Among all of my appointments, the one which perhaps afforded me the
greatest pleasure and satisfaction, was that of Nelson River. At Oxford
house we had a larger number of converted Indians; but that mission had
been long organised, and devout and earnest men, like Reverend Messrs
Brooking, and Stringfellow, had given to it years of honest self-denying
toil. Nelson River, on the other hand, was a new and untried field,
where it was my privilege and joy to go as the first missionary.
Of the many grand converts there happily rescued from the darkness and
power of paganism, there is one beautiful character who is now the right
hand of the resident missionary. His name is Sandy Harte. My
introduction to him was a peculiar one. The day was one of rare beauty,
and I had spent the forenoon in teaching a number of adults and Indian
children how to read the Word of God printed in the syllabic characters.
During the noon hour of rest I entered the birch bark wigwam of one of
the principal Indians, and was naturally surprised to observe a fine
looking Indian lad stretched out on a bed of rabbit robes and blankets
while the other boys were engaged in various sports. Addressing him, I
said:
"Why are you lying here this beautiful day?"
With a sudden movement he jerked away the upper robe that was over him,
and, pointing to his shattered thigh, said in tones full of bitterness:
"Missionary, that is the reason why I am here, instead of being out in
the sunshine with the other boys."
The despairing tone, the emphatic utterance, at once aroused my
sympathies and caused me to be deeply interested in this wounded boy, so
helpless, not knowing the hour when, according to the prevailing custom,
he might be put to death. The heartless reasoning of these Indians in
such cases was like this: he will always be lame and helpless; why
should he be a burden on his friends? let us kill him at once; it will
be better for him and them. However, they had postponed the killing of
this lad because he was the son of the chief.
After I had examined his wound and had given some directions as to its
treatment, I sat down beside him and heard from his lips the sad story
of the misfortune which had crippled him for life. It seems, that he
and another boy were out shooting partridges and rabbits. While moving
through the forest, Sandy walking ahead, the gun of his comrade
accidentally went off and poured its contents into his leg. The bone
was badly splintered, and the muscles so cut and torn, that there was
absolutely no possibility of his ever being able to walk on it again.
After I had had quite a chat with him, I asked if he would like to be
able to read the Word of God. His bright eyes shone with pleasure, and
his response was so expressive of eager longing, that I at once began
the first lesson. Sitting beside him on the ground, I drew the syllabic
characters and spent an hour or so in teaching them to him. He had a
very retentive memory, and was intensely anxious to learn as rapidly as
possible. So, every day, when I had finished giving lessons to the
crowd of young and old people, I used to hurry over to the wigwam where
he lay to give him additional instruction; and so deeply interested was
he, that I felt well repaid for my trouble.
As I was hundreds of miles from home--having come on that long trail
with a couple of Indians in a birch canoe--and had a number of other
points at which I wished to stop and do missionary work, I was obliged
to bring my visit at this place to an end after a couple of weeks. But
before leaving, I had an informal conversation with Murdo, Oowikapun,
and some other of the friendly Indians.
"What a pity it is," I exclaimed, "that Sandy could not be educated! If
only he could be educated enough to be your teacher, what a good thing
it would be! For, next to a missionary to live permanently among you, a
godly teacher would be the best thing you could have. He will never
again have the full use of his leg, so will not be able to become a
great hunter; but if he had an education, he might be a blessing to you
all!"
Then I bade farewell to these northern Indians who had received me so
kindly, and with some parting words, especially urging that the wounded
boy should be kindly cared for, I resumed my adventurous journey.
As we journeyed on from place to place we had plenty of strange
adventures. We shot a fine black bear, and, at our first meal after our
battle with him, enjoyed picking his ribs. In his capture, I was very
much interested in watching how human experience was able to overmatch
animal instinct. We had a very narrow escape in some wild and
treacherous rapids, where we lost part of the contents of our canoe and
were all nearly drowned ere we succeeded in reaching the shore. This
loss was the more keenly felt, as in such an isolated place it is
utterly impossible to replenish your store. However, after several such
mishaps, we succeeded in carrying out our programme; and at length
reached home in safety.
The long winter, with its seven or eight months of bitter cold, set in
shortly after. For a few weeks I was kept busy with home matters and
the affairs of the local mission appointment. As soon, however, as the
great lakes and rivers were well frozen over and a sufficient fall of
snow made it possible to begin my winter journeys, I harnessed my dogs,
and with my guide and dog-drivers, responded, as far as possible, to the
many calls to tell the Story of the Great Book.
So many were the Macedonian calls from other places that winter, that I
did not make a trip to Nelson River. This I regretted exceedingly, for
although it was the most distant, it was one of the most promising and
encouraging of all the new fields to which I had gone.
About the middle of the following summer, while enjoying the glories of
a magnificent sunset, I saw a canoe with some Indians in it coming
toward our home. When they had landed, two of them at once came up to
me, greeted me most cordially, and before I could fully return their
greetings, or recall where I had before seen them, exclaimed:
"We remember your good words to us--and we have brought Sandy along."
"Sandy along! Who is Sandy?" I asked.
"Why, Sandy Harte--you remember him--the boy who was shot in the leg--
the one you used to go and teach; we have brought him along, for we
remember your words, so sweet to us, about him."
"What were my words?" I asked, for I could not at that moment recall
them.
"Why, your words were: What a pity it is that Sandy is not educated! If
he were educated, he might be such a blessing to you all. We have not
forgotten it. We have often talked about it. What you said to us and
taught us from the Great Book was so good, we are hungry for more. We
are willing to be taught. You cannot come all the time. We want some
one to be with us who knows something; so we have brought Sandy all the
way in the canoe to be taught by you; and then, to come back to us, that
we may learn of him."
There was no mistake about it. There was Sandy in the middle of the
canoe looking up at me with those brilliant black eyes that had so
attracted me in that wigwam far away.
I went down to the canoe, spoke kindly to the lad, shook his hand, and
invited all the Indians into my house.
After introducing them to my good wife, I told her Sandy's story; and
how they had remembered my words of a year ago, and had brought him on
this long journey to place him in our care: utterly unable themselves to
do anything for his support, I confess, that for the moment, I regretted
having been so quick in uttering words which had been so construed, by
these Indians and which had thrown upon our care this wild wounded
Indian boy.
It was the time of the first Riel Rebellion in Manitoba, and although we
were living far north of the actual scene of rebellion, yet our supplies
had in so great a measure been cut off, that we were existing on very
scant rations. Often we averaged no more than two meals a day, and
frequently, when eating breakfast, we did not know from what quarter our
dinner was to come. And now while on the verge of starvation, came this
extraordinary addition to our family, which meant another mouth to feed,
and another body to clothe. In our abounding poverty, here indeed was a
trial of faith!
After talking the matter over with my brave large-hearted wife, and
asking divine direction, the noble woman said:
"The Lord is in it, and He who has sent the mouth to be filled will
surely send all our additional requirements."
So we cheerfully received Sandy into our home and made him as one of our
family. He was in a deplorable condition in more ways than one. Coming
from a wild band of Indians who were in complete ignorance of
cleanliness and of the habits and requirements of the whites, this poor
wounded Indian boy had many things to learn; and at first, on account of
his ignorance and prejudices, we had many opportunities for the exercise
of patience and forbearance.