We will call the routes over which I travelled on my large mission
field, "Indian trails;" but the name at times would be found to be
inept, as often, for scores of miles, there was not the least vestige of
a track or path. This was because there was so little travel in summer
of a character that would make a well defined trail, for during that
season the Indians preferred to avail themselves of the splendid and
numerous lakes and rivers, which enabled them to travel very easily by
canoe in almost any direction.
Thus, when obliged to travel on the short stretches of the so-called,
"Indian trail," it is not to be wondered at if the missionary sometimes
lost his way, and had to be sought after and found, much to the
amusement of the Indians who constituted the hunting party.
"Good missionary, but him lost the trail." More than once was I so
addressed by my clever and experienced Indian canoeman, with whom every
summer I used to journey hundreds of miles into remote regions, to find
the poor sheep of the wilderness to whom to preach the glorious Gospel
of the Son of God. These summer routes lay through many lakes, and up
and down rushing rivers full of rapids and cataracts. Generally two
skilful Indian canoemen were my companions, one of whom was called, "the
guide."
The Indians, for whom we were seeking, drifted naturally from their
hunting grounds in the forests, to the shores of the lakes and rivers,
for the sake of the fish, which, daring the summer months, could be
easily obtained and which then constituted their principal food. The
result was, that while in winter, with our dog-trains, we could go
anywhere--the terrible ice-king freezing everything solid from the lakes
and rivers to the great quaking bogs--in summer, we were confined to
those trips which could be only made by the birch-bark canoe: in no
other way could the Gospel he carried to these people. After we became
accustomed to the canoe and dog-train, we rejoiced that we were counted
worthy to be the Messengers of Good Tidings'to these neglected ones,
who, having lost faith in their old paganism, were longing for something
better.
One summer in the early years of my missionary life, when I had had but
little experience in the northern methods of travel and was a novice at
finding my way on an obscure trail, I took a trip which I remember very
distinctly; partly, because of the difficulty I had in keeping the trail
when alone and partly because of the dangers to which I was exposed when
I lost it.
My birch canoe was a good one. It was made especially for running
rapids, and was so light that one man could easily carry it on his head
when necessary. I had as my companions two very capable Indian
canoemen. One of them had never been over that route before and the
other, whom by courtesy, we called, "our guide," had only once travelled
that way--and that, several years before the date of this trip.
All the able bodied men of my mission excepting these two, were away
serving the Hudson Bay Company as tripmen, which was the reason why I
could not obtain men better acquainted with the long route. I had
either to take these men and ran a good deal of risk, or wait another
year to carry the Gospel to those hundreds who had never heard it, and
who had sent a pleading call for me to come and tell them what the Great
Spirit said in His Book. So, after much prayer, I decided, trusting in
God and in these men, to make the journey.
The country through which we travelled was one of the roughest and
wildest in that dreary, desolate land. The streams were so full of
rapids that we had constantly to be making portages. This was slow and
laborious work. Our method of procedure was something like this: as
soon as we discovered that the current was too rapid to be safe, or that
we were hearing some great falls, we went ashore and quickly unloaded
our canoe; William, the guide, easily lifted it upon his head and
starting off, soon disappeared in the forest, running where possible,
and keeping parallel with the raging stream until he reached a place
below which the waters were again navigable; Peter, my other Indian, as
speedily as possible made a large bundle of our blankets, kettles, and
supplies, and with this upon his back, supported by a carrying strap
round his forehead, quickly followed the trail made by William; while to
me was assigned the work of carrying the guns, ammunition, changes of
raiment and the presents, and Bibles for the Indians we expected to
visit. Although my load was not nearly as heavy as those carried by my
stalwart canoemen, yet I was utterly unable to keep up with them in the
trail. Indians, when thus loaded, never walk: they seem to glide along
on a swinging trot that carries them over the ground very rapidly. A
white man, unaccustomed to this pace, is very soon left behind. This
was my experience. All I could do, was to trudge bravely along under my
miscellaneous load, which was becoming constantly disarranged, thus
causing delay.
