SMALL-POX PESTILENCE--HEROIC CONDUCT OF CHRISTIAN INDIANS--WHITES
SUPPLIED WITH PROVISIONS BY RED MEN--THE GUIDE SAMUEL PAPANEKIS--HIS
TRIUMPHANT DEATH--NANCY, THE HAPPY WIDOW--IN POVERTY, YET REJOICING.
We were very much shocked, during the early spring, to hear that that
terrible disease, the small-pox, had broken out among the Indians on the
great plains of the Saskatchewan.
It seems to have been brought into the country by some white traders
coming up from the State of Montana. When once it had got amongst them,
it spread with amazing rapidity and fatality. To make matters worse,
one of the tribes of Indians, being at war with another, secretly
carried some of the infected clothing, which had been worn by their own
dead friends, into the territory of those with whom they were at war,
and left it where it could be easily found and carried off. In this way
the disease was communicated to this second tribe, and thousands of them
died from it.
Every possible precaution against the spread of this terrible destroyer
was taken by the Missionaries, Messrs. McDougall and Campbell, aided by
their Christian people. But, in spite of all their efforts, it
continued cutting down both whites and Indians. To save some of his
people Mr McDougall got the Indians of his Victoria Mission to leave
their homes and scatter themselves over the great prairies, where, he
hoped, they would, by being isolated, escape the contagion. The pagan
Indians, rendered desperate under the terrible scourge which was so
rapidly cutting them off, and being powerless to check it, resolved to
wreak their vengeance upon the defenceless whites. So they sent a band
of warriors to destroy every white person in the country. The first
place they reached, where dwelt any of the pale-faces, was the Victoria
Mission on the Saskatchewan River. Indian-like, they did not openly
attack, but, leaving the greater number of their warriors in ambush in
the long grass, a few of them sauntered into the Mission House. Here,
to their surprise, they found that the small-pox had entered, and some
of the inmates of the home had died. Quickly and quietly they glided
away, and told their comrades what they had seen. A hasty consultation
was held, and they decided that it could not have been the Missionary
who had control of the disease; for, if he had, he would not have
allowed it to have killed his own. They then decided it must have been
the fur-traders, and so they started for the trading post. Here they
pursued the same tactics, and found to their surprise that a Mr Clarke,
the gentleman in charge of that place, had fallen a victim. Another
hasty council made them think that they had been mistaken, and so they
quickly returned to their own country without having injured any one.
But the Missionary and his family were surrounded by perils. The
Indians were excited and unsettled, and their old pagan conjurers were
ever ready to incite them to deeds of violence. The restraining power
of God alone saved them from massacre. Once the Missionary's wife and
some of the family were at work in the garden, while secreted in the
long grass not a hundred yards from them lay eleven Blackfeet, who had
come to murder and pillage the place, but, as they afterwards
acknowledged, were strangely restrained from firing. At another time
some of the fierce warriors of this same bloodthirsty tribe crawled
through a field of barley, and for a long time watched the movements of
the family, and then noiselessly retired, doing no harm to any one. To
hear the ping of a bullet as it passed in close proximity to the head
was no very rare event in the lives of several of the early Missionaries
among the excited pagans.
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While the small-pox was raging in the Great Saskatchewan country,
strenuous efforts were made to prevent it spreading to other districts.
Manitoba had now been formed into a province, and was filling up with
white settlers. The old name, Fort Garry, had been changed to Winnipeg,
and this place was rapidly growing into a prosperous town. From Fort
Garry long trains of Red River carts had been in the habit of going for
years with the supplies needed in the far-off Saskatchewan country.
These carts were made without having in their construction a single
piece of iron. The Half-breeds or Indian drivers never oiled or greased
them, and the result was they could be heard about as far as seen, even
on the level prairies. Each cart was drawn by one ox, and was supposed
to carry from eight to twelve hundred pounds of supplies, in addition to
the food and outfit of the driver, who was always expected to walk.
This freighting by carts on the prairies is the counterpart of
transporting goods by open boats or canoes in the northern rivers, to
which we have elsewhere referred. The arrival of the brigade of carts
with the supplies, and the news from the outside world, was the great
event of the year in the early times at those lonely prairie
settlements.
But stern measures had to be adopted in this year of the small-pox
plague. A proclamation was issued by the Governor of the Province of
Manitoba, absolutely prohibiting any trade or communication in any way
with the infected district. Not a single cart or traveller was
permitted to go on the trail. This meant a good deal of suffering and
many privations for the isolated Missionaries and traders and other
whites who, for purposes of settlement or adventure, had gone into that
remote interior country.
As it was, only twice a year in many places did the lonely Missionaries
hear from the outside world. Then the mail-carrier was very welcome,
whether he came by canoe or dog-train.
Although there were still plenty of buffalo on the plains, it was well
known that the ammunition was about exhausted, as well as all other
supplies, including medicines, now so much needed. Some interested
parties vainly urged the Governor to relent and allow some supplies to
be sent in. But, conscious of the risks that would be run of the
pestilence reaching the province over which he governed, he remained
firm, while he felt for those who necessarily must suffer.
