SOWING AND REAPING--BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT--"HELP ME TO BE A CHRISTIAN!"--
THIRTY YEARS BETWEEN THE SOWING AND THE REAPING--SORROWING, YET
STUBBORN, INDIANS INDUCED TO YIELD BY THE EXPRESSION, "I KNOW WHERE YOUR
CHILDREN ARE!"
While in our every-day missionary life there were dark hours, and times
when our faith was severely tried, there was, on the other hand, much to
encourage us to persevere in the blessed work among these Cree Indians.
An incident that occurred to us brought up very forcibly to our minds
the couplet:
"Whate'er may die and be forgot,
Work done for God, it dieth not."
I was sitting, one pleasant day in June, in my study at Norway House,
absorbed in my work, when I was startled by a loud "Ahem!" behind me. I
quickly sprang up, and, turning round, discovered that the man who had
thus suddenly interrupted me in my thoughts was a big, stalwart Indian.
He had come into the room in that catlike way in which nearly all of the
Indians move. Their moccasined feet make no sound, and so it is quite
possible for even scores of them to come into the house unheard. Then,
as Indians have a great dislike to knocking, they generally omit it
altogether, and unceremoniously enter, as this man had done, and as
quietly as possible.
My first glance at him told me that he was an entire stranger, although
I had by this time become acquainted with some hundreds of the natives.
I shook hands with him and said a few commonplace things to him, to
which I thought he paid but little heed.
I pointed to a chair, and asked him to be seated; but, instead of doing
so, he came up close to me and said with great earnestness: "Missionary,
will you help me to be a Christian?"
Surprised and pleased by this abrupt question, I replied, "Certainly I
will; that is my business here."
"Will you help my wife and children also to become Christians?" he added
with equal emphasis.
"Of course I will," I answered again. "It was for just such work as
that my good wife and I came from our far-away home to live in this
land."
Naturally I had already become very much interested in this big, bronzed
Indian; and so I said to him, "Tell me who you are, and from what place
you have come."
I made him sit down before me, and he told me the following remarkable
story. I wish I could put into the narrative his pathos and his
dramatic action. He did not keep his seat very long after he began
talking, but moved around, and at times was very much excited. He
said,--
"Many years ago, when I was a little boy, I was kindly cared for by the
first Missionary, Mr Evans. I was a poor orphan. My father and mother
had died, leaving none to care for me; so the good Missionary took me to
his own house and was very kind to me. 'Tis true I had some relatives,
but they were not Christians and so there was not much love in their
hearts towards a poor orphan boy. So Mr Evans took me to his house,
and was very kind to me. He gave me clothes and food, and a home. He
taught me to read the new letters he had made for our people, and told
me much about the Great Spirit and His Son Jesus. He taught me and
other children to pray to God, and he often talked to us about Him, and
how kind and good He was. He kept me with him two or three years, and I
was very well off indeed in having such a home and such a friend, if I
had only known it.
"One summer, among the many Indians who came to trade their furs at the
Company's store, was one family who lived very far away. They seemed to
take a liking to me, and often would talk to me. They had no little
boy, they said, in their wigwam, and they told me a lot of foolish stuff
about how much happier I would be, if I lived with them, than I was
here, where I had to obey the white man. Like the foolish child that I
was, I listened to this nonsense, and one night, when they had got
everything ready to start, I slipped quietly out of the house and joined
them. We paddled hard most of the night, for we felt that we had done
wrong, and did not know but we should be followed.
"After travelling many days we reached their hunting grounds and
wigwams. I did not find it as pleasant as they had told me it would be.
Often they were very cruel to me, and sometimes we did not have much to
eat. But I dared not run away, for there was no place to which I could
go, except to other wicked Indians; and they would only make things
worse. They were all very bad Indians, and very much afraid of the
medicine men. All the worship they did was to the bad spirit. They
were afraid of him, and so they worshipped him, so that he might not do
them much harm. I became as bad as any of them. I tried to forget all
that the good Missionary had told me. I tried to wipe all his teachings
and prayers from my memory. All he had told me about the Good Spirit
and His Son I tried to forget.
"I grew up to be a man. I had become a wicked pagan; but I was a good
hunter, and one of the men sold me one of his daughters to be my wife.
We have quite a family. Because I had seen, when I was a little boy,
how Christian Indian men treat the women better than the pagan Indians
treat theirs, I treated my wife and children well. I was never cruel to
them. I love my wife and children.
"Last winter, you remember, the snow was very deep. I had taken my
family and gone out into the region of deer and other animals, and there
had made my hunting lodge for the winter. There we set our traps for
the fur-bearing animals. We took a good many of the smaller animals
that have got furs, but the larger ones, that are good for food, were
very few. We had a hard time, as food was very scarce. I could not
find any deer to shoot, and we had come far from the great lakes and
rivers, and so had no fish.
