Sea of Galilee, and on
the old historic Jordan. I have seen, in my wanderings in many lands,
places of rarest beauty, but the equal of this mine eyes have never
gazed upon."
Never after did I see the lake as we saw it that day.
On it we have had to battle against fierce storms, where the angry waves
seemed determined to engulf us. Once, in speeding along as well as we
could from island to island, keeping in the lee as much as possible, we
ran upon a sharp rock and stove a hole in our canoe. We had to use our
paddles desperately to reach the shore, and when we had done so, we
found our canoe half-full of water, in which our bedding and food were
soaked. We hurriedly built a fire, melted some pitch, and mended our
canoe, and hurried on.
On this lake, which can give us such pictures of wondrous beauty, I have
encountered some of the greatest gales and tempests against which I have
ever had to contend, even in this land of storms and blizzards. Then in
winter, upon its frozen surface it used to seem to me that the Frost
King held high carnival. Terrible were the sufferings of both dogs and
men on some of those trips. One winter, in spite of all the wraps I
could put around me, making it possible for me to run--for riding was
out of the question, so intense was the cold--every part of my face
exposed to the pitiless blast was frozen. My nose, cheeks, eyebrows,
and even lips, were badly frozen, and for days after I suffered. Cuffy,
the best of my Newfoundland dogs, had all of her feet frozen, and even
Jack's were sore for many a day after. My loyal Indians suffered also,
and we all declared Oxford Lake to be a cold place in winter, and its
storms worse than the summer mosquitoes.
The Indians of Oxford Lake were among the finest in all the great North-
West. It was ever a joy to meet them as I used to do once in summer by
canoe trip, and then again in winter by dog-train. God blessed my
visits to them. The old members were cheered and comforted as the
Gospel was preached to them, and the Sacraments administered. Some
pagans were induced to renounce their old lives, and the cause of
religion was more and more established. The Reverend Mr Brooking, and,
later, the studious and devoted Reverend Orrin German, did blessed
service in that lonely Mission. At the present time the Reverend Edward
Papanekis is the acceptable Missionary there.
Long years ago I found Edward a careless, sinful young man. Once he
rushed into the Mission house under the influence of liquor, and
threatened to strike me. But the blessed truth reached his heart, and
it was my joy to see him a humble suppliant at the Cross. His heart's
desire was realised. God has blessedly led him on, and now he is
faithfully preaching that same blessed Gospel to his countrymen at
Oxford Mission.
In responding to the many Macedonian cries my Circuit kept so enlarging
that I had to be "in journeyings often." My canoes were sometimes
launched in spring, ere the great floating ice-fields had disappeared,
and through tortuous open channels we carefully paddled our way, often
exposed to great danger.
On one of these early trips we came to a place where for many miles the
moving ice fields stretched out before us. One narrow channel of open
water only was before us. Anxious to get on, we dashed into it, and
rapidly paddled ourselves along. I had two experienced Indians, and so
had no fear, but expected some novel adventures--and had them with
interest.
Our hopes were that the wind would widen the channel, and thus let us
into open water. But, to our disappointment, when we had got along a
mile or so in this narrow open space, we found the ice was quietly but
surely closing in upon us. As it was from four to six feet thick, and
of vast extent, there was power enough in it to crush a good-sized ship;
so it seemed that our frail birch-bark canoe would have but a poor
chance.
I saw there was a reasonable possibility that when the crash came we
could spring on to the floating ice. But what should we do then? was
the question, with canoe destroyed and us on floating ice far from land.