But my greatest trouble was to keep the trail. There was absolutely no
path. All the trail, was that made by my two Indians, and Indians are
trained to leave as little evidence of their movements as possible. So
I was often lost. I would at the beginning of the portage, bravely
shoulder my burden and endeavour to keep in sight of my men. This,
however, I found to be an utter impossibility. A sharp turn among the
rocky ridges, or a plunge into the dense dark forest, and they were gone
from my vision. Then my perplexities began. If, as some times
happened, the trail was through mud, or reeds and rushes I could
generally follow them in it; but, as more frequently happened, the trail
was over rocky ridges, or through dense forests, sometimes for miles,
and I was often completely bewildered and lost.
The trouble at first was, that being too perplexed, or too ignorant of
what was the safer course to pursue, I would quicken my pace and hurry
on--somewhere. On and on I would stumble under my heavy awkward load
until the sweat fell like rain from my brow and my back ached. More
than once when thus hurrying I have been startled by some savage beast,
that with a snort or a growl, dashed away in front of me. This only
added speed to my footsteps, and frightened now I would hurry on, until
utterly worn-out and exhausted I threw off my heavy burdens and sank
down on the nearest rock or log, tired out. Perhaps in my ignorance and
perversity I had wandered far away, even in an opposite direction from
that which I should have taken.
Fortunate was it for me that I had such men for my comrades. I knew
their worth and loyalty, as well as their ability quickly to find me.
As soon as they had safely reached the end of the portage they would be
on the alert for my arrival. If I delayed beyond what they thought to
be sufficient time they would set off on the back trail looking for me.
With that unerring instinct which so many of them possess in woodcraft,
and which to me always seemed perfectly marvellous, they soon found
where I had wandered from the trail. From this point they had not the
slightest difficulty in following and finding me. Without any chiding,
but with perhaps a pitying look and a quiet utterance that sounded like
"Good missionary, but him lost the trail," they would quickly pick up my
burdens, and safely guide me to our waiting canoe. All I had to carry
was perhaps the Book which I had with me, the reading of which, enabled
me profitably to pass the hours that often elapsed ere my faithful men
found me.
We lived on just what we could shoot, as it was impossible to carry
additional supplies in a birch canoe. Hunter's luck varies considerably
even in a land of game, and we at least had variety in our bill of fare.
Black bears being still numerous in those wild regions we sometimes had
bear's steak broiled on the coals, or ribs skidded on a stick and nicely
browned before the fire. When my canoemen had time to prepare the
bear's feet and boil them they were quite a luxury. In fact, the three
great luxuries specially prized by the denizens of that country are, the
heaver's tails, the moose's nose, and the bear's paws. Rarely was a
deer shot on those canoe trips, unless it happened to be in the far
north regions, where occasionally one was caught swimming far out from
land in a great lake. When one was thus killed, there was of course
abundance of food, but so little of it could be carried with us, that
the larger portion had to be left to be devoured by wolves, wolverines,
or other wild animals. However, in leaving all this meat on the trail
the words of the Psalmist would come to us:
"He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry."
Perhaps it was only carrying out His great purposes, when we thus left
all this food for some of His creatures to whom, "He giveth their meat
in due season."
Wild ducks, geese, and other aquatic birds were occasionally shot,
affording us most savoury food as did also the beavers wild-cats, and
muskrats.
Our nights were spent where the day's journey ended. Missionaries in
nearly all lands can generally find some human, habitation in which to
obtain or prepare their food and spend the night. As a child, I used to
listen with intense interest to my beloved father, who for many years
had been a pioneer missionary in what were then known as the wilds of
Upper Canada--tell of his adventures. Many had been his hardships and
dangers, but I remember he used to say, that he could generally find the
comfortable log-cabin of a friendly settler in which to pass the night.