"What can be done to aid those unfortunate ones, who, in addition to
their sorrows and troubles incident to the ravages of the small-pox
among them, are now to be exposed to pinching famine and want?" was the
question that sympathising friends were asking each other. As a last
resort it was decided to appeal to the Norway House Christian Indians,
and ask them to form a brigade of boats, and take the much-needed
supplies up the mighty Saskatchewan River, where they could be reached
by those needing them.
To me, as Missionary of these Indians, Mr Stewart, the highest official
of the Hudson's Bay Company, came; and we talked the matter over, and
the risks which the Indians, not one of whom had been vaccinated, must
run in going on such a perilous journey. They would have to go hundreds
of miles through the disease-stricken land where hundreds had died. But
it seemed essential that something must be done, and there were
possibilities that the Indians, by acting very wisely, could escape
infection: so we decided to call them together, and see what they would
do in this emergency.
When the church bell was rung, and the people had assembled together in
their Council house, wondering what was the matter, I described the sad
circumstances to them, and then presented the request, that one hundred
and sixty of them should take twenty boats loaded with supplies, and go
up the Saskatchewan, to save these white people from starving. I said
to these converted Indians, my own people:
"I know your race on this continent has not always been fairly treated;
but never mind that. Here is a grand opportunity for you to do a
glorious act, and to show to the world and to the good Lord, Whose
children you are, that you can make sacrifices and run risks when duty
calls, as well as the whites can."
We told them that there was a possibility that they, by keeping in the
middle of the great river all the time, and _never_ going ashore, might
all escape. They would be provided with abundance of food; so they need
not go ashore to hunt. Then we asked, "Are you willing to run the risk,
and avail yourselves of this chance to do a glorious act?" Turning to
one of the most trusted guides in the country, one of my best Class-
Leaders, I said: "Samuel Papanekis, you are to be the guide and leader
of this party." He was a son of the old centenarian, and brother of the
Reverend Edward Papanekis, now our Missionary at Oxford House Mission.
He seemed at first a little startled by the responsibility of the
position, and after a moment's thought quietly said: "Will you give us a
little time to talk it over?" So we left them to discuss the matter
among themselves. When they sent us word that they had their answer
ready, we returned, and he said: "Missionary, we have talked it over,
and have decided to go to take the supplies to our suffering white
brothers and their families. But will you let us have one more Sunday
at the church, and will you give us the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper,
ere we start upon the dangerous journey?"
"Yes," I said, "it will take several days to get your loads and boats
ready, and so we will have another blessed day of rest and hallowed
worship together."
It was a memorable Sabbath. Every man, woman, and child who could come
to church, seemed to be there. Some of the women wept as they thought
of the risks their husbands, or brothers, or sons were running. Others
of them seemed to catch the spirit of the men, and felt proud that those
they loved were willing to undertake so brave and noble a work.
At the close of the morning service we had the Sacrament of the Lord's
Supper. It was very solemn and impressive. As they came forward and
partook of the emblems of their dear Lord's dying love, the recollection
of His self-sacrifice and disinterested kindness seemed to come very
vividly before us all, and there was in many hearts a kind of exultant
joy that they were counted worthy to run some risks for the sake of
doing good.
No foolish boastfulness, or desire to seek for sympathy, characterised
their utterances at the afternoon service, at which we met again in a
Testimony or Fellowship Meeting. Some made no reference at all to the
work before them; others asked for our prayers for them; and others,
well taught in the Word of God, with the hallowed influences of the
morning sacramental service still resting upon them, thought that they
ought to rejoice when there were chances for getting into this spirit,
so as to be partakers of Christ's sufferings, or companions in
tribulation with such a Friend, so that when His glory should be
revealed, they also might rejoice, as He has taught us: "If we suffer
with Him," we shall "also be glorified together."
Two or three days after this they started on their long, dangerous
journey. They had twenty boats well loaded with supplies, each manned
by eight Indians, and all under the guidance of Samuel Papanekis, whom
they were expected to implicitly obey. They went up the fine river that
passes by Norway House, until they entered into Lake Winnipeg. From
this place they skirted around the north-western shore of this great
lake, until they reached the mouth of the Saskatchewan River. Up this
great river they had to row their beats against the current for many
hundreds of miles. That summer was an exceedingly hot one, yet for
weeks together these gallant fellows tugged away at their heavy oars.
For a few short hours of rest during the night they anchored their boats
in mid-stream, and then at first blush of morning they continued their
journey. Wild beasts were sometimes seen walking on the shores or
quenching their thirst in the river. The hunting instincts of the
younger Indian boatmen were so strong that they begged to be allowed to
fire; but Samuel, ever on the alert, and seeing the danger, always
positively refused.
When the Sabbaths came they anchored their boats as close together as
possible near the middle of the river on some shoal or shallow spot,
such as abound in this great river of shifting sand bars. Here they
spent their quiet, restful days, having prayers and a couple of
religious services each Sunday.