However, as my Indians kept perfectly cool, I said nothing, but paddled
away and watched for the development of events. Nearer and nearer came
the ice; soon our channel was not fifty feet wide. Already behind us
the floes had met, and we could hear the ice grinding and breaking as
the enormous masses met in opposite directions. Now it was only about
twenty feet from side to side. Still the men paddled on, and I kept
paddling in unison with them. When the ice was so close that we could
easily touch it on either side with our paddles, one of the Indians
quietly said, "Missionary, will you please give me your paddle?" I
quickly handed it to him, when he immediately thrust it with his own
into the water, holding down the ends of them so low horizontally under
the canoe that the blade end was out of water on the other side of the
boat. The other Indian held his paddle in the same position, although
from the other side of the canoe. Almost immediately after the ice
crowded in upon us. But as the points of the paddles were higher than
the ice, of course they rested upon it for an instant. This was what my
cool-headed, clever men wanted. They had a fulcrum for their paddles,
and so they pulled carefully on the handle ends of them, and, the canoe
sliding up as the ice closed in and met with a crash under us, we found
ourselves seated in it on the top of the ice. The craft, although only
a frail birch-bark canoe, was not in the least injured.
As we quickly sprang out of our canoe, and carried it away from where
the ice had met and was being ground into pieces by the momentum with
which it met, I could not but express my admiration to my men at the
clever feat.
After some exciting work we reached the shore, and there patiently
waited until the wind and sun cleared away the ice, and we could venture
on. My plan was to spend at least a week in each Indian village or
encampment, preaching three times a day, and either holding school with
the children, or by personal entreaty beseeching men and women to be
reconciled to God. When returning from the visit, which was a very
successful one, we had to experience some of the inconveniences of
travelling in such a frail bark as a birch canoe on such a stormy lake
as Winnipeg.
The weather had been very unsettled, and so we had cautiously paddled
from point to point. We had dinner at what the Indians call Montreal
Point, and then started for the long crossing to Old Norway House Point,
as it was then called. It is a very long open traverse, and as lowering
clouds threatened us we pulled on as rapidly as our three paddles could
propel us. When out a few miles from land the storm broke upon us, the
wind rose rapidly, and soon we were riding over great white-crested
billows. My men were very skilful, and we had no fear; but the most
skilful management was necessary to safely ride the waves, which soon in
size were rivalling those of the ocean. A canoe is a peculiar craft,
and requires an experienced hand in these great storms.
We were getting on all right, and were successfully climbing the big
waves in quick succession, alert and watchful that no sudden erratic
move should catch us off our guard and overturn us. At length we met a
wave of unusual height, and succeeded in climbing up into its foaming
crest all right. Then down its side our little craft shot with the
apparent velocity of a sled down a toboggan slide. When we reached the
bottom of this trough of the sea, our canoe slapped so violently upon
the water that the birch bark on the bottom split from side to side. Of
course the water rushed in upon us with uncomfortable rapidity. The
more we paddled the worse the water entered, as the exertion strained
the boat and opened the rent. Quickly folding up a blanket, I carefully
placed it over the long rent, and kneeled down upon it to keep it in
place. The man in the front of the canoe put down his paddle, and,
taking up the kettle, baled as rapidly as he could, while the Indian in
the stern, and myself in the middle, plied our paddles for dear life.
We turned towards the Spider Islands, which were over a mile away, and
by vigorous work succeeded in reaching one of them, although our canoe
was half full of water. Then could we enter into David's words, as for
life we struggled, and our little craft was tossed on the cross sea in
our efforts to reach a place of safety: "They reel to and fro, and
stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they cry
unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their
distresses."
We paddled up as far as we could on a smooth granite rock that came out
gradually in the water. Then out we sprang, and strong hands dragged
our little canoe up beyond the reach of the waves. We hastily pulled
out our dripping blankets and soaked food and other things, and then,
overturning the canoe, emptied it of water; and as we saw the large
break in the bottom, we realised as we had not before the danger we had
been in, and the providential escape which had been ours. So, with glad
hearts, we said, "We do `praise the Lord for His goodness, and for His
wonderful works to the children of men.'"
We quickly built a fire, and melted some pitch, a quantity of which is
always carried ready for such emergencies. The long rent was covered
over with a piece of cloth well saturated in the boiling pitch, a
quantity more was poured over, and the whole was carefully smoothed out
over the weak place. Soon it cooled and hardened, and the work was
done. We ate a little food, and then launched our frail craft and
pushed on. No serious accidents again troubled us, and we ended this
long canoe trip, as we had done many others, thankful that we had such
blessed opportunities to go to the remote places as heralds of the
Cross, and doubly thankful when we were safe at home again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
On one of my canoe trips, when looking after pagan bands in the remote
Nelson River District, I had some singular experiences, and learned some
important lessons about the craving of the pagan heart after God.