The trail in the wild north land leads through regions of country
thousands of miles in extent, where there is not even to be found a
leather tepee or a birch-bark wigwam, much less a house. The result
was, when making such journeys, we had to do the next best thing, and
that was to camp at the spot where night overtook us. Of course we were
on the lookout for as comfortable a place as it was possible to find. A
smooth dry granite rock for our bed, and dry wood with which to make our
fires, where we cooked our food and dried our clothes, were always
considered the essential requisites for a comfortable camp. Warm days
alternated with damp and chilly ones, but the nights were generally
cold. The bright warm camp-fire was always welcomed with great delight
after a day's journey of sixty miles on the trail. Pleasant indeed are
the memories of happy restful hours so spent, when the good honest day's
work was done, and the time of rest well earned. After the hearty
evening meal and prayers, it was each a luxury to be able to stretch our
cramped limbs before a glorious camp-fire on the rocky shore of some
great river or picturesque lake. Then the attempt to read even some
favourite author was not always a great success. It seemed more
congenial just to lie there, and muse and watch the dying of the day as
the brightness gradually faded out of the western sky, and the stars in
their modest way, one by one, came out into conscious vision, until the
whole heavens were lit up by their radiance. The only sounds were the
roar of the distant cataract, the music of the running stream, the
rippling of the waves at our feet, broken some nights by the occasional
cry of a wild bird or beast, from among the trees of the encircling
forest. The quiet, picturesquely garbed men in their statuesque
attitudes added much to the attractiveness of the surroundings.
Then at night very close to the heart, and appropriate, were the words
of the Psalmist: "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the
firmament showeth His handiwork;" and, "When I consider thy heavens the
work of thy fingers, the moon and stars which thou hast ordained; what
is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou
visitest him?"
But the nights spent on the Indian trail, were not always so delightful,
or so conducive to lofty and celestial sentiments. When the cyclonic
winds howled around us through the long night hours, blowing with such
fury that it requited all of our watchfulness and strength to prevent
canoe, blankets, and bundles from being blown into the lake or river,
our thoughts were not among the stars. Sometimes the black
thunderclouds gathered and the rain fell upon us in torrents, putting
out our fires, perhaps before our evening meal was cooked, drenching us
completely, and continuing sometimes so long that we had not a dry
stitch upon us for days together. Under such circumstances, while
ringing some quarts of water out of our clothes, or from the blankets in
which we had slept, there was no disposition to sentimentalise about the
rippling of the waves on the shore or the distant waterfall.
Thus in storm as in sunshine, it was necessary that the missionary and
his faithful canoemen should be on the trail, if the Book were to be
carried, and its glorious truths proclaimed to those wandering people in
their wigwam homes, in regions so remote and inaccessible that in no
other way could they be reached during the brief summer months.
However, in spite of its hardships and dangers, the results accomplished
more than compensated for them all. Physical sufferings are not worthy
of record, where successful work has been done in the conversion of
immortal souls for whom the Saviour died. Many have been the trophies
won and marvellous the transformations wrought as the result of these
difficult trips on the Indian trail. The missionaries, numbers of whom
are still toiling upon them, rejoice that they are counted worthy to
endure such hardness, and to be "in perils oft" for His glory, and for
the salvation of those for whom He died.
As regards some abiding results attained by these adventurous trips, one
or two incidents are here recorded.
On these long journeys, the missionary generally carried with him a
small assortment of medicines. He well knew that many a hard heart
could be reached, and many a prejudice overcome, by the healing of some
afflicted member of the family, when all other means for influencing
them for good, had for the time being failed.
At one remote pagan village dwelt a man who had refused most positively
to become a Christian. When urged to accept of Christianity he had most
emphatically repeated the expression most common among them: "As my
fathers lived and died, so will I."
He came to me one day in a state of much perplexity, and after speaking
about several things, mentioned the thankfulness that was in his heart
on account of my having cured his wife, who had been sick a long time.
The way in which he expressed himself, however, showed the great
ignorance under which he was living. His words were something like
these, and most emphatically were they uttered:
"Missionary, my wife was long sick. I went to the medicine man of my
people to cure her. He tried and tried, but he could not do her any
good. Then I came to you, and your medicines cured her, and she soon
got well. So I believe, that as your medicine is stronger than that of
the medicine men of our religion, your religion must be better than
ours. My wife and I have talked it over, and we want to sit at your
feet, and learn of this new way."