"At length it seemed as though we must starve. I tried hard to get
something, but I seemed to fail every time. Sometimes, when I did
manage to get within range of the moose or reindeer, and I fired, my
gun, which is only a flintlock, would only flash the powder in the pan,
and so the charge would not go off. The noise, however, had so
frightened the deer that he had rushed away before I could get ready to
fire again.
"At length it got so bad with us that I became completely discouraged,
and I said, `I will only try once more; and if I do not succeed in
shooting a deer, I will shoot myself.' So I took up my gun and hurried
into the forest away from my half-starved family. I cautiously tramped
along on my snowshoes all the first day, and did not see even a track.
I made a little camp and lay down cold and hungry. I hunted all the
next day and only got a rabbit. This I ate in the little camp I made
the second night in the snow. On the third day I hunted until about
noon. Then feeling very weak and hungry, I got so discouraged that I
said, as I sat down on a log covered with snow, `I will die here. I am
weak with hunger, I can go no further.' I was cross and angry, and I
said, as I talked to myself, `No use trying any more.' Then I loaded my
gun with a heavy charge of powder and two bullets, and, drawing back the
trigger, my plan was to put the muzzle of the gun against the side of my
head, and then press on the trigger with my big toe, which, you know,
moves easily in the moccasin. Just as I was getting ready thus to kill
myself, something seemed to speak to me, `William!' I pushed the gun
away, for I was frightened. I looked all around, but could not see
anybody. Then I found that the voice was in me, and it began to talk to
me out of my heart; and as I listened it seemed to say, `William, do you
not remember what the Missionary told you long ago about the Great
Spirit? He said He was kind and forgiving, and that even if we did
wander far away from him, if we became sorry and would come back, He
would forgive. Do you not remember, William, he said that if we ever
got into great trouble, the Great Spirit was the best Friend to Whom to
go to help us out? You are in great trouble, William. Don't you think
you had better come back to him?'
"But I trembled and hesitated, for I was ashamed to come. I thought
over my life, how I had run away from the kind Missionary who had taken
me, a poor orphan boy, into his home, and fed and clothed me, and taught
me so much about the true way. Then I remembered so well how I had
tried to wipe out from my memory all I had learned about the Great
Spirit and His Son, and the good Book. I had denied to the pagan people
that I knew anything about the white man's religion. I had been very
bad, and had got very far away; how could I come back? Still all the
answer I got was, `You had better come back.'
"There I sat and trembled, and I felt I was too mean to come back. But
all the answer I got was, `It is meaner to stay away, if what the
Missionary said is true.' While I was hesitating what to do, and all
trembling in the cold, I seemed to hear my wife and children in the
wigwam far away crying for food. This decided me. So I turned round,
and kneeled down in the snow by the log, and began to pray. I hardly
know what I said, but I do remember I asked the Great Spirit to forgive
the poor Indian who had got so far away from Him, and had been so
wicked, and had tried to wipe Him out of his memory. I told him I was
sorry, and wanted to do better; and there in the snow I promised, if He
would forgive and help me in my trouble, and give something for my wife
and children to eat, I would, just as soon as the snow and ice left the
rivers and lakes, go and find the Missionary, and ask him to help me to
be a Christian.
"While I prayed I felt better; I seemed to feel in my heart that help
was coming. I got up from my knees, and it seemed as though that prayer
had strengthened me like food. I forgot I was cold and hungry. I took
up my gun with a glad heart, and away I started; and I had not gone far
before a large reindeer came dashing along. I fired and killed him. I
was very glad. I quickly skinned him, and I soon made a fire and cooked
some of the meat. Then I pulled down a small tree, and fastened part of
the meat into the top of it, and let it swing up again, so as to keep it
from the wolves and wolverines. Then I took the rest on my back and
hurried home to my hungry wife and children. Soon after I went back for
the rest of the venison, and found it all right.
"Since that hour we have always had something. I have hunted hard, and
have had success. None of us have been hungry since. The Great Spirit
has been all that the Missionary said He would be to us. He has cared
for us, and given us all that we have needed.
"I have not forgotten my promise made while kneeling in the snow beside
the log in the woods. The snow has gone, and the ice has left the lakes
and rivers. I have launched my canoe, and have come with my wife and
children to ask you to help us to be Christians."
We were very much pleased to hear such a wonderful experience, which was
thus leading him back to God; and we told him so. When we learned that
all this time he had been talking, his wife and children were patiently
sitting in the canoe outside at the shore, we hurried out with him and
brought them into the Mission House.