We had been journeying on for ten or twelve days when one night we
camped on the shore of a lake-like river. While my men were busily
employed in gathering wood and cooking the supper, I wandered off and
ascended to the top of a well wooded hill which I saw in the distance.
Very great indeed was my surprise, when I reached the top, to find
myself in the presence of the most startling evidences of a degraded
paganism.
The hill had once been densely covered with trees, but about every third
one had been cut down, and the stumps, which had been left from four to
ten feet high, had been carved into rude representations of the human
form. Scattered around were the dog-ovens, which were nothing but holes
dug in the ground and lined with stones, in which at certain seasons, as
part of their religious ceremonies, some of their favourite dogs--white
ones were always preferred--were roasted, and then devoured by the
excited crowd. Here and there were the tents of the old conjurers and
medicine men, who, combining some knowledge of disease and medicine with
a great deal of superstitious abominations, held despotic sway over the
people. The power of these old conjurers over the deluded Indians was
very great. They were generally lazy old fellows, but succeeded
nevertheless in getting the best that was going, as they held other
Indians in such terror of their power, that gifts in the shape of fish
and game were constantly flowing in upon them. They have the secret art
among themselves of concocting some poisons so deadly that a little put
in the food of a person who has excited their displeasure will cause
death almost as soon as a dose of strychnine. They have other poisons
which, while not immediately causing death to the unfortunate victims,
yet so affect and disfigure them that, until death releases them, their
sufferings are intense and their appearance frightful.
Here on this hill top were all these sad evidences of the degraded
condition of the people. I wandered around and examined the idols, most
of which had in front of them, and in some instances on their flat
heads, offerings of tobacco, food, red cotton, and other things. My
heart was sad at these evidences of such degrading idolatry, and I was
deeply impressed with my need of wisdom and aid from on high, so that
when I met the people who here worshipped these idols I might so preach
Christ and Him crucified that they would be constrained to accept Him as
their all-sufficient Saviour.
While there I lingered, and mused, and prayed, the shadows of the night
fell on me, and I was shrouded in gloom. Then the full moon rose up in
the East, and as her silvery beams shone through the trees and lit up
these grotesque idols, the scene presented a strange weird appearance.
My faithful Indians, becoming alarmed at my long absence--for the
country was infested by wild animals--were on the search for me, when I
returned to the camp fire. We ate our evening meal, sang a hymn, and
bowed in prayer. Then we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets, and lay
down on the granite rocks to rest. Although our bed was hard and there
was no roof above us, we slept sweetly, for the day had been one of hard
work and strange adventure.
After paddling about forty miles the next day we reached the Indians of
that section of the country, and remained several weeks among them.
With the exception of the old conjurers, they all received me very
cordially. These old conjurers had the same feelings toward me as those
who made silver shrines for Diana of Ephesus had toward the first
preachers of Christianity in their city. They trembled for their
occupation. They well knew that if I succeeded in inducing the people
to become Christians their occupation would be gone, and they would have
to settle down to work for their own living, like other people, or
starve. I visited them as I did the rest of the encampment, but they
had enmity in their hearts toward me. Of all their efforts to injure or
destroy me of course I knew not. That their threats were many I well
understood; but He Who had said, "Lo, I am with you alway," mercifully
watched over me and shielded me from their evil deeds. My two Indian
attendants also watched as well as prayed, with a vigilance that seemed
untiring. Very pleasant, indeed, are my memories of my faithful Indian
comrades on those long journeys. Their loyalty and devotion could not
be excelled. Everything that they could do for my safety and happiness
was cheerfully done.
We held three religious services every day, and between these services
taught the people to read in the Syllabic characters. One day, in
conversing with an old fine-looking Indian, I said to him, "What is your
religion? If you have any clear idea of a religion, tell me in what you
believe."