Of course there was a good deal in his mind that was erroneous and I had
to explain myself literally and enlighten him, ere I could begin to
teach him the truths of the Gospel. However, I had won his heart, and
that was half of the battle. Now predisposed toward the truth, he and
his wife gladly accepted it. They became sincere and earnest
Christians, and were both made a blessing and a benediction to their
people.
There was a great hunter who had an only son. He had a number of
daughters, but they were as nothing in his sight in comparison with his
little boy. One day the child fell sick, and the medicine man of the
tribe was sent for in great haste, a famous old conjuror by the name of
Tapastanum. He had some knowledge of roots and herbs, but like the
other conjurors of his nation, pretended to depend upon his incantations
and conjurings to effect his cures. With a great deal of ceremony he
brought out his sacred medicine bag, his charms, and rattle and drum.
Then arraying himself in the most hideous manner possible, he began his
wild incantations. He howled and yelled, he shook his rattle and beat
his drum. All however was in vain. The child rapidly became worse as
the days passed. Seeing that there was no improvement, the father
became thoroughly alarmed and lost all faith in Tapastanum's power.
Fearing however to offend him, he gave him some presents of tea and
tobacco, and told him that he need not trouble himself to come again.
Up to this time he had refused to listen to the missionary's teachings.
He had been loud and almost persecuting in his opposition to the
preaching of the Gospel among his people, and had refused to come where
the friendly Indians gathered under the trees to hear the Word read and
explained.
Indian-like however, he had been most observant, and it had not escaped
his notice that some cures had been effected by the pale face that had
been too difficult for the native medicine men. So, when he saw his
little boy getting worse and worse, in spite of all the yells and antics
of the conjuror, so soon as he had dismissed him, he came for the
missionary, and in a tone very different from that which he had first
used, almost begged him to come and save his little boy.
"I will do the best I can," said the missionary, who was thankful for an
opportunity thus, perhaps, to win his friendship and to lead him to the
cross.
When he examined the boy he found that it was a serious case of
inflammation, so he candidly told the father, that as the disease had
run so long it was hard to say whether he would be able to cure him or
not, but he would gladly do his best. The Indian father urged him to
begin at once to do all that was possible to save his boy; saying, that
he would be so glad if his child recovered, and would not blame the
missionary if he died.
Prompt remedies were applied, and with God's blessing, and careful
nursing, the child recovered, greatly to the joy of the father.
Not long after, as the missionary gathered the people together for
religious service, he was pleased to see, leaning against a distant
tree, the once stubborn old Indian whose son had been healed. It was
evident that he was anxious to hear what that missionary who had cured
his boy had to say, and jet, he was still too proud to come and sit with
the friendly Indians, who were anxious to learn about the message which
the Great Spirit had sent to the people. So he compromised by taking a
position on the outskirts of the audience.
Fortunately the missionary was gifted with a strong clear voice, so
without any apparent effort, he told the story of God's love in Jesus
Christ in a tone that could be distinctly heard by all, even by the
distant hunter leaning against the tree.
Very attentively did that Indian listen to all that was said, and so
interested was he, that at the next service he stood at a tree
considerably nearer the speaker. The next service he was in the midst
of the audience, and a few weeks later he was at the Cross, a happy
converted man.
It was interesting and delightful to listen to his after apologies, and
chidings of himself for his stubborn opposition to that in which he now
so delighted. Among other things he would say:
"But missionary, you know that I was so foolish and stubborn. I was
then blind and deaf; but now I have rubbed the dust out of my eyes,
pulled the moss out of my ears, so now I see clearly and hear all right.
Then, I could only say hard things against the Book which I thought was
only for the white man, but now, I have found that it is for every one,
and I love to think and talk about the good things that it has brought
to us."
Long centuries ago Isaiah prophesied:
"Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf
shall be unstopped;
"Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb
sing;
"For in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the
desert."
Here in this wild north land, as, thank God, it has been on many other
mission fields, this glorious prophecy had been, and is being, most
literally fulfilled. Eyes long spiritually blinded are now open to
behold the blessed light, deaf ears have been unstopped and now hear His
loving voice, and tongues unloosened by His power make the wilderness
vocal with His praise.