Mrs Young, and one or two others, attracted by William's earnest words,
had come into my study, and had heard most of his story, and of course
were also deeply interested. Out of our scant supplies we gave the
whole family a good hearty meal, and we both did what we could by words
and actions to make them feel that we were their friends, and would do
all we could to help them to be Christians. We were delighted to find
that since that memorable day when at the snow-covered log in the forest
William had bowed in prayer, he had been diligent in teaching his family
all that he could remember of the blessed truths of the Gospel. They
had gladly received it and were eager for more.
I called together some of the head men of the village, and told them the
story of this family, and what William had said about his early life. A
few of the older people remembered the circumstance of his adoption by
Mr Evans after the death of his parents, whom they remembered well.
Happy Christians themselves, and anxious that others should enjoy the
same blessedness, they rejoiced at William's return, and especially with
such a desire in his heart. So they at once gave the exile a place
among themselves, and some needed help. Thorough and genuine were the
changes wrought in the hearts of that family by Divine grace, and they
have remained firm and true. In their house was a family altar, and
from the church services they were never absent, unless far off in
distant hunting grounds.
Various were the arguments which the Good Spirit gave us to use in
persuading men and women to be reconciled to God. Here is a beautiful
illustration:--
"WHERE ARE OUR CHILDREN?"
On the banks of a wild river, about sixty miles from Beaver Lake, I
visited a band of pagan Indians, who seemed determined to resist every
appeal or entreaty I could make to induce them to listen to my words.
They were so dead and indifferent that I was for a time quite
disheartened. The journey to reach them had taken about eight days from
home through the dreary wilderness, where we had not met a single human
being. My two faithful canoemen and I had suffered much from the
character of the route, and the absence of game, which had caused us
more than once to wrap ourselves up in our blankets and lie down
supperless upon the granite rocks, and try to sleep. The rain had
fallen upon us so persistently that for days the water had been dripping
from us, and we had longed for the sunshine that we might get dry again.
We had met with some strange adventures, and I had had another
opportunity for observing the intelligence and shrewdness of my men, and
their quickness in arriving at right conclusions from very little data.
Many think of the Indians as savages and uncivilised, yet in some
respects they are highly educated, and are gifted with a quickness of
perception not excelled by any other people in the world. We had the
following illustration of it on this trip.
As most of the Indians had gone away in the brigades to York Factory, to
carry down the furs and to freight up the goods for the next winter's
trade, I could not find any canoemen who were acquainted with the route
to the pagan band which I wished to visit. The best I could do was to
secure the services of a man as a guide who had only been as far as
Beaver Lake. He was willing to go and run the risk of finding the
Indian band, if possible, although so far beyond the most northern point
he had ever gone before. As I could do no better I hired him and
another Indian, and away we went.
After several days of hard work--for the portages around the falls and
rapids were many, and several times we had to wade through muskegs or
morasses up to our knees for miles together, carrying all our load on
our heads or backs--we at length reached Beaver Lake. Here we camped
for the night and talked over our future movements. We had come two
hundred and forty miles through these northern wilds, and yet had about
sixty miles to go ere we expected to see human beings, and were all
absolutely ignorant of the direction in which to go.
We spent the night on the shore of the lake, and slept comfortably on
the smooth rocks. Early the next morning we began to look out for signs
to guide us on our way. There were several high hills in the vicinity,
and it was decided that we should each ascend one of these, and see if
from these elevated positions the curling smoke from some distant Indian
camp-fire, or other signs of human beings, could be observed.
Seizing my rifle, I started off to ascend the high hill which had been
assigned me, while my Indians went off in other directions. This hill
was perhaps half a mile from our camp-fire, and I was soon at its foot,
ready to push my way up through the tangled underbrush that grew so
densely on its sides. To my surprise I came almost suddenly upon a
creek of rare crystal beauty, on the banks of which were many
impressions of hoofs, large and small, as though a herd of cattle had
there been drinking. Thoughtlessly, for I seemed to have forgotten
where we were, I came to the conclusion that as the herd of cattle had
there quenched their thirst, they and their owner must be near. So I
hurried back to the camp, and signalled to the men to return, and told
them what I had seen. There was an amused look on their faces, but they
were very polite and courteous men, and so they accompanied me to the
creek, where, with a good deal of pride, I pointed out to them the
footprints of cattle, and stated that I thought that they and their
owners could not be far off. They listened to me patiently, and then
made me feel extremely foolish by uttering the word "Moose." I had
mistaken the footprints of a herd of moose for a drove of cattle, much
to their quiet amusement.