Ere they reached the place where they were to deliver their precious
cargoes, the river passed through many miles of the plague-stricken
country. They could see on the shores the deserted wigwams, in which
all the inmates had fallen victims to the fell destroyer, or had, panic-
stricken, fled away.
Very long seemed that summer, and great indeed was our solicitude, and
many were our prayers for these noble men, from whom we did not hear a
single word during the whole time of their absence. After being away
for about ten weeks, they came back amidst a doxology of thanksgiving
and gratitude. All of them were happy and in vigorous health, with the
exception of the guide. The strain and anxiety upon him had been too
much, and he was never the same man after. The others said, "Samuel
seemed to be everywhere, and to watch every movement with almost
sleepless vigilance." Realising how great the responsibilities were
upon him, he determined, if untiring devotion to his work would enable
him to rescue those suffering whites, and then return with his large
brigade uncontaminated by the disease, it should be done.
He succeeded, but at the price of his own life, for he only came home to
linger a while and then to die. His indomitable will-power kept him up
until he saw the last boat safely moored in our quiet harbour, and
witnessed the loving greetings between his stalwart crews and their
happy families. He joined with us all in the blessed thanksgiving
service in our overflowing sanctuary, where with glad hearts we sang
together:
"And are we yet alive,
And see each other's face?
Glory and praise to Jesus give
For His redeeming grace:
Preserved by power Divine
To full salvation here,
Again in Jesu's praise we join,
And in His sight appear."
Then he began to droop and wither, and in spite of all that we, or the
kind Hudson's Bay officials, who were very much attached to him, could
do for him, he seemed almost visibly to slip away from us.
By-and-by the end drew near. It was a beautiful day, and as he had some
difficulty in breathing, at his own request a wigwam was prepared, and
he was well wrapped up and gently lifted out of his house and placed
upon a bed of balsam boughs covered with robes. He seemed grateful for
the change, and appeared a little easier for a time. We talked of
Jesus, and heaven, and "the abundant entrance," and "the exceeding great
and precious promises." Then he dropped off in a quiet slumber. Soon
after, he awoke with a consciousness that the time of his departure had
come, and laid himself out to die. Bending over him, I said, "Samuel,
this is death that has come for you! Tell me how it is with you." His
hearing had partly left him, and so he did not understand me. Speaking
more loudly I said, "Samuel, my brother, you are in the Valley of the
Shadow of Death; how is it with you?"
His eye brightened, and his look told me he had understood my question.
He lifted up his thin, emaciated arm, and, seeming to clasp hold of
something, he said, "Missionary, I am holding on to God; He is my all of
joy and hope and happiness." Then the arm fell nerveless, and my
triumphant Indian brother was in the Better Land.
Perhaps I cannot find a better place than here to refer to Samuel's
widow and children, and an interview I had with them.
They moved away, shortly after his death, from his house in the Mission
village, and took up their abode with several other families up the
river beyond the Fort, several miles from the village. We had visited
them and substantially aided them up to the time of their moving away,
but for a while I had not met them, except at the services, and so did
not know how they were prospering. When the cold winter set in, I
arranged with my good Brother Semmens that we would take our dog-trains
and go and make pastoral visits among all the Indian families on the
outskirts, and find out how they were prospering, temporally and
spiritually. It was ever a great joy to them when we visited them, and
by our inquiries about their fishing and hunting, and other simple
affairs, showed we were interested in these things, and rejoiced with
them when they could tell of success, and sympathised with them when
they had met with loss or disaster. Then they listened reverently when
we read from the blessed Word, and prayed with them in their humble
homes.
One bitterly cold day towards evening we drove up to a very poor little
house. We knocked at the door, and in answer to a cheery "Astum,"--the
Indian for "Come in,"--we entered the little abode. Our hearts sank
within us at the evidences of the poverty of the inmates. The little
building was made of poplar logs, the interstices of which were filled
up with moss and clay. The floor was of the native earth, and there was
not a piece of furniture in the abode, not a table, chair, or bedstead.
In one corner of the room was an earthen fireplace, and, huddled around
a poor fire in it, there sat a widow with a large family of children,
one of whom was a cripple.
We said a few words of kindly greeting to the family, and then, looking
round on the destitute home, I said sorrowfully, "Nancy, you seem to be
very poor; you don't seem to have anything to make you happy and
comfortable." Very quickly came the response,--and it was in a very
much more cheery strain than my words had been,--
"I have not got much, but I am not unhappy, Missionary."
"You poor creature," I replied, "you don't seem to have anything to make
you comfortable."
"I have but little," she said quietly.
"Have you any venison?"
"No!"
"Have you any flour?"
"No!"
"Have you any tea?"
"Have you any potatoes?"
When this last question of mine was uttered, the poor woman looked up at
me, for she was the widow of Samuel Papanekis, and this was her answer:
"I have no potatoes, for, don't you remember, at the time of potato
planting Samuel took charge of the brigade that went up with provisions
to save the poor white people? And Samuel is not here to shoot deer,
that I may have venison; and Samuel is not here to catch mink and marten
and beaver and other things to exchange for flour and tea."
"What have you got, poor woman?" I said with my heart full of sorrow.