We looked around for a time, and, getting no clue, we embarked in our
canoe, and started to explore the different streams that flowed into or
out of this picturesque lake. After several hours of unsuccessful work
we entered into the mouth of quite a fine river, and began paddling up
it, keeping close to one of its sandy shores. Suddenly one of my
Indians sprang up in the canoe, and began carefully examining some small
tracks on the shore. A few hasty words were uttered by the men, and
then we landed.
They closely inspected these little footprints, and then exclaimed, "We
have got it now, Missionary; we can take you soon to the Indians!"
"What have you discovered?" I said. "I see nothing to tell me where
the Indians are."
"We see it very plain," was the reply. "You sent word that you were
coming to meet them this moon. They have been scattered hunting, but
are gathering at the place appointed, and a canoe of them went up this
river yesterday, and the dog ran along the shore, and these are his
tracks."
I examined these impressions in the sand, and said, "The country is full
of wild animals; these may be the tracks of a wolf or wolverine or some
other beast."
They only laughed at me, and said, "We can see a great difference
between these tracks and those made by the wild animals."
Our canoe was soon afloat again, and, using our paddles vigorously, we
sped rapidly along the river. With no other clue than those little
footprints in the sand my men confidently pushed along. After paddling
for about twenty miles we came to the camp-fire, still smouldering,
where the Indians had slept the night before. Here we cooked our
dinner, and then hurried on, still guided by the little tracks along the
shore. Towards evening we reached the encampment, just as my canoemen
had intimated we should.
The welcome we received was not very cordial. The Indians were soured
and saddened by having lost many of their number, principally children,
by scarlet fever, which for the first time had visited their country,
and which had been undoubtedly brought into their land by some free-
traders the year before. With the exception of an old conjurer or two,
none openly opposed me, but the sullen apathy of the people made it very
discouraging work to try to preach or teach. However, we did the best
we could, and were resolved that, having come so far, and suffered so
many hardships to reach them, we would faithfully deliver the message,
and leave the results to Him Who had permitted us to be the first who
had ever visited that Land to tell the story of redeeming love.
One cold, rainy day a large number of us were crowded into the largest
wigwam for a talk about the truths in the great Book. My two faithful
Christian companions aided me all they could by giving personal
testimony to the blessedness of this great salvation. But all seemed in
vain. There the people sat and smoked in sullen indifference. When
questioned as to their wishes and determinations, all I could get from
them was, "As our fathers lived and died, so will we."
Tired out and sad of heart, I sat down in quiet communion with the
Blessed Spirit, and breathed up a prayer for guidance and help in this
hour of sore perplexity. In my extremity the needed assistance came so
consciously that I almost exulted in the assurance of coming victory.
Springing up, I shouted out, "I know where all your children are, who
are not among the living! I know, yes, I do know most certainly where
all the children are, whom Death has taken in his cold grasp from among
us, the children of the good and of the bad, of the whites and of the
Indians, I know where all the children are."
Great indeed was the excitement among them. Some of them had had their
faces well shrouded in their blankets as they sat like upright mummies
in the crowded wigwam. But when I uttered these words, they quickly
uncovered their faces, and manifested the most intense interest. Seeing
that I had at length got their attention, I went on with my words: "Yes,
I know where all the children are. They have gone from your camp-fires
and wigwams. The hammocks are empty, and the little bows and arrows lie
idle. Many of your hearts are sad, as you mourn for those little ones
whose voices you hear not, and who come not at your call. I am so glad
that the Great Spirit gives me authority to tell you that you may meet
your children again, and be happy with them for ever. But you must
listen to His words, which I bring to you from His great Book, and give
Him your hearts, and love and serve Him. There is only one way to that
beautiful land, where Jesus, the Son of the Great Spirit, has gone, and
into which He takes all the children who have died; and now that you
have heard His message and seen His Book, you too must come this way, if
you would be happy and there enter in."
While I was thus speaking, a big, stalwart man from the other side of
the tent sprang up, and rushed towards me. Beating on his breast, he
said, "Missionary, my heart is empty, and I mourn much, for none of my
children are left among the living; very lonely is my wigwam. I long to
see my children again, and to clasp them in my arms. Tell me,
Missionary, what must I do to please the Great Spirit, that I may get to
that beautiful land, that I may meet my children again?" Then he sank
at my feet upon the ground, his eyes suffused with tears, and was
quickly joined by others, who, like him, were broken down with grief,
and were anxious now for religious instruction.
To the blessed Book we went, and after reading what Jesus had said about
little children, and giving them some glimpses of His great love for
them, we told them "the old, old story," as simply and lovingly as we
could. There was no more scoffing or indifference. Every word was
heard and pondered over, and from that hour a blessed work began, which
resulted in the great majority of them deciding to give their hearts to
God; and they have been true to their